Dr. Barry's students decided to go with the plan to observe, thinking

it was just another rally. There was nothing left of the lesson plan Sam

had slapped together, and he'd said what he'd wanted. He felt helpless now.

When the bell rang at 11:45, it was a relief. Soon it would all be over.

He left his books at the desk and followed the students out. They kept

close together as they headed toward the athletic field, as Al had suggested.

The Freedom Bell, utilized normally for pep rallies and the like, was being

rang by a student, calling others to assemble. The area near Taylor Hall

was already crowded. The west side of Blanket Hill, across from the troops,

took on a surreal quality for Sam, seeming more like a gathering at a

sporting event than a prelude to a disaster. Everyone was shouting, and none

of it made sense.

As they gathered in the field, Sam counted heads. Out of his thirty-six

kids, twenty were left here with him. Hundreds of students were assembled

under Blanket Hill, waiting for the rally to begin. He noticed also that

many students just hurried along, between classes, going to lunch or

whatever, before the afternoon session. Even now, in this chaos, life

went on.

Sam tried hard to convince himself that this had been his concept of

'leaping' all along. To observe historical events, tragic events, in the

history that was available to him. Fear choked him now, not knowing what

to do or why he was here. It was obvious that he couldn't stop the situation

around him. Time marched on and over him.

Al was suddenly at his elbow. "We found the original history, Sam!" He

sounded elated. "When Dr. Barry disappeared after Kent State, he never

appeared anywhere again. Ziggy says he never returned, not even to pack his

stuff. His landlady reported him as missing, which started rumors that he

was a fifth shooting victim that the government was covering up. We have no

current data on him!"

"What could have happened to him, Al?"

The Observer shrugged. "What we theorize is that when Barry cut and ran

some of the kids had their support shoved out from under them. He might have

felt he'd goaded the kids into the incident. He couldn't handle his

guilt, and the kids didn't come to terms with theirs."

"Big help, Al," Sam said out of the side of his mouth. "I'd figured most

of that."

"That's not all, Sam. While Barry encouraged the kids to demonstrate, with

that lecture you may have changed some minds. If you can keep him here, give

him a reason to stay, like holding this bunch of students together, he'll

achieve tenure and remain at Kent the rest of his teaching career."

"Where was Dr. Barry when the firing started?"

Al wrinkled his brow as the information scrolled across the screen. He

needed glasses and refused to where them. "According to Ziggy, some

students saw him running toward the parking lot." His expression was dark

with worry as he looked up from the display. "That's where a lot of the

kids bought it."

"And we're in the field-away from the parking lot." With some sense of

relief, Sam turned back to his students. A couple of the girls and Artie

were standing as close to him as they could, trying not to look frightened.

"They're loading gas, Prof." Artie's voice took on a hard tone. "They'll

shoot it toward the Hill, won't they?"

The cannisters were fired-it seemed hundreds of them-but the smoke blew

away from teh students and toward the Guard. In the parking lot, a cheer

went up, until they realized the gas was headed towards them.

From the line of kids in front and in back of them, Sam knew they didn't

have space to run, if they had to move fast. Glancing at his watch, Sam

noted the time. 12:24. A second later, the first shots rang out.

"What the hell are they firing?" Artie strained to watch the troops

shoot. Smoke was rising from their position on the Hill.

"Blanks?"

With cold certainty, Sam knew Artie was wrong. Screams split the shouting,

the chaos. A mass of humanity was running for cover, any cover. At the first

crack of rifle fire, Sam had followed the instinct to drop. The blond

girl from his group was a few feet in front of him, screaming in blind

panic. Inching his way over to her, he pulled her to the ground and held

her until the sound of weapon fire stopped. Artie was on the grass next

to Sam, his face an expression of stunned disbelief. Helping them up, he

looked back toward the parking lot. A crowd was gathering there, not more

than five hundred feet away. It was as if time had slowed and suddenly

silenced the screams.

Feeling numb, he checked Artie and the girl. She seemed to have recovered,

her gaze stunned and wide, turning her face to the professor. "They

shot us." Her voice was small and empty.

Sam held her close for a moment, then felt he was needed elsewhere, with

the injured and dying. He glanced at Artie. Reaching over, he took the

boy's hand and the three hurried across the field to the parking lot to

assist the wounded.

Sam couldn't tell where to start. It was obvious the moment he saw the

carnage that he was in the middle of the target area. One girl had no

throat. A pool of blood grew beneath her unconscious body. There was one

boy lying as if dead. He, too, had been shot. All Sam could do was make

him comfortable and urge the students not to move him. If the ambulances

arrived in time he might live, but from the nature of the wound, he'd

probably be paralyzed for life. Kneeling by the wounded boy, Sam felt

cloth pushed into his hand. Artie was at his elbow tearing his t-shirt

into strips. Together, they wrapped the boy with the makeshift bandage

and stabilized him until help could come. Artie and Sam exchanged tight

grins as they tied the last of the cloth. His bleeding had stopped.

"Stay with him, Artie," Sam said, pushing up from the ground.

He offered a backwards glance toward Al and found he was right at his

shoulder. His face was blank with grief, fresh and bright. "This is like

a war zone," he heard Al mutter.

Sam knelt next to another kid, a young man with a shoulder wound. Beneath

Sam's hands, he was quiet, not crying out as his injury was treated. "It

is a war zone, Al." Blood streaked the scientist's hands and face as he held

a pad over the shoulder; the boy was passing out. In the distance he couuld C hear the sound of sirens. Would the student allow the ambulances to get

through? Would they arrive too late?

"Aw, Sam." Al looked confused, wandering through the people hurrying around

him. It was like the battle of Do Chi, but this one had been fought on

American soil. He watched as Sam shook his head, giving the boy up to

the attendants. Half-crounched on the ground, tears streaking down his

face, Sam looked pretty messed up.

"Kid?" Al leaned down to try to make his friend hear him. "We'll leave

soon. Any minute you'll leap."

Al had never seen such vulnerability on Sam Beckett's face before. His

partner had never been one to hide his emotions.

"Leaping won't help me forget this." Sam locked gazes with his friend

for a moment, then went to help more wounded.

The injured and dying were taken away and Sam still hadn't leaped. The

campus was being systematically cleared and it was quiet, even with

the crowd that was gathered. Sam was in the midst of it, blood staining

nearly every bit of clothing and exposed skin. He felt numb. The touch

of a hand on his shoulder made his head come up. It was Artie. And the

others in his class. Somehow, they had found him.

"What do we do now, Dr. Barry?" Artie's voice was as dead as Sam felt. He

was covered in blood, too, from assisting the injured.

"You did good, Artie. Maybe it's your calling." He had to grin at the

look that crossed the boy's face.

"That's it, Sam." Al gestured with the link. "

"Artie goes on to medical school. Not that he finishes it, but he becomes

an emergency medical technician, and a good one, too."

Sam glanced down at his hands and fingernails. Blood, dark and drying. The

faces of the students around him were expectant, hoping he had all the

answers. What could he tell these people? That 'THEY' had won? Give them

another lecture? Pulling as many as he could into his arms, Sam held the

students close. Touch, not words, was what would help them heal. And time.

He knew Dr. Barry better now. The kids were clinging to him, frightened,

and willing for his comfort. That was why the professor was staying this

time-to help them through this, each of them, including Artie who was

headed toward a better future.

After the ones living on campus had collected their things, the group

headed toward the Triumph. They couldn't bring much, leaving most of teh

their possesions to be picked up later. The Guard was clearing off

everyone. Sam managed to stuff four students and their luggage into the

little car. Al was standing alone by the driver's side as they arrived,

looking fairly shaken.

Sam glanced at his friend. There was more of an understanding in his

eyes now, a feeling of relief that it was over, and something else he

couldn't fathom.

"You gonna be okay?" Al asked.

"I think so." Sam grinned. His heart wasn't in it.

"Dr. Barry will be okay, too, I think. According to Ziggy he stays at

Kent and helps the kids traumatized by the murders. He's still teaching

and crisis counselling for the school."

Sam glanced back as the kids settled in the Triumph, his hand on the car

door. They were too busy talking among themselves to notice much else.

"How is he going to understand what happened today if he wasn't here to

witness it?"

"He'll know. And, with these kids around, he'll learn to accept it. The

kids do okay, too." Al's voice reflected the grief in his eyes.

Sam got in the car and turned the engine over. It was a bit cramped ion

the front, even with the top of the car down. He twisted around to

adjust the side mirror. It was off-kilter, and as he turned it into

position, his eyes widened in shock. There was a bullet hole, neatly

centered. It had travelled through the mirror and away. His last

thought, before he leaped, was wondering what Dr. Barry's reaction would

be when he saw it.

He sensed he materialized in familiar territory. It gave him a sense of

peace, even with his eyes closed. And the smell-an aroma, like a deep

part of himself coming through-a memory.

"October. No, November!" His eyes took in the golden glory around him.

Seed corn. /And where there's seed corn-there's pheasants!/

The End