“We were only doing what he told us to. He said there would be food and beds and stuff. Everyone is tired and hungry. We can't just sit in that classroom all night.”
“That's not for you to be concerned about. You, Anthony, Gary, and Carlos take your seats. You can watch the class for a moment while I'm gone,” Mrs. Crabtree said.
“Okay, but if we don't move to the gym soon, Mr. Wright isn't going to be happy,” Thomas said.
“Well, we certainly don't want to upset him, do we?” Mrs. Crabtree said walking away. “I'll be back in ten minutes,” she continued.
Thomas watched her walk down the hall towards Mr. Wright's office. She moved passed open classroom doors, where children were lining up to march to their respective areas. Thomas turned and went back to the classroom.
“Shelly,” Kiya called out. From her desk, she could see only Shelly's back, and wasn't sure if she was sleeping or ignoring her. Kiya called out again, causing Shelly to turn around. “Hey, can I talk to you?” she asked. The door to the class opened. Thomas entered and approached his fellow “enforcers.” “Mrs. Crabtree went to talk to the principal. We're in charge while she's gone,” he said. The gang nodded and turned to the class, surveying them like secret service men. Kiya got up from her seat to talk to Shelly, causing instant notice from Thomas.
“Hey, get back in your seat,” he said.
Kiya froze and looked up. The whole class was watching her. “I have to use the bathroom,” she said. It was the first thing that came to her mind. She glared at Shelly like she was trying to send her a message. Kiya hoped that a glance and a head nod would be a clear signal.
“No deal. No one leaves the classroom until Mrs. Crabtree returns,” Thomas continued. He approached Mrs. Crabtree's desk and sat at her seat.
“Get bent, Tommy,” Shelly said as she stood. “If we have to use the bathroom, you can't stop us.”
Thomas laughed. “Go ahead and try us,” he said.
Shelly walked over to Kiya and took her by the arm. They both walked together towards the door. Thomas nodded at Anthony who then blocked the door. “Move,” Shelly said.
Anthony crossed his arms, not responding. “Okay, you ask for it,” she added. In one quick flash, she sucker punched Anthony in the stomach. He grunted and moved out of the way. “You crazy bitch!” he said. The other boys, Carlos and Greg, moved to the door in Anthony's place. Shelly gave them a look that asked for more. She was ready to punch someone. Thomas held his hand in the air. “Wait,” he commanded. “Let them go, one at a time.” Kiya gave Shelly a concerned look of disapproval. Shelly turned to face Thomas.
“We both have to go. It's...it's personal,” she said.
“What do you mean personal?” Thomas asked.
“I mean girl stuff. Like, girl issues,” she said.
Thomas thought to himself for a moment. Shelly was sure that he wouldn’t know any better. “Oh gross,” Thomas said. “Let 'em go. But you have five minutes!”
“Whatever,” Shelly said pushing the other boys out of the way.
Suddenly Erika jumped up to join Shelly and Kiya. “I have to go too!”
“Oh come on!” Thomas said.
Erika ran to the other girls as they left the bathroom. Thomas stood up as the door shut. “That's it, no one else can leave until they get back!” he said to the class in his best authoritative tone.
With Kiya leading, they ran down the hall to the girl's bathroom. They passed a long line of students from the three other sixth grade classes on their way to the gym. One teacher, Mrs. Dollard—a large woman with a squished face, and small eyes beneath her glasses—watched the girls suspiciously. The girls were relieved as they made it to the bathroom without a word from any of teachers. Kiya pushed the swinging door open as they scurried inside. It was nearly pitch black in the bathroom. A small window provided a little night time light from outside, but the girls had to feel around. Erika pulled a cigarette lighter from her pocket and lit it.
“How'd you get that?” Shelly asked.
“Stole it from my dad. Pretty cool huh,” Erika said.
“Okay, what is it? And why are we running?” Shelly asked turning to Kiya immediately.
“I think it's cool. We're like secret agents of the apocalypse,” Erika said.
“Apocalypse?” Shelly asked.
“I don't know, just a word I heard the other day,” Erika answered.
“I asked you to come with me, Shelly, because I wanted to talk to you,” Kiya said. She suddenly stopped speaking and searched the stalls for the presence of any other kids. The coast was clear. Kiya continued, “I have a bad feeling about this. All of this.”
“Yeah, it sucks. But they're going to have to let us go soon,” Shelly said.
“It's not like they can just keep us here forever,” Erika added.
“I don't know what's going on, but I say we escape,” Kiya said.
The two girls looked at her, then to each other. “Um. How are you going to do that?” Shelly asked.
“We find a way out,” Kiya said.
“But they'll expel us if we get caught,” Shelly responded.
“You really believe that?” Kiya asked.
“Ow!” Erika shouted. She had held onto the lighter for too long, and the flame had burnt her thumb. The lighter went out, and with it, the bathroom went dark. The girls continued their conversation.
“Of course I believe it. I've had straight-As the past three years, and I'm not going to risk it,” Shelly said with a hint of snobbery.
“I'll help you, Kiya,” Erika said placing her hand on Kiya's shoulder.
“You both are crazy,” Shelly said.
“You're right,” Erika responded. “It's too bad we're going to have to kill you now because you heard of our secret plan.”
Erika moved to Shelly with her hands out, as if going for her neck. “Stop it!” Shelly yelled. Erika put her hands down. “Okay, okay. Chill,” she said back.
“We have to do something. Staying here is bad. Thomas and the others are bossing us around now because the principal said they could. I'm sick of this and I want to go home,” Kiya said.
“Me too!” Erika said.
Both girls looked to Shelly. “So, 'miss perfect,' are you in or are you out?” Erika asked.
Shelly sighed. “I want to go home, but I don't want to get into trouble. My mom would kill me.”
“Your mom is probably right outside of the school now waiting for you. Just like mine,” Kiya said.
“Think about that, brainiac,” Erika said.
“Shut up, Erika!” Shelly shouted.
“Shhhh. Footsteps,” Kiya said. The girls went silent as the unmistakable sound of adult footsteps passed the bathroom. Once out of range, Kiya continued, “When they take us to the gym, as long as we stick together we can run off and barely be noticed. By the time anyone really notices we'll be gone.”
“So why don't we just go now?” Shelly asked.
“Because we need a boy to help us,” Kiya said.
“A boy? Why?” Shelly asked.
“We need someone to help us if we run into trouble. But most importantly, someone who will do what we say.”
“Ooo! Pick Mark Nelson, he likes you,” Erika said.
Kiya shuttered at the thought. “I don't know. What about that one kid who never speaks?”
“His name is Oliver and he's a retard,” Erika said.
Shelly gasped. “You shouldn't say that word.”
“I don't mean that he's actually retarded. I just mean that he's strange.”
“No stranger than you,” Shelly quipped.
“Eat dirt, you skank.”
“Okay, stop it. We'll ask both of them,” Kiya said.
“That's too many people. You think Mrs. Crabtree isn't going to notice that like five of her students are missing?” Shelly asked.
“By the time she does, we'll be gone,” Kiya said.
Mrs. Crabtree pounded on Mr. Wright's office door with he
r fist. She waited, and for a moment it seemed like no one was there. The door handle slowly moved, and the door opened to a crack, revealing Mr. Wright's face. “Mrs. Crabtree,” he said. “How can I help you?”
“We need to talk,” she answered.
“I'm having a meeting right now, can this wait?” he asked.
“No it can't, frankly. This needs to be addressed now,” she said, unwavering.
Mr. Wright seemed oddly relieved. He opened the door fully and invited Mrs. Crabtree in. “Please come in, perhaps you can join our meeting then.”
Mrs. Crabtree walked in to see a small group of other teachers sitting in a circle. It was her fellow colleagues, Mr. Barone, the music instructor, Ms. Whitten, one of the seventh grade teachers, and Mrs. Anderson, a young twenty-something teacher's assistant. Mr. Wright closed the door. His office was dark, but slightly illuminated by a small kerosene lamp in the corner of the room. “That's one thing I wanted to ask you about, where did we get all these kerosene lamps?” Mrs. Crabtree asked as she approached the center of the room. “We have emergency storage for such incidents,” he answered.
“And what kind of incidents?” she asked.
“That's exactly what we were discussing,” Mr. Barone said. “Please, have a seat.”
Mr. Barone pointed to an empty swivel chair next to him. Mrs. Crabtree sat as everyone looked to Mr. Wright, who paced in circles with his arms folded behind his back. “I'm simply explaining to your colleagues the reasons why this school has gone into full lockdown status. I think we've made some real progress,” he said.
Mr. Barone, clearly objecting, spoke immediately. “I want to be clear—and I think I speak for the other teachers here—when I say that the only progress we've made is the unanimous decision that we want to leave the school.”
“Nonsense, absolute nonsense, Mr. Barone. The point of being on lockdown is that no one is to leave the school, for their own safety,” Mr. Wright said.
Angered, Mr. Barone stood up. “What about the safety of my wife and children? I haven't spoken to them all day! We have no idea what's going on out there.”
The other teachers, with the exception of Mrs. Crabtree, nodded in agreement. Mr. Wright looked to Mrs. Crabtree. “Mrs. Crabtree, would you please talk some sense into Mr. Barone. These hysterics are not necessary. If the students see us going at each other's throats, it's going to create a panic.”
“Well, actually,” Mrs. Crabtree said clearing her throat, “I'm a little concerned about the level of authority that we're losing over our classrooms. I had a few students come into class and tell me that we were to move to the gymnasium, under your authority.”
“That's ridiculous!” Mr. Barone added.
Mr. Wright glared at Mrs. Crabtree, clearly disappointed. He stopped pacing and turned to address the teachers. “I understand that you have reservations about the course we're taking here. But as I've said repeatedly, my greatest concern is for the safety the students and you, my dedicated faculty.”
“We want the same things, Mr. Wright, but we have families. The children have families. It doesn't make sense to keep us here like prisoners,” Mrs. Anderson said.
Mr. Wright rubbed his forehead letting out a deep sigh. He turned from the teachers and faced the wall. The teachers gave each other a concerned look.
“I appreciate your input, Mrs. Anderson. And all the comments from the group. I understand where each of you is coming from. If you want to leave the school, obviously I can't keep you here against your will. But understand that we cannot open those front gates until the terror alert has been downgraded.”
Grumbling from the teachers ensued to which Mr. Wright continued, “There is another way out of the school that one of my student monitors can escort you to, that is, if you feel comfortable leaving your classrooms behind.”
“Well, why does it have to be like that?” Mr. Barone asked. “This isn't about just us. We want to make sure the children get home too.”
Mr. Wright ignored Mr. Barone and opened his office door. Standing outside was Charlie McFarland, an eight-grader, infamous in reputation as the school's worst problem child. His suspensions were a common occurrence. He had been held back twice. He had been transferred from class to class constantly for unruly behavior that included fights, vandalism, smoking, and cursing at the teachers. He had become a student no teacher wanted. It was a miracle that he hadn't been expelled. The teachers in the room recoiled at the sight of him. He stared into the room under the bangs of his jet black hair.
“Everyone, I'm sure that you're familiar with Charles. He'll escort you to the back exit.”
“What is the meaning of this? Seriously, sir,” Ms. Whitten said, speaking for the first time.
“Yes, this isn't exactly what we wanted. I thought we were going to have a serious discussion about what is happening in this school,” Mr. Barone added.
Mr. Wright walked over to his desk, opened the bottom drawer, and pulled out a kerosene lantern.
“Come in, Charles,” he said, beckoning the student.
Charlie walked in—black jacket, torn blue jeans and all—and took the lantern from Mr. Wright.
“Please escort the teachers out of the school,” Mr. Wright.
“We're not going anywhere,” Mr. Barone objected.
“Oh, so now you want to stay? I really wish someone would make up their mind here,” Mr. Wright said with an eye roll.
“This is insane,” Mr. Barone said. “And I would like to add that your behavior is extremely unprofessional. We haven't resolved a thing!”
“Charles, remember what we discussed?” Mr. Wright said, leaning towards him. Charlie nodded as Mr. Wright turned to address the teachers. “Here's your options, go back to the classroom and file your students into their respective areas, or leave. Or if neither suit you, your other option is termination.”
The teachers looked at each other in shock. “What?” Ms. Whitten asked in disbelief.
“Are you threatening to fire us?” Mr. Barone shouted.
“I'm not making any threats. But if you fail to comply with current school protocols, you may not only lose your jobs, but you may find yourself unable to find employment anywhere else, for the rest of your lives. Let's see the letters, Charles.”
Charles pulled several letters from his jacket pocket. He opened one and proceeded to read it. “Mr. Barone made several inappropriate comments to me regarding his sex life. He asked me if I had a boyfriend and if we had 'done anything' yet. I caught him staring at me several times in class and in the gym locker room. Signed, Jessica Albright.”
Mr. Barone's face contorted in confusion and anger. “Are you kidding me? Is this some kind of sick joke?”
“Jessica Albright?” Mr. Wright asked sarcastically. “Why she's one of the top students in school. And here Charles has a signed confession in his hand of her alluding to inappropriate behavior on the part of our music director, Mr. Barone.”
“And there's more where that came from,” Charlie said. He took another letter from his pocket and read it. “Mrs. Anderson touched me after class and told me that I was 'just the right age for sex.' We went in the janitor’s closet and did some 'naughty' stuff. Signed, Edward Smith.”
“Oooo. He's another top student. No one would question his integrity,” Mr. Wright said.
Mrs. Anderson's face went flush with embarrassment and sadness. “What is the meaning of this? I would never—”
“According to these letters, you did,” Mr. Wright said. “Charles got confessions from students of every teacher in this room, with the exception of our unexpected guest, Mrs. Crabtree. Now whether she wants to have the same thing happen is entirely up to her.”
“This is some kind of grotesque blackmail. Do you really think you'll get away with such viscous tactics?” Mr. Barone said.
“Yes, I do. Now go with Charles or I'll have Deputy Willis apprehend each one of you for sexual assault.”
“Mr. Wright!” Ms. Whitten shouted. “Wh
at has gotten into you?”
“We're done here. There's nothing left to say,” Mr. Wright said turning his back to the students.
“You're not going to get away with this,” Mr. Barone shouted.
“Hm. Spoken like a true television detective. Give them a minute to think about their options,” Mr. Wright said with a pat on Charlie's shoulder.
Mrs. Crabtree looked around the room, then to her fellow teachers. With worried looks on their faces, no one offered any alternative. The decision to return to her classroom was overpowering, as if some force was pushing her to the door. Mrs. Crabtree rose from her chair. “I think I need to go check on my students,” she said, and she walked out of the room. The desperate eyes of her peers followed her.
“Times up,” Mr. Wright said to the remaining teachers. No one responded.
“Go ahead and escort them out of the school,” Mr. Wright said to Charlie. He then looked to the teachers. “Please follow Charles,” he said.
The teachers got up, looking weary in their defeat, and followed Charlie out the door. Mr. Wright stepped outside his office and watched them walk down the hall. “No hard feelings, I hope,” he said with a smile.
“Where are you taking us?” Mr. Barone asked Charlie, as they walked in a single file line behind him.
“To the back entrance of the school,” he answered. They passed through a door at the end of the hall that led to a flight of stairs. Charlie held up his lantern and pointed to the stairs. “That way,” he said.
“Charlie, look, I know we have had our difficulties in the past, but you have to tell me what Mr. Wright is up to. What did he tell you?” Mr. Barone said with a hint of desperation.
“Nothing. He just wants me to help keep order in the school,” Charlie answered.
“You? Keep order?” Mr. Barone laughed. “Excuse me, but you're the last student I think that wants order around here.”
“I don't have all night, Mr. Barone. You guys want to leave or what?” Charlie said with an exhausted sigh.
The End Boxset: Postapocalyptic Visions of an Unstoppable Collapse Page 17
