"School's out for summer.
School's out for ever!"
Drew forced a smile. She knew Casper was trying to cheer her up, but he had a terrible singing voice.
Casper's oral massacre subsided, and he sat down on the sofa next to her. He put his arm around her.
Six weeks had passed since the terrible accident. Drew knew she should be happy – after all, she was still alive, and school had ended last week. But every night she kept reliving that fateful afternoon in her nightmares.
At least she still had Casper. Most of the survivors had gone their separate ways when school ended. Zoë, for example, had now got a full-time job in her nightclub. Seb was acting in a play in the local theatre, and was busy rehearsing. Alexa had obtained a minor role in the play, in order to be with Seb. Leo was still working in the garage. Phoebe had set up her own website. Brett wasn't doing much. He still hung out with Casper a lot.
She knew nothing of the others – Zack, Jerry, Sam or Danny. All she knew was that no one had actually left town yet.
They had all had mixed reactions to Drew after the bus crash. Casper, Brett, Leo, Jerry, Phoebe – they all were extremely grateful to her for saving their lives. Zoë, Seb, Sam and Danny were avoiding her now, as they thought she was weird, and her premonition had scared them. Alexa and Zack were downright nasty to her.
Drew sighed at the memory of the others. She closed her eyes and snuggled up next to Casper. At least he was here to protect her. At least the horrible event was behind her.
At least it was over.
Wasn't it?
"Presenting our last contender… JERRY GRIEVER!" boomed the voice around the arena.
Jerry Griever emerged from a door to loud cheering. He grinned, and waved at everyone. He loved it.
He had entered this competition to prove he was the best marksman in the area. He had entered others before, and always won. He was confident he would do the same now. He wasn't in it for the prize, which was basically some money, a certificate and a bunch of flowers.
He went over to the mark on the floor, which told him where to stand, and drew his gun.
It was a Colt .45 – quite a large gun, but with a lot of stopping power. Plus, it could shoot right through a brick wall. And it was his. He stood in the position, and, as the first target flicked up, he opened fire.
Jerry found it difficult to return to the changing room after the contest. He had won, of course – he always did. He had been presented with a large bouquet of roses, which looked nice, but weren't really practical. Oh well.
After shaking dozens of people by the hand, he finally got into the locker room, and had peace at last. He was alone here – all the other contenders were long gone.
He figured he would take a long, hot shower, then go out to a swanky restaurant and spend some of the money he had won.
Squeak
Jerry jumped. He almost drew his gun. Then he relaxed. It was nothing.
Squeak
Jerry looked around the room, puzzled. There was no one here, so where had that noise come from?
Squeak squeak squeak
Now Jerry really did draw his gun. There was definitely something in the room. But where?
Squeak squeak CLANK
Jerry whipped round. The sound had come from the showers. They were cut off from the lockers by a wooden partition, but it had been slid almost all the way back. Only one shower was hidden from view.
That must be where the noise was coming from.
He listened.
Silence.
Maybe he had imagined it.
Creeeaaaaak
"Who's there?" he demanded. There was no answer. "Show yourself!" he tried again. Nothing.
He cocked the gun. "Alright, I've given you fair warning," he said, casually. "I'll shoot on the count of three. One."
Nothing happened.
"Two."
Still nothing.
"Three. Ready or not, here I come!" Jerry fired the gun. The bullet smashed straight through the wood and hit something on the other side with a loud ding.
Water sprayed everywhere. Jerry, surprised, looked around the sliding door.
He had killed a shower.
He burst out laughing. He had been spooked by a loose shower head. That was something to tell his friends in the pub later.
He took a step forward, and slipped on the water that had sprayed over the floor from the deceased shower.
The gun flew out of his hand. He fell on his back on the hard tiled floor.
There were several hooks along the benches in the middle of the floor. You know, for hanging your stuff on while getting changed. The gun somehow managed to fall on one of these hooks, so it was supported by the trigger.
Jerry saw this, and quickly leapt to his feet, as the gun fired.
The area of floor that Jerry's head had been on two seconds ago disintegrated.
Jerry stared. That was impossible. Okay, since it had happened, it wasn't impossible, but it was highly unlikely.
He realised he hadn't breathed since he hit the ground. He drew a deep breath, and shivered. First he got off a bus that then crashed. There now, he won the shooting competition. And now, he had narrowly avoided death for the second time.
He was one lucky bastard.
His face broke into a grin. He would ring Drew West and tell her. She would like that.
He grabbed his gun off the hook, and turned back to where the gun case was.
He took a step forward.
He slipped again.
This time, he regained his balance.
The gun fell from his hand.
It hit the floor.
It went off.
The bullet pierced Jerry's lower jaw. It continued through his brain and out the other side.
Jerry's body fell to the floor. His blood mingled with the water.
Beside him lay the blood-red roses.