by J. L. Wood
“No, you’re not. Stop crying,” Mary insisted as she barged into the receptionist’s office.
Joyce and Ms. Brackenridge were already standing up, trying to listen to the noises outside. Out of breath, Mary hoarsely yelled, “Some crazy people are here, and they’re throwing bombs.”
Ms. Brackenridge stood in shock for a moment. “How do you know that?”
“We were out on the blacktop,” Missy said, limping into the office. “There’s like three trucks out there, I don’t know how many people.”
“Okay, go move everyone from 3-Hall to the gym,” Ms. Brackenridge instructed. “Joyce, come with me. We need to barricade the doors just in case.”
Missy and Mary ran off back to 3-Hall to gather the kids, Missy holding her injured arm close to her chest.
*
Joyce dropped to her knees and began praying. “Oh, loving and kind God, have mercy. Have pity upon me and take away…”
Ms. Brackenridge grabbed Joyce’s arm and tried to pull her up. “You can do that in the gym, Joyce.”
Joyce grabbed the desk and held on to it so that the principal could not pull her up. She continued her prayer. “…take away the awful stain of my transgressions…”
Ms. Brackenridge tried to pull both of Joyce’s arms to get her up, but Joyce retaliated and kicked her. Ms. Brackenridge let go of her arms. “Suit yourself, you stupid bitch, but hear this: When those doors are locked, they are locked. You will die out here.”
Joyce continued praying, and Ms. Brackenridge ran to the gymnasium, throwing the door open, her hair frizzy and disheveled, her face rosy from the run.
“Listen up!” she yelled. “The school is under attack! We need to barricade the doors!”
The adults in the gymnasium stood up and looked around at each other, unsure of what to do.
“NOW!” she yelled even louder. That seemed to catch their attention, because they started running around, putting the chair legs through the handles of the doors and piling up the suitcases. There were three entrances to the gym, two in the back and one in the front, which led to reception.
Ms. Brackenridge ran to Chris, who was frantically yelling for someone to tell him where his bag was. He then leaned over and softly shook Sherrie, whose head was drooped. She pointed to the corner of the gym. “Gun’s still there,” she replied drowsily.
Chris ran to a cot and flipped it on its side in front of Dr. Dressner. “Do that to a table and put it in front,” he instructed Nurse Amber, who was sitting nearby, confused and inattentive. “Do it and hide behind it!”
Ms. Brackenridge shook her head, concerned that there had been a weapon so close to the children, hidden under her nose. That’s not an issue right now, she told herself as she raced toward the area Dr. Dressner was pointing. At least we have something to protect ourselves if they make it past the officers.
“Everyone! Make two barriers! Just like the ones over there, and hide behind them! If there’s extras, make triple barriers!” Chris continued to yell as he ran toward the corner of the gym. Cries of fear filled the air as some of the adults began pulling children off of cots and placing them at the back of the gym while others stacked the barriers.
“Is this the bag?” Ms. Brackenridge asked, tossing it to Chris.
He grabbed it, his hands shaking as he unzipped the front pocket and pulled out the handgun.
“Chris, help me with the crate. We’ll leave it in the hall so if they somehow make it in, we can tell them to just take it.”
“What about the other crates?” Chris asked, but Ms. Brackenridge shook her head.
“There are no other crates, Chris.” Ms. Brackenridge knew that frenzied mobs did not compromise. They would kill them all, even if they had all of their supplies.
With Chris’s help, she hauled the crate to the main hall and dropped it, causing a loud bang. The noise in the gymnasium increased. The people were terrified. Three parents ran to the gymnasium, two men with children in their arms and a woman with a suitcase. “Are the rest coming? And the parents from 5-Hall?” Ms. Brackenridge asked the woman.
“Yes!” she yelled and ran inside. The succession of gunfire outside increased while the explosions subsided.
“Missy!” Ms. Brackenridge called down the hall. “Hurry!”
Another parent and child ran into the gym. Ms. Brackenridge knew she would need to barricade the door soon. There was a shattering of glass from the front of the building.
“Missy! Mary!” she yelled again, but there was no response. Ms. Brackenridge pulled her key ring out of her suit pocket and handed it to Chris. “If I’m not back soon, just lock the doors. Keep them safe.”
– 12 –
Surrender Part II
Ms. Brackenridge ran toward 3-Hall, the gunshots now right outside the doors of the school, motivating her to sprint faster than she ever had in her life. “Missy! Mary!” she yelled as she looked through the small windows on the classroom doors. Upon reaching 3C, she saw the girls and swung open the door. “Why haven’t you left yet?” she yelled at the women, who were kneeling next to Mrs. James and Ariel’s cot.
Mrs. James sat in the teacher’s chair near Ariel’s cot, her arms tightly secured around her shins, pushing her legs tightly against her chest. “I can’t do it. I’m too tired. It’s over anyway. Just leave us,” she cried, resting her tear-stricken face between her knees.
Ms. Brackenridge pushed past Mrs. James and stood at the end of the cot. Ariel lay still, the tube still protruding from her small half-shaved head. She was helpless. “Help me with the cot!” she yelled, grabbing the end of Ariel’s bed. Mary grabbed the handles on the front. “Lift!” Ms. Brackenridge screamed.
As the two women lifted the cot, Mrs. James leaned forward from her chair and pulled it back down. “No, don’t take my daughter!” she shrieked.
Missy pushed Mrs. James back down into her chair, the force knocking Mrs. James backward onto the cold tile floor. Mrs. James began kicking her legs and swinging her arms wildly, her dress lifting with each kick, giving everyone in the room an unsightly view of large pink-flowered panties. Missy tried to calm her, pinning her arms down, whispering, “We can make it out of here alive,” but Mrs. James would not listen.
“Get off of me! Get off of me! Don’t touch my daughter!” the deranged parent screamed, lifting her left foot and shoving it into Missy’s abdomen. The impact from the kick sent Missy flying into a stack of children’s books.
Missy lay on the floor, gripping her stomach. “You’re fucking crazy!” she screamed as she pushed herself to stand back up.
Ms. Brackenridge lowered her end of the cot when she saw Mrs. James barreling toward Ariel. She yelled for the woman to stop, but she pulled at the bed in a fit of tears. As a last resort, Ms. Brackenridge punched Mrs. James in the face, knocking her to the ground. The woman held her right cheek and withdrew to the back of the room.
“We’re all dead anyway!” Mrs. James yelled, but it fell on deaf ears.
There was more shattering of glass in the front of the building. Ms. Brackenridge picked up the end of the cot again, and she and Mary ran out of the classroom toward the gymnasium, with Missy following slowly behind.
“Stop!” Mary yelled before they reached the receptionist’s desk, the edge of the cot ramming into her thigh. There were several figures standing outside of one of the broken windows, shining a flashlight inside.
Ms. Brackenridge sat her end of the cot back down and instructed Missy to take it. “Go back.” She lowered her voice. “Go hide.”
*
Missy and Mary backtracked to 3-Hall and set Ariel’s cot down in 3B. Terrified, Missy shoved a chair under the doorknob, hoping to buy some time. “Miss Missy!” a voice called from behind a pile of stuffed animals. Lois stumbled out onto the alphabet carpet, her face swollen and red from crying.
“What are you doing here?” Missy replied harshly. “Why aren’t you with the other well kids?”
Lois began to cry. “Too sca
red,” she said through her tears.
Missy kneeled, her stomach erupting in pain, and brushed the hair out of the little girl’s face. She was scared too, and now she had a child to look after. She wanted to pull the chair from the door and kick the little piranha into the hallway. The intruders won’t hurt a child, she thought. As more dark thoughts began to flood her mind, she looked over at Mary for direction.
Mary slowly put her finger to her lips and crouched down, trying to hear what was going on outside of the classroom. “We’re not going to die today,” she whispered, but Missy was not too sure.
*
Ms. Brackenridge crouched behind the desk in the receptionist’s office. She could feel the sweat collecting in her bra. All of her clothes suddenly felt tight, constricting. She tried to imagine a tomorrow, but it was all black. Complete darkness. The murmuring from Joyce made her feel worse. She glanced over at her to see she was still in a trance, praying on her knees. This woman has given up, Ms. Brackenridge thought. Prayer does nothing if you sit around and wait for something to be handed to you. That isn’t how the world works.
The gunfire subsided, and Ms. Brackenridge’s black tomorrow faded to a hopeful gray. Slowly, she crawled to the edge of the office and looked toward the front door. Through the small rectangular windows on the front doors of the school she could see two figures dressed in street clothes. Her gray tomorrow was once again black, a tar pit in the middle, waiting for her, calling her name. “Eloise,” it whispered. “Elloiseee…”
Eloise Brackenridge imagined herself crawling toward the pit, letting it pull her in with its gentle whisper. Long, tentacle-like appendages erupted from its sticky center and wrapped themselves around her wrists, slowly pulling her in. She was mesmerized; she wanted to be there, away from all of the what-ifs the next few moments held for her. The tar pit offered safety and silence, and she needed it. She craved it. The sticky black tar rushed toward her mouth…
“Open up!” a man behind the door demanded.
Ms. Brackenridge crawled backward behind the desk again and sat still, unsure of what to do next. She convinced herself she wasn’t ready for the pit—she needed to save her kids. The only training she had received for a situation of this caliber was to hide, and there was nowhere else to go. Whatever happened next was up to her.
“We can do this the easy way, or we can do this the hard way,” the man continued. “We don’t want any trouble here! We saw you got a drop earlier and just want to see what was in it!”
Ms. Brackenridge remained still behind the desk. She unbuttoned the top button of her blouse to help her breathe. She tried to think of what to do, and she couldn’t. For once in her life, she was helpless. She was at the mercy of whatever the man behind the door wanted. After a few minutes, the man yelled, “Okay, I see you’ve chosen the hard way!”
There was a large screeching noise outside of the school, followed by an explosive bang. The walls seemed to rattle, and Ms. Brackenridge watched as a puff of smoke and debris drifted into the office. She tried to cover her face, but it billowed into the small space, seeping into her mouth and open blouse. As she looked around the desk, she saw that the attackers had driven a truck straight through the front doors of the school and then reversed, causing parts of the ceiling to collapse. She tried to hold it together, but she was terrified. Joyce was now on the side of the desk, covered in dirt and debris, praying at the collapsed entrance, her palms tightly pressed together, her fingers pointed toward the ceiling.
A few moments later, the man returned. “We didn’t want to do that, just so you know. Just hand over the meds, and we will be on our way. We know you’re there, Principal. Why don’t you come on out, sweetheart, or should I just kill your dumb friend to motivate you?”
There was a series of gunshots to Ms. Brackenridge’s right. “They found them,” she whimpered to herself. Tears stung her eyes as she thought about her sweet teachers dead—her rebellion, Missy, and her angel, Mary. The one who tore it all down and the one who built it back up.
I was always too hard on them, she thought. Too tough, too demanding. I should have told them they were valued more. I should have…I should have…
Two pairs of footsteps walked to the doorway of the receptionist’s office. Ms. Brackenridge tried to pull Joyce by yanking on her skirt, but Joyce refused to submit and continued in her prayer, even louder now. “Come on out, gal,” the man insisted.
Ms. Brackenridge wiped at her eyes and slowly rose from behind the desk. There was nowhere to hide. She needed to face the rebels. As she dusted off her suit, she stared at the man who appeared to be the leader. He was dressed like a cowboy, with brown boots, an oil-rig belt buckle, and a large-brimmed hat. There was a woman with him in jeans and a Metallica T-shirt with a purple faux hawk. Ms. Brackenridge thought they seemed like an unlikely pair, but desperation could bring the unlikeliest of people together.
Another pair of footsteps approached, and Ms. Brackenridge recognized him as Officer Merin. He slowly walked toward the group, gun drawn. I’m saved, she thought. We’re saved. Her black tar pit disintegrated, and she could see herself again with Moose. He was licking her arm while she read a book on the front porch. There is a tomorrow. And it’s beautiful.
“What took you so long?” the man asked the officer.
Officer Merin sighed. “Had a little issue I had to take care of back there. Can’t let anyone see my face, you know the rules.”
Ms. Brackenridge’s reality shattered. She couldn’t tell what was real anymore. As the darkness returned, she confronted the officer. “Y-you’ve been right outside,” she stammered. “You were…you were here to help us. You were…”
Officer Merin took a bow, mocking her. “You’re quite the observant one, aren’t ya, old lady?” he replied, snickering.
“There’re children here,” Ms. Brackenridge said in a panic. “Please don’t hurt them. We are only trying to help them get better.”
The cowboy stepped into the office. “We have children too. What about us? What makes you so damn special that you get to choose? Our children haven’t received any fancy medical drops. We don’t have Insidia. We don’t have any of that fancy Sim-Whatever shit. So now we are going to take what’s rightfully ours. Nothing is coming in or out of this city, don’t you understand? There are dying children out there that deserve a chance, just like the ones you have here, and NROS will prevail. NROS will bring the people what they need.”
Ms. Brackenridge tried to hold back the terror in her voice. “In Ross?”
The man grasped his belt and leaned his stubbly face forward. “You heard me right. The Natural Reorder of Society. We have a right to whatever you’re getting, so hand it over.”
Ms. Brackenridge stepped back toward Joyce. “The…the only reason we get packages is because we are sending data to the CDC so they can make a cure. This has nothing to do with favoritism, and no one wants to come here because it’s contagious!” The cowboy did not respond. “There’s a crate over there,” she continued, pointing toward the hallway. “Take it and leave.”
The officer ran to the half-empty crate and dragged it outside of the office before sifting through it. “A few bottles of Insidia. Sim-Six. Glucagon. A few MREs, boss.”
The cowboy kicked the crate. “Where’s the rest?” he yelled.
Ms. Brackenridge stood still, grasping the watch on her left hand, trying to remain calm, trying to stop from shaking. “That’s all we have. Please take it and leave.”
The officer leaned into the office, his right hand resting on his handgun. “Billy, I saw six crates get moved into here.”
Before the cowboy could respond, the officer’s radio went off. “Backup requested at Greenwood Elementary. We need all units in the area to report.”
The officer clenched his gun. “Billy, we need to hurry. I have to get out of here. If they catch me involved, I’ll never see daylight again.”
Billy raised his hand to silence the officer and pulled out his gun.
“You must not think we’re serious. Now, I’m going to ask you one more time. Where are the rest of the damn crates?”
Ms. Brackenridge trembled. “That…that’s all we have left.”
Billy pulled the hammer back on the gun. “Then show me the empty crates.”
Ms. Brackenridge shook her head defiantly. Help is on the way, she thought. I just need to buy a little more time. Billy raised the black handgun at Ms. Brackenridge, and she saw herself getting sucked into the tar pit once more. She didn’t want to be there this time, she wanted to stay. “Eloise…Eloise…” it whispered.
As she stared down the barrel of the gun, refusing to close her eyes, Billy moved his arm to her right and shot Joyce, still mid-prayer, in the head. The blood flew from the open wound onto Ms. Brackenridge’s blazer, causing her to step back in horror.
“You…you…oh my God, the…you shot her!” Ms. Brackenridge stammered, grabbing the desk to keep from falling. Her ears rang, and everything in front of her moved spasmodically, as if a giant strobe light was hanging from the ceiling. Her stomach felt as if it would explode as she tried to look away, but Joyce was all over her, a harsh reminder that life was short, and she, too, would be in complete darkness inside the tar pit.
The gym doors slammed shut, and the noise echoed throughout the halls. Billy grabbed Ms. Brackenridge’s arm and dragged her forward. “I think that answers that question. Let’s take a trip over there and see what you’re hiding.”
*
Missy and Mary jumped when they heard the gunfire inside the building. Missy ran to the window and pulled it up until it made a loud crack. “We need to go.”
“Wait,” Mary whispered. “Which one do you want to carry?”
Missy looked surprised. “Neither,” she whispered, irritated. “Can’t you see I’m fucking injured? They’ll just slow us down. Leave ’em. Let’s go.”
