AN: yes, I am aware that this is getting worse the longer it grows. I am rushing, I can't help it. I just want to get on with my original story.
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Dempsey and Makepeace leapt out of the car the moment it had screeched to a halt, barely pausing to lock it, with no thought of calling in. All they knew was that they had to get inside.
They reached the gate; the school secretary had already locked it behind them, and was nowhere to be seen. Dempsey slammed a shoulder into it; it did not yield, so he drew his gun and shot the lock off. The two of them raced through the gate to the sound of two more gunshots and followed the deadly sound.
They hurried across the schoolyard and silently entered the building which contained a row of classrooms and, at the end of the long, U-shaped corridor, the library. The two crept forwards, keeping to the walls, looking carefully through the glass windows set within the wooden door of each classroom. Some contained terrified students and teachers, hiding away; others were empty, the occupants having decided to run. Harry's heart was racing; what would they find?
Just as they turned the first corner, the air was rent with a burst of gunfire from behind them. Harry whirled around as she heard the door to the building being wrenched open; a pause, and another door was opened. The shots were followed by terrified screams and running feet, and underneath it all a kind of delighted laughter.
Harry and James exchanged a wide-eyed glance as the fading laughter continued towards them. Dempsey jerked his head to indicate an alcove, in which were located 3 doors, for the bathrooms, and dragged Harry by the arm into it; they disappeared just in time. They both waited, breathing rapidly but silently, where they had stopped, listening to the sound of muted footsteps getting closer.
Harry suddenly became aware that Dempsey was directly in front of her, holding her arms back against the wall behind her, and he was gazing into her face with a kind of hunger. He met her eyes and breathed: "Harry if you don't let me kiss you now it might never happen." She dare not speak but he read her answer in the raising of her head, the parting of her lips. Harry wondered, for the second between his question and his kiss, if her pupils were as dilated as his were.
It was nothing like she had imagined, no soft press of the lips after a dinner date; this kiss was longing and need. It was all the things which words were too slow to say; it was goodbye and thank you and if we never get out of this; but underneath it all was trust.