by B D Grant
“He was about to make a run for it,” I say, getting off the kid. Boston looks down at the boy about to help him up but suddenly steps back with a terrified expression causing me to jump back too. Just like Boston said, he’s a student, looks to be a stage two. He’s wearing our uniform but it’s covered in blood. He’s disheveled but it isn’t his blood covering his clothes.
“He was at the evac site,” Jessica states seeing the blood on him.
Boston sticks his hand out to the boy to help him up. “We aren’t going to hurt you,” Boston looks over at me, “any more. What happened to you?”
I motion for Jessica to spread out from me to keep an eye out for more company. I step around the kid and Boston, watching in the direction the kid came from.
The kid is watching everything we’re doing nervously. “I was with seven year olds at the playground when the alarms went off. Benny, a stage two like me, had been babysitting the kids for the past three weeks as punishment for making some inappropriate comments to a teacher. He knew to take the kids to the airboats. We were in the woods when we heard gunshots coming from the school. Benny freaked out saying that it had to be a drill, like if he said it then it would be true but I knew. When the screams began he realized it wasn’t and took off down the trail. Just left us.” The boy is crying now, wiping a mix of blood and tears from his face. “Babies, that’s what I was left with. I’m an only child; I had no idea what to do.”
Boston grabs his face, stabilizing him. “We need to know what’s going on.”
He pushes Boston away. “I didn’t know what was going on. The kids were crying so I kept telling them it was going to be all right. I told them we were in a race and the first ones to the marsh would get all the ice cream they wanted.” He smears more blood on his face wiping his nose with his sleeve. “It worked pretty good. I just had to get to get them to the airboats. We got there and they…” He drops his chin to his chest. Seeing all the blood on his jacket he starts wiping madly at it.
“You can do this,” Boston says calmly as he stops the kid’s hands mid-swipe.
“We need to move,” Jessica says, pointing at the smoke above the treetops.
“They killed us,” the kid finally spits out.
Boston ignores Jessica and asks, “Who did?”
He looks at Boston as if Boston hasn’t been listening. “We did!” he yells at Boston.
I turn around grabbing the kid from behind slapping my hand over his mouth. He starts to panic. I growl in his ear, “Calm down. They might still be out there.” I could really use Mick’s ability right now. The kid slows his breathing; I take my hand off his mouth.
Boston gets my attention. “He’s telling the truth.” I release the kid from my grasp.
“So it was Seraphim shooting at the airboats?” I ask the kid who’s looking wildly behind me like he’s waiting for someone to appear. I’m doing the same thing.
“Not just Seraphim, us. Stage three’s like you were there and teachers. When I could hear the boats I told the kids to run faster while I got the smaller ones that were falling behind. I heard the gunshots a second later followed by bodies dropping to the dirt. It was the kids being shot that I had just sent ahead. I could even see the person shooting. It was a coach. He was at the loading plank. I was holding the slowest little girl’s hand so I pulled her down and covered her with my body as fast as I could. I yelled for the other kids to hide, but it was too late. They had seen the rest of us and more guns went off, taking the rest of my kids down. I stayed down with the girl even when someone started walking around checking the bodies. Before they got to us they heard some other stage one students running up from the opposite direction so they went back to their positions. They were distracted so we ran for it. I was looking straight ahead when she fell,” he looks at his hand, but she didn’t fall She was shot in the head.” He drops the hand to his side in defeat. “I don’t know how I made it out without getting shot.”
This is too sick for me. What he’s saying is insane. Why are they killing their own students? My fear for Anne kicks into overdrive.
“Did you see any other older kids there with the stage ones besides your group?” I ask him. “My friend was with five year olds. She’s a stage two.”
He looks at me with a sad look on his face. “If your friend brought them to the airboats then he’s dead.”
Boston doesn’t stop him as he starts walking past us for the school. “There are guns that way too,” Boston warns him.
The kid’s terror is gone. It’s replaced by a hard determination. “I’m going to get a gun. Then, I’m coming back. I’ll make at least one of them pay for what they did before I die.”
I watch him walk past me. “She,” I correct him, “her name is Anne.”
He stops, “I did see her.”
My heart drops. He’s lying. He has to be. She’s got to still be alive. I look to Boston for him to tell me he’s not telling the truth but he doesn’t look away from the kid. “I passed her going inside the stage one building with a kid as my kids were heading to the playground. She was with a redheaded girl that had a nose bleed.”
“That sounds like Nikki’s sister,” Jessica says, with hope brightening her eyes.
“They could still be there,” the boy says. She’s got to be in the building. I can’t see her laying in the grass surrounded by little kids as innocent as she is. I have to find her.
Boston shakes me. “What’s your vote, Kelly?”
“What?” I ask, confused.
“Keep going after Mick to face what waits in the marsh or try to save anyone left at the stage one building?”
“Mick?” I had forgotten about him, worrying about Anne.
Boston lowers his head examining the ground before speaking. “There haven’t been anymore shots. He could’ve seen what was happening before they saw him.”
“He’s about to graduate. They could’ve thought he was there to join them,” Jessica adds.
“Don’t you say that.” Boston says angrily.
“What? That would mean he’s still alive,” Jessica shrugs. She looks at me, “I vote we take our chances with the stage one building.” I look at my jacket she’s wearing. Jessica’s never been on my side. I should have loaned her my jacket a long time ago.
“What do you think, Boston?” I ask.
“I vote for going back to campus. For all we know Mick got lost and is running in circles.” If any of us were to get lost it would be him.
“Okay, lets follow the kid and find some weapons.”
Everyone agrees. We backtrack running after the kid that is now out of sight. We catch up to him and he solemnly welcomes the company.
We hear a faint gun shot when we make it to the start of the wood line. Boston looks behind us into the thick woods. “It wasn’t Mick,” he tells us. Jessica makes a small, pained noise. Boston runs his hand through his hair, “He made his choice running off. We have to warn the students who don’t know what’s going on and get somewhere safe.”
“No,” Jessica tells him in a whisper. She turns on her heels and runs full speed toward the marsh. “I can’t leave him.”
Boston’s hand clamps down on my arm as I contemplate following her. “What do you want to do, Kelly? Go back for Mick,” he looks in the direction Jessica was running, “Or help Anne?” He looks me in the eye and asks calmly, “Who needs us more?” He stares at me, waiting for an answer.
Without hesitation I answer. “Anne.”
As we shuffle through the dense woods we spot older students on the clearing between us and the opposing wood line, running to the barn. I hold my hand up motioning for my group to get down lessening the chance that we will be seen. “We don’t trust anyone unless Boston can question them,” I whisper. Boston and the boy nod in agreement. Smoke is lightly seeping out of the top of the barn as the students make it inside.
We don’t divert from our mission. We continue to stick to the safety of the trees as we head toward campus. The cl
oser we come, the more it sounds like we’re entering a war zone. It takes some time for us to get close to the field since we aren’t leaving the safety of the woods. The stage two with us doesn’t slow down when the shots get closer. “Once we’re at the field we can get what we need from the artillery room,” he says.
“Artillery room?” I ask.
Boston nods. “In the faculty section of the field house they have a room where they store guns. It’s small, but we don’t exactly have an army now do we?”
I never heard about an artillery room. It’s not surprising but this information would have been useful when we were right by the field. I slow down some and Boston follows suit. “How do you know this?” I ask him.
He looks at the stage two. “I’m guessing the same way he knows about it; cleaning the field house during in-school suspension.”
“Good guess,” he tells Boston over his shoulder.
“You need to stay close,” I tell the boy but his stride doesn’t change. “I bet you aren’t the only one that has had that same thought about the artillery room.”
Boston agrees, “Kelly’s right. We want revenge just like you but we won’t help anyone if we run into the wrong people before we’re armed.”
The wreckage of the football field peeps into view. The field house is standing next to the destroyed football field. “Slow down,” Boston calls out to the stage two who is still a good distance ahead of us. I speed up but Boston’s having a hard time matching my pace.
I call ahead, “Hold up.” I slow to a stop to give Boston a quick break. Boston stops next to me wiping the sweat off his face. The stage two finally slows down, but instead of stopping to let us catch up he cuts left through the woods.
“He’s going for the field house,” Boston huffs.
“Stop!” I yell. He doesn’t even slow down.
“Shh!” Boston says, “You don’t know who might hear you.”
I start jogging as the boy fights through the underbrush getting closer to being in the open. “It won’t matter if he gets out in the open.”
Boston points to the clearing. “We have trouble.”
I look past the woods, past the field house, and across the grass to the other wood line. There are four people in matching camouflage that appear on the other side of the hill. They’re walking cautiously, staying near the woods on the opposite side of the clearing. They’re heading for the site of the explosion.
The stage two isn’t stopping. “He doesn’t see them,” I tell Boston. The stage two is almost to the edge of the trees.
Boston lets out a restrained yell, “Watch out!”
As he gets to the last set of trees he stops. He rests his arm on the tree, catching his breath. He scans the grassy plain between him and the field house. He looks back at us. Before we can warn him otherwise he bursts out of the tree line. Boston gives me the same look of dread I’m giving him. There’s no stopping the kid now. Luckily the small group on the other side is now in the thick of the smoke. “They didn’t see him.”
Boston is relieved. “Thank goodness.”
The stage two makes it to the field house then turns around thinking we’d be behind him. He searches the woods where he thinks we’re located but he’s off by a couple yards. Boston hits my arm and directs me to look to a part of the bleachers that are collapsed, giving us clear sight to the opposite side of the field. “Those people were just there,” he whispers.
“I don’t want to watch this happen,” I whisper, taking a step back.
He stops me. “No, look.”
The boy has made it inside the field house. He must’ve heard them coming because a minute later the four people are at the door to the field house. If only I could distract them. “We could make some noise,” I whisper to Boston.
“Then what? They have guns. We don’t.”
“We could get to the the trail then run for it.”
“This isn’t tag, Kelly. We can’t outrun bullets. It’s too late anyways.”
I look back to the field house. He is right. They’ve already disappeared inside. We wait in the safety of the woods, not moving. “Is there a way for him to get out without being seen?” I ask Boston as we stand staring at the field house.
“Sure, he could stuff himself in one of the lockers but…” The high windows on the field house light up in flashes as guns are fired. Boston states the obvious, “They found him.”
Our morale is low. We get on the trail worrying more about getting somewhere fast than others being on the trail. Boston tells me other possible gun locations but none of them are a sure thing. By now they would have all been cleaned out.
I think of our less than sober teacher. “Dr. Baudin’s isn’t far. We should check his place out.”
“Good thinking,” Boston says with a skeletal resemblance of a smile on his lips.
We can hear people moving all over as we get to Baudin’s house but we manage to dodge them. The plan is to get in, raid for weapons, and then go to the stage one building to look for Anne.
“You want me to break a window and hoist you up?” I ask Boston as we round the front of Baudin’s house.
Boston goes to the front door. “You could,” he says as he checks the knob, “but it’s unlocked.”
We silently walk inside. The only light on is coming from the television. I grab the remote from the coffee table and mute the TV. We split up to save time. Boston tosses the living room. I check the bathroom and come up empty-handed. I move to the bedroom. The whole house doesn’t smell that great but the bedroom is the worst.
When I see what the smell is coming from I call out, “Boston, you might want to come in here.”
He rushes in the room. I point to the bed where Dr. Baudin is laying face down in the sheets. A nearly empty bottle of whiskey is on its side on the nightstand. “Is he dead?” he asks me.
“I don’t see any blood.” I walk around the bed to get a closer look. I hear him snoring softly. “He’s breathing.”
“Should we wake him?” Boston asks.
“What if he tries to shoot us?”
Boston looks around the room. He goes to the dresser and opens the drawers quietly. “What are you doing?” I ask.
“You’re right. Stick to the plan. Look for his guns.”
Boston rummages the dresser and nightstand. I tackle the closet. The closet doors fold open. The left door gets hung up. Clothes, shoes, and miscellaneous items are strewn inside. It’s too small and crowded to take more than a step inside to lean over and see what’s catching on the back of the door. It’s a shoe. I knock it out of the way, open the door, and stand up. I brush the clothes nearest to me as I stand. They sway on the hangers. Something moves against the wall behind them. I hear it begin to slowly slide down the wall. I reach for it blindly, not getting to it in time. It hits the shelving on the right side of the closet. ‘Donk’
The rhythm of light snoring from the bed doesn’t change, thankfully. Boston’s eyes are huge saucers when I look over at him. I carefully pull out the long, heavy object that caused the ruckus. It is a hard plastic gun case. The weight of it tells me there’s a gun inside.
Boston and I bring it into the living room afraid more noise might wake our sleeping teacher.
“Shot gun,” I announce. I pull out the pump action examining it. “And no shells.” Boston turns on his heels saying, “I got it.” He goes to the bedroom. I hear a thump come from the room followed by a lot of stuff rolling on the floor.
Boston’s standing in the doorway facing me when I get in the hall leading to the bedroom. Shotgun shells litter the hallway from the spilled box on the ground. “Oh, good job,” I say before I notice his hands are up, behind his head.
A voice comes from behind him, “Don’t move or I’ll shoot him.”
Dr. Baudin walks Boston and I, at gunpoint, to the front door. He must have had a gun on his person because the handgun he’s carrying wasn’t anywhere around him that we saw.
“I should shoot
the two of you for breaking and entering.”
“We didn’t have a choice,” Boston tells him.
“Shut the…” he hiccups, “hell up.” It sounds like he had to swallow something down with it. “You made your choice. If you were in the real world you’d be looking at serious jail time.”
“We won’t live past today without some way to protect ourselves out there.”
Dr. Baudin goes off, “Bunch of sissies! An entire generation of pansies—”
My pulse is beating in my ears. I no longer hear his ranting. D-mode kicks in.
I gain control to find my hands on Baudin’s neck. His nose is bloody. He’s on the ground and I’m on top of him. Boston is yelling at me to get off of him. He has Dr. Baudin’s handgun pointing it at him. Baudin is clearly hurt but he doesn’t look it by his expression when I stand up.
“I hate teenagers,” He growls, sitting up.
“You lost it again,” Boston informs me.
“Thanks, Mr. Obvious, I didn’t know that.”
“We need another gun,” Boston tells Baudin.
He spits in the direction of the shotgun on the coffee table. “You have another one.”
“No, we need something that holds more then two at a time.”
“Don’t have any.”
“Lie,” Boston states.
Baudin shakes his head. “Kill me. I won’t give you another gun. They’re going to fire me anyways for having guns that weren’t locked up.”
Boston takes a step back from him. “You don’t know what’s happening?”
Dr. Baudin looks between us trying to figure out what Boston’s talking about.
I’m beginning to think our evacuation sites have something to do with how expendable we are. I hope they didn’t really think I’m the kind of Dyna that would shoot innocent kids just because I was told to. “What’s your evac site?” I ask him.
He uses the back of his hand to wipe his mouth. “Don’t have one.”
“What are you suppose to do then?” Boston asks.
“Guard the Welcome Center against intruders.”
