Looking down she sees that the bars to the door have been zip tied together.
Several large, thick zip ties have the two doors strapped together.
“Shit! Who’s got a knife?” she asks.
Everyone shakes their heads.
“None of you rednecks have a pocket knife on you? Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me?”
Some of the kids continue to shove on the door, but it’s no use. The ties aren’t going to give, the doors aren’t going to open.
“We could try to break the glass,” one of the kids says.
“With what? Your hard head? Back to the classroom. Now. Hurry.”
They begin to run back in the direction of all the explosions and alarms and screams and gunfire.
But as they’re about halfway down the alcove, a figure appears out of the smoke in the main hallway. Looking like something out of a comic book, he’s in all black, including a long black leather duster, fatigues, and gloves, and has on a white mask beneath a black military-style hat.
Raising his assault rifle, he begins to fire, spraying bullets like windswept hail throughout the alcove.
Within seconds all seven people—six students and one teacher—are sprawled across the floor, their life’s blood leaking out of them.
32
People say he just went crazy like it could happen to anyone or it’s as random as getting struck by lightning, but I don’t think so. He didn’t just go crazy. There were signs to see if anyone was looking.
I arrive at Potter High School around a quarter after—just eight minutes into the attack.
As I run through the main entrance, I can hear sirens in the distance. Backup is on the way.
Inside, Tyrese and LeAnn quickly tell me what they know and toss me a radio.
“Hurry, John,” LeAnn says. “Kim is up there by herself.”
“Radio her,” I say. “Let her know I’m coming up. Not to shoot me. Find out her position. I’ll be monitoring. And be sure to tell the Potter County deputies that we’re up there.”
Tyrese says, “We think Kim has been shot. We don’t know how bad. Want me to come with you?”
I shake my head as I’m running away.
Withdrawing my weapon, I make my way up the hallway that leads to the main, circular one beyond.
The acrid air is thick with smoke and the smell of burned gunpowder. Visibility is very low.
Through the fog, I can hear the dissonant sounds of disembodied screams, the arrhythmic bursts of semi-automatic gunfire, the intermittent explosions of bombs, and the incessant blare of the fire alarm.
As I reach the main hallway, it gets worse—the smoke thicker, the racket louder, the terrified screams more piercing.
Unable to determine where exactly the shots are coming from, I take a right and head south in the main hallway.
Even if it wasn’t dim and filled with smoke, the circularness of the hallway would make it difficult to see very far in either direction, its hard surfaces bouncing noises around, making it impossible to isolate or pin down the direction of any single sound.
“Any word on Kim’s position yet?” I ask into the radio.
“Not yet. Where are you?”
“You can’t see me,” I say, looking up, searching for security cameras.
“Most of them are out because of the explosions.”
“Have somebody cut the fire alarm,” I say. “It’s handicapping us.”
“I’ll go do it now,” Tyrese says.
Reaching the first set of library doors, I see that they are shot up and shattered, large shards of glass hanging precariously over the jagged opening.
I pause and glance in. There is no movement, and though I’m sure there are students hiding inside, no one is visible.
As I round the first arching curve of the hallway, I can hear the live gunfire better and believe I’m getting close.
Another loud explosion close by, though I can’t be certain exactly where, leaves my ears ringing.
Up ahead I hear shots being fired, and as I get closer, I can see Kim sitting on the floor in a pool of blood, leaning against the wall of a small alcove that leads to a dark, empty classroom, returning fire. On the floor a few feet away is her shot-up radio.
I rush over to her, crouching behind the same wall.
“You okay?” I ask. “Where are you hit?”
“Don’t worry about me,” she says. “Just get that evil fuck before he gets anyone else.”
“How many are there?” I ask.
“Just one as far as I know.”
“Who is it?”
“Don’t know. Coward’s wearing a mask.”
“Backup is coming,” I say. “And an ambulance for you.”
“Okay, but just get him.”
A round blasts above us, chipping off the corner of a cinderblock.
“Shit,” she says. “What the—That was close. Are the other deputies already up here with us?”
“I’m not sure. Why?”
“That was a different weapon than he was using before.”
I radio Tyrese. “Is SWAT or any Potter County deputies up here with us yet?”
“No, they’re pulling up onto the property now.”
“Okay,” I say. “I’ve got a message for them. I’ll radio you back in a second.”
I return my attention to Kim. “Can you keep firing at him from here while I run around and come up on him from the other side?”
She nods. “Yeah.”
“You sure?”
“Go.”
I do.
I dart out from the alcove and back down the hall in the direction I have just come.
As I do, I radio Tyrese, let him know Kim’s position and condition, and what I’m doing, asking him to convey that to anyone else entering this part of the building.
Eyes stinging, throat burning, I begin coughing and hacking.
I run fast and carelessly. If there’s a second shooter I’m making myself an easy target for him.
Thankfully, mercifully, the fire alarm stops.
Visibility is still low, especially with the way my eyes are watering, but I can hear a little better now—only a little better, though. My ears continue to ring.
I try to run as quietly as possible, not drawing any attention to myself as I make my way toward the shooter, but the smoke and smell of nitroglycerin have me coughing.
My old alma mater looks like a bombed out building from a war-torn town in the Middle East, lights shot out and dangling by shorting electrical wires, glass shards crunching beneath my shoes, huge chunks of walls missing.
I pass by another shot-out library door, then an open classroom with a dead body crumpled on the floor, but the most horrific scene by far is the blood-covered side hallway leading out to the art building and the pile of bodies lying dead or dying in it.
As I near the place I estimate the shooter to be, I can hear the blasts of his shotgun and the return bangs of Kim’s sidearm.
I slow down, hoping to be able to sneak up behind him and take him alive, but as I round the curving hallway, he spins toward me, levels the barrel of his shotgun in my direction and fires.
The round whizzes by my head. I can hear and feel it.
In the split second before I fire back, I can see that not only is the boy not wearing a mask, but he’s not one of the suspects we’ve been investigating.
He’s big and blond and sort of soft looking, dressed in jeans, boots, and a T-shirt, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him before.
He fires another round.
I aim at the shotgun, attempting to knock it out of his hands, but his head is leaning down on the stock, sighting, and I’m afraid the round will hit him in the face.
Lowering my gun, I squeeze off two quick rounds. One aimed at his left hip, the other his left knee.
He spins around and goes down, his shotgun thudding heavily on the hard hallway floor as he does.
33
These aren’t random shooting
s. They’re school shootings. They’re not happening at libraries or malls or churches or fast-food restaurants. They’re happening at school. The school part is as significant as the shooting part.
Ears still ringing, I run over to him, kick the shotgun away from, pat him down, and cuff him.
Leaving him there bleeding on the floor, I rush over to check on Kim—but not before letting her know that’s what I’m doing.
“You hanging in?” I ask, continuing to glance around in case there’s another shooter.
She nods. “Still here. Who was under the mask?”
“I didn’t recognize him,” I say. “He wasn’t wearing a mask.”
“What?” she asks. “Help me up. Take me over to see him.”
“You sure?” I ask, but she is already trying to pull herself up.
“Where are you hit?” I ask.
She holsters her gun and reaches up with her right hand. “Pull me up by my right. My left arm and left thigh are . . . wounded.”
Getting her up is obviously painful for her, but she’s determined.
I duck down and she drapes her right arm over my shoulder, and I help her sort of limp and hop on one leg down the hallway.
“Oh my God,” she says. “That’s not him. That’s Derek Burrell. He’s a good kid. He wasn’t the shooter.”
“He was shooting at you and at me,” I say.
“I can’t . . .” she says, shaking her head. “I don’t know why he would be . . . but . . . the shooter we’re looking for is smaller than Derek, dressed in all black, wearing a mask. Help me down.”
“Derek?” she asks. “Derek? Can you hear me?”
He mumbles something, as I help her down beside him.
As she talks to him, I continue to search the area around us for other shooters or backup.
Tyrese on the radio. “Kim, John, Potter deputies and EMT are on the way up to you. Where are you?”
I tell him. “Tell everyone to use extreme caution. We believe we still have an active shooter situation.”
“I was . . .” Derek says, “trying . . . to help. Did I . . . get him before . . . he got me?”
Kim looks up at me. “Uncuff him, John.”
“Are you sure?” I say. “Let’s wait and—”
“I’m positive,” she says. “No way he was a part of this. He’s too hurt to do anything now anyway. Please.”
“Okay,” I say.
Continuing to search all around us for the shooter, I kneel down beside him and quickly remove the cuffs. Standing, I return them to my belt and withdraw my gun.
A classroom door opens about ten feet away and a teacher and two students lean out.
“Is it safe to come out?” the teacher asks.
“No,” I say. “Not yet. Stay in—”
“Is that—Did he get Derek?”
“Derek,” one of the female students says. “Is he okay?”
“I tried to get him not to,” the teacher says, “but I couldn’t stop him. He went to his truck and got his gun and went out to stop the shooters.”
The bottom drops out inside me and my heart plunges into my stomach.
Kim says, “He was in there when the shooting started?”
“He was in here for most of it,” the teacher says. “Just went out into the hallway a couple of minutes ago.”
“Oh, no,” Kim says. “No. Derek, hang in there. Help is on the way. You’re a very brave young man. You’re going to be okay. Hang in there.”
Another explosion goes off somewhere else in the building.
“Back in the room, now,” I yell, but the teacher and students have already disappeared inside.
I can hear the approach of the deputies from both sides of the hallway.
“We’re over here,” I yell. “It’s John Jordan and Deputy Kimberly Miller. We have a student here who needs immediate medical attention.”
Eventually, flashlight beams find us and Potter County deputies step out of the smoke.
They are followed by EMTs who begin to work on Kim and Derek as I fill them in on what we know.
“So we’ve still got a shooter roaming the hallways?” he says.
“He must not be in the main hallway since y’all just came from both directions and didn’t see him,” I say, “but yeah, somewhere in the school. When we have enough personnel, we need to get the kids in the classrooms out and do a thorough search of the building.”
“Our SWAT team will be on site any minute now,” he says. “All available officers are rolling, and we’ve got FDLE and other agencies on their way. Before long we’ll have more help than we’ll know what to do with.”
“Until then, let’s guard the EMTs while they help the wounded and get them out of the building—all while looking for the shooter.”
“Hopefully,” the other deputy says, “he’s holed up in some small space somewhere blowing his brainpan all over the wall.”
“I don’t think so,” I say.
“Oh yeah, why’s that?”
“If he was planning on killing himself,” I say, “he wouldn’t have needed to wear a mask.”
“He’s got a mask on?” he says. “We hadn’t heard that.”
“Yeah,” I say, “and my guess is he plans to discard it and the rest of his attire and weaponry to blend in with the other students.”
“Oh, my God,” Kim says, “that’s . . .”
“He probably already has,” I say. “Now just waiting to walk out of the building with the rest of them.”
Kim shakes her head. “Wow. Oh my God. If that’s . . . true . . . If he’s able to pull that off he’ll . . .”
“Live to do it again,” the deputy says.
34
Face it, there are two sets of rules. The ones for the popular and pretty kids, the jocks and prom queens, and the ones for the rest of us.
As the smoke begins to dissipate some I realize it has been a few minutes since we’ve heard either gunshots or explosions.
While two deputies guard Kim and Derek and the EMTs working on them, two others search the halls.
I’m about to start a search of my own when I see LeAnn and Tyrese approaching.
“It’s still not safe,” I say.
LeAnn rushes over to Kim.
Tyrese says, “Safe enough for y’all, it’s safe enough for us. We’re not doing any good down in the office. We need to evacuate the school.”
“We have no idea where the shooter is,” I say.
“But he’s stopped shooting,” he says.
“For now,” I say. “Could be more to come. Need to act as if there is.”
“We’ve got parents outside wanting their kids,” he says. “We don’t get them out soon, they’ll be coming in here to get them.”
I nod. “Okay. When more officers arrive, we can begin an orderly evacuation. Have each class escorted by a couple of officers, while SWAT sweeps the building.”
“That’ll work,” he says.
Over by Kim, LeAnn is saying, “I should’ve been up here with you. I’m so sorry you got shot.”
“I’m okay,” she says. “But I’m worried about Derek. He needs to get to a hospital.”
“They’re working on it,” LeAnn says.
“Have you heard from Ace?” Kim asks. “Is he safe? I’m surprised he’s not out here barkin’ orders at everybody.”
The body in the classroom I passed as I ran over here flashes in my mind. Whether it’s what I actually saw or not, I now see the dead body of Ace Bowman lying on the floor.
“I’ll check on him in a minute. I’m sure he’s fine. Just hunkered down with his class. You just lay back and let them take care of you. We’ll take care of everything else.”
“We need more EMTs and ambulances,” I say to the deputy nearest to me. “They’ll probably need to send them out of Gulf, Bay, and Calhoun Counties.”
He nods and radios it in.
“Okay,” the EMT working on Derek says, “we need to go now.”
I turn to t
he deputy. “Let the others know we’re coming out with wounded. You two lead them. Tyrese and I’ll guard them from the back.”
Tyrese says, “We should just take them out of the back exit. Have the ambulances pick them up by the art building.”
I shake my head. “The hallway to that door is blocked. We need to go there to search for survivors next. There, the library, and a classroom on the northeast side.”
The first EMT nods to himself and starts pushing the stretcher around the hallway toward the commons and main entrance. We follow.
“Why there?” Kim asks. “That’s where Ace’s room is. Unless he was in the gym or the front office. He was probably in the gym. Did anything happen in the gym?”
“No,” Tyrese says. “Everything in the gym is fine.”
“Come on everyone,” the EMT with Derek says. “Pick up the pace. We need to move.”
Not for the first time I say a prayer for Derek, pleading for his recovery, begging God not to have let me killed a kid.
The wheels of the gurneys are hindered by debris, shards of glass, chunks of cement, rubble, and shell casings, but we make steady progress.
LeAnn, who walks beside Kim’s gurney holding her hand, is more exposed than I would like but refuses to be anywhere else.
As we near the short hallway that leads down to the commons, Hugh Glenn is there with additional deputies and his small SWAT team.
He gives me a look like what do we do?
I say, “Can you send two of the deputies with you to help escort these two patients to ambulances while I brief you on what we’re dealing with and we begin a sweep and evacuation of the building?”
“Stan, Rob, with them,” he says. “Everyone else follow me. And as soon as y’all have them safely loaded in the ambulances get back in here and help. Escort the other EMTs in if they’ve arrived.”
The EMTs and four deputies, along with Kim, Derek, and LeAnn continue down the hallway.
I watch after them as I brief Glenn on what’s going on and make subtle suggestions about what to do, Tyrese jumping in with information and suggestions as I do.
Bloodshed (John Jordan Mysteries Book 19) Page 13
