One Grey Night It Happened

“Hands up! Get your hands up!” A volley of shots echoed from Robert E Lee Academy. Some students stopped in front of Deputy Russell; others raced by. Tearful, a girl collapsed at the deputy’s feet. There was a moment of silence; then another round of gunshots sounded. Hearing the intermittent bursts from the M16, Lucas Bradshaw attempted to escape the surge of students. As Lucas turned toward the library, he met heavy resistance, was spun around, and bumped through the exit, landing directly in front of Deputy Perkins, who screamed at him in a high-pitched voice. “Hands up!” Listening to the gunshots behind him, Lucas looked at Russell in disbelief. He stood motionless; his hands remained at his side. “I said hands up!” Another volley of shots echoed from the school. The windows of the library shattered; shards of glass flashed in the air. His face turning red, Russell stared with hostility and hatred at Lucas. “Nigger, get your hands in the air!” “You bastard!” Lucas shouted. “They’re killing us! Go inside and do your job!” “This is my job!” There was screaming and shouting; a tight circle of bodies formed around Lucas and the deputy. Feeling intense pressure, Russell pointed the gun at Lucas. “Hands up! I ain’t telling you again!” “You coward!” Swinging with all his strength. Lucas cracked Russell on the jaw. His knees buckling, Russell collapsed. Lucas grabbed the Beretta, and pushing through the bewildered crowd, he raced into the school. Running wildly down the hall, Lucas saw the library door was swung open. A firm grip on the Beretta, he charged inside and glimpsed Timmy Adams and Henry Whipple standing nonchalantly amongst the dead and dying. “Bastards,” Lucas muttered. Removing the magazine clip from his M16, Timmy was at the librarian’s desk. A short distance away, dressed in dark military pants and his clown T-shirt, Henry Whipple stood over the body of senior class president Blake Slocum. “Hello there, Mr. Blake-ee.” Henry was drooling, grinning profusely. His ludicrous face mimicking that of the smiley clown, Henry put a red berry into the senior’s mouth. “Hey, Timmy,” Henry boasted. “Blake-ee’s number nine.” “I got me nine too. I guess we’re tied.” Timmy pointed at the doorway. “But look. Lucas has joined the game. He’ll break the tie.” Listening to the killers, Lucas felt a fierce loathing. His back and shoulder muscles tightening, he stopped and addressed Henry. “Why?” he asked. “Because I can,” Henry gloated. Squeezing the berries in his hand—juice flowing between his fingers—Henry stood and broadcast in a superior tone. “Because I can and you can’t. Don’t you see how that makes me a stronger person . . . a better person?” “No, I don’t see that.” “Well, to eliminate any confusion, I’ll prove it to you.” Sweat glistening on his face, Henry swung the M16 toward Lucas. In a quick motion, Lucas leveled the Beretta and shot twice—one bullet spiraled through Henry’s neck, the other struck him in the chest. The M16 dropped to the floor. Henry made a gagging noise and fell awkwardly—grabbing at his throat. Whirling through the air, Dogwood berries descended and splashed in pools of blood. Moving away from the librarian’s desk, Timmy Adams watched his friend’s body twitching on the floor. An annoyed look on his face, Timmy checked the magazine in his M16. “It’s your lucky day, Lucas,” Timmy remarked, his expression changing from annoyance to anger. “I used up my thirty rounds. I’m out of ammunition.” “So?” “So the game’s over.” “It’s not over, Timmy. I’m looking for Dolly. Have you seen her?” “Yeah, Lucas. I seen her. She’s behind the desk. She was the first. But it wasn’t me, Lucas. I was trying not to shoot any girls I knew. I’m principled like that—mostly because of what Mom taught me growing up. Henry wasn’t considerate like me. He shot Dolly. “That put me behind in the score so I had to shoot Lisa and Mary—they’re piled along the wall. Mary fell on Lisa trying to protect her so I moved up close, put the gun to Mary’s back, and killed them both with one shot. Saving ammunition . . . you know.” Lucas glanced at the bodies along the wall. Then he saw Dolly’s Converse sneaker protruding from behind the librarian’s desk. There was a dark smear on the fluorescent green cloth and the laces were soaked in blood. Moving quickly, Lucas jumped over Henry’s body, knocked the M16 out of Timmy’s hand, and stuffed the gun into his stomach. Timmy complained in a mournful tone. “You see what I was doing, don’t you, Lucas? You see how smart I was?” “Yeah, Timmy, I see that now.”