Killer of Giants

by Oliver Lockhart

my Dr Pepper bottle into a sticky ball of pulp. Skipping math and going to history early gave me quiet time to think.

  Dark clouds swirled outside the window. As much as history wasn’t my thing, I didn’t mind the distraction from wondering when Bundy and his psycho-buddies would beat my last breath out of me. They weren’t known for their interest in the humanities, so hiding in history class was about as safe as it got, at least till I had a better plan. And it wasn’t that I was in the habit of running from trouble. Fighting is something I’d learned to live with, was even good at in a fair match, but this was like accidentally telling a serial killer I’d slept with his mom. When he and his friends find me, it won’t be any ordinary beating. It’ll be hospital time.

  The bell rang and students streamed through the door. Estelle MacFarlane waddled in pushing a dusty TV and DVD player on a cart. Her floral dress strained against her pudgy body as she shuffled the cart to the front of the room. Her puffed beehive hair and fluorescent eye shadow looked like it had been that way for fifty years. Someone needed to tell her what not to wear.

  I opened my bag and took out a notebook and a chewed pen.

  Standing in front of the class, Estelle thumbed the TV remote and scratched her head. The plug for the power cord lay on the floor next to the cart. Nobody was going to cut her slack if there was a laugh to be had.

  The door opened again and Allie Brookes walked in, arching her neck like a swan’s as she reached up to tie her chestnut hair in a loose ponytail. Even though we only hung out in history class, she was about the only thing at Cannondale that didn’t make me want to leave. Unlike the other girls, her eyes weren’t covered in eyeliner and mascara, and she wore jeans instead of short skirts. In this place, any outfit that wasn’t short, tight, pink, and Abercrombie was social suicide, and she committed it daily. But it didn’t matter; she was cute without the hard work. I might have asked her out if there was a chance she’d be interested, but she wouldn’t go for a guy like me. At least the geeks understood why her shirt said “/nev/dull.”

  Allie flashed me a sympathetic smile and blinked her long eyelashes. “Glad you’re still in one piece.”

  I glanced behind her, half-expecting Bundy to be at the door.

  She dragged out the chair next to mine. “It was good of you to stand up to Bundy in the cafeteria after what he did to Danny. This school needs more people like you.”

  “Danny…?”

  “Everyone’s talking about you now.” She reached into her bag and her glasses slipped down her nose. Pushing them back up, she placed a pen and a notebook on her desk. “Are you in trouble with Principal Grendelmeier?”

  “Not sure, but he’s cotton candy compared to Kyle and his crew.”

  The classroom chatter grew louder. Estelle shut the door and waddled to her desk. “Settle down!” She clapped her hands sharply. “Continuing our study of World War II, today we’re going to watch Schindler’s List.”

  Allie opened her book to a page covered in blue pen flowers and butterflies. “It’s like double periods were invented so there’d be enough time to watch a movie. They should make the TV a member of the faculty.”

  “They might soon. They’re running out of teachers who’ll work here.”

  With power finally going to the TV, Estelle pried the disc from its case and slipped it into the DVD player. As the credits rolled, she settled into her chair and opened a pack of Oreos and a novel.

  Allie tapped her pen on the table. “How’s your friend Gordie doing after what Bundy did to him in the cafeteria?”

  “He’s okay. He’s just having a hard time adjusting to this place.”

  “Who even transfers to Cannondale anyway?” she asked. “I’ve only heard of people leaving this place.”

  “His old man lost his big-shot job at Chrysler and couldn’t pay for Notre Dame Prep anymore.”

  “It’s scary how there’s no jobs in Detroit.”

  The murmur of voices in the classroom grew louder as the dull images of World War II glowed on the screen. Students chatted in small groups while Sparky Donovan, a stoner with a rep for having smoked more than his own body weight in weed, placed small piles of dried plant material on electronic scales and divided them into plastic bags.

  Forty-five minutes into the movie, World War II was turning ugly with Nazis pushing weary families in tattered clothing onto trains. The classroom chatter faded and all eyes were on the screen as Nazi troops emptied rooms of people and shot anyone who complained.

  Allie cringed. “I know we’re seventeen and allowed to watch this, but I wish I wasn’t.”

  Estelle aimed the remote at the TV and the picture froze. “Now,” she said, reading from her worksheet, “who can tell me what the Nazi’s are doing in this scene?”

  Jayla Brown raised her hand. “Killing all the poor people.”

  “Not the poor people,” Estelle said. “They’re killing the Jewish people.”

  Jayla tilted her head. “Why the Jewish people?”

  “Well…” Estelle stared at the ceiling. “Like any kind of prejudice, there’s no logical rationale.” She clasped her hands and continued, sounding more teacherly than usual. “But perhaps sometimes it’s human nature to create an enemy where one doesn’t exist. Do we feel more fulfilled when we have an enemy?”

  A deep, resonating burp came from the far corner of the room.

  Estelle gazed out the window. “Remember though, under the right circumstances people do change their attitudes. Take Schindler, for example. As a member of the Nazi party, he mistreated Jewish people – he even profited from hiring them on a lower wage. But when the Nazi’s murdered Jews at Krakow Ghetto, he changed his mind and sacrificed his own well-being to save as many lives as he could.” She lifted the remote and balanced it in her hand. “Good people often stand idle when others do bad things, but they also have their limits.” She aimed the remote at the TV and the movie continued.

  I leaned closer to Allie. “So Bundy attacked me because it’s human nature?”

  “Guess so. It’s not just human nature though – all life has the basic instinct to fight.”

  On the screen, a Jewish woman gave construction advice to the Nazis, and then an officer shot her dead for speaking up. I thought about what Estelle said, and whispered to Allie, “At least things got better after World War II, right?”

  She raised an eyebrow and counted on her fingers. “East Timor, Sudan, Argentina, Iraq, Bosnia, Cambodia… choose any part of the world and you’ll find governments doing bad things to innocent people.” She picked up her pen and drew petals on her flower. “Given an opportunity, people do bad things. Period.”

  It was no wonder Allie was an honors student. I slumped in my chair. “Maybe we’re all capable of bad things if we’re around people who let it happen.”

  “Maybe.” Allie shrugged. “But I guess if you grow up around people who condone violence, it becomes easier to hurt people who see things differently to you.”

  Estelle glared at us, straightening her glasses. It usually took a few interruptions to raise her hackles. We’d be good for a couple more.

  “So what’s Bundy’s excuse?” I whispered.

  Allie drew another petal on her flower. “No idea. For Kyle though, his mom left when he was young – maybe that has something to do with his problems.”

  “My mom died of cancer, and my old man’s a drunk, but I don’t go around beating on people.”

  She stopped drawing. “Oh… I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

  A low murmur of chatter started on the other side of the room.

  “It’s okay.”

  She leaned closer, a sweet smell coming from her skin. “Kyle’s mom wasn’t the only one who messed him up. Did you hear about his father?”

  “Chief Swindon? I’ve heard the rumors. He sounds about as bent as they come.”

  She lowered her voice. “You know how some kids get their mouths washed out if they swear? When Kyle was nine, he said ‘f
uck’ during a football game. So what did his father do? Took everything he owned and burned it – toys, clothes, everything.”

  “Harsh.”

  “And one day Kyle was late home, so his father burned a cigarette into his chest and chained him to a tree.” Allie’s eyes looked distant. “If anyone’s responsible for Kyle’s loose screws, it’s his father. Kyle never stood a chance.”

  Estelle peered at me over the top of her glasses. “Chris Maddox, quiet please.” She shifted in her seat and lifted her book.

  It was depressing to think that the human race hurts itself just because nobody stops it. I whispered, “Do you think governments will ever stop doing bad things to people?”

  Allie drew a smiley face on her flower. “If people weren’t so stupid, we’d do a better job of protecting each other.” She swiped the screen on her phone and gasped. “Something’s happened.”

  “What?”

  “It’s Gordie. He’s hurt. It’s his finger.”

  I felt the blood drain from my face. The school bell buzzed and the room erupted into chatter and bag packing. Estelle hit the remote without lifting her eyes from her book. She wasn’t the only one who needed to escape this place.

  Allie packed her bag and slung the strap over her shoulder. She patted my back. “Take care of yourself, Chris.” With a worried frown, she walked out of the room.

  4. Extinguishing the Fire

  A deep voice groaned in the darkness. “What time is it?”

  Across the living room, my old man lay on the couch with his head