Chapter Four: Pandemonium
Mr. Noah Cuttler wrote the equation with haste on the board; today was a most infuriating day for him. He had sent two delinquents to the Deans office in the first hour alone. And now, after lunch, was his rowdiest class of the day; it always was.
Rachael strode to her seat as did many other students, and promptly started the warm-up problem. She enjoyed this class overall; sure the teacher was a jerk, but he taught with a passion.
The warning bell had rung, and he expected his students to be on time and quietly working on the warm-up problem by the time the final bell rang.
The final bell never had a chance to ring.
A robust man with a black jacket entered his room, his hands tucked away in his pockets. His brown hair was cut short and his cold blue eyes searched the class.
"Can I help you, Sir? I see you don't have a visitors pass," He said sternly.
Rachael, being the first of few to enter his class early, took the mans entry with suspicion. She calculated his posture and facial expression in account and figured he was looking for her. For once he laid eyes on her, a brief moment of realization mixed with a smirk fell on him.
Rachael's heart began to race, her veins shot with ice water.
The man ripped his hands from his pockets with a Glock .45 in each hand and shot Mr. Cuttler in the chest. Rachael screamed and fell out of her desk. The man aimed for students as he mowed them down.
He never hit Rachael. But he always kept his eye on her.
The gunshots rang down the halls and created a mass affect of pandemonium. Then ensued the alarm; the blare of the bells cut through the panicked voice over the intercom.
Rachael scooted backwards on her butt, trying to escape the madman. The mans thin lips smiled in amusement.
Something warm and slick made her hand slip. And glancing down made her want to vomit. A round deep crimson tainted the floor under a body of a young man; his mouth agape covering a wordless scream and his eyes stared blankly at Rachael. She pulled her hand up to stare at her red dipped fingers and tears rimmed her eyes.
Why would he do this?
Why would anyone do this?
Of course she knew the answer; It's just good business.
The man stood above her bearing a wicked grin. He bent down so that his smug face was a foot away from her tear soaked one.
"Hi Rachael, my names Floyd, but you can call me Deadshot."
She stared up in horror, transfixed by the malice of the man. Then, in one swift motion, he pistol whipped her unconscious. Her face half landing in the young mans blood.
He picked her up and threw her over his shoulder before walking out of the room, stepping over a young woman's body as he stepped out the door.
o\0\8/0/o
Richard stumbled down the halls trying to find a room to hide in. Every door he found was locked, and even if there was someone inside, they wouldn't let him in; the school drilled them not to in case the shooter wasn't far behind.
The alarm kept blaring but the shooting stopped.
After a few seconds Richard heard a soft crutch. It nearly made his stomach do flips.
He must be close, he thought.
Down the elongated hallway a single door stood open; sticking past the threshold was a pair of legs, blood trialed into the hallway.
The moment of realization dawned his face, allowing for a paleness to take over. He clasped a hand to his mouth to stifle the odd squeak that tried to escape. Suppressed memories of tight ropes and acrobatics played silently in his eyes. He was very good and holding them back in his daily life, with the exception of today.
A firm hand clasped his shoulder, and he jumped to the side to prepare for a fight.
"Whoa calm down, Dick; it's just me," Victor Stone put his hands up in the universal sign of peace.
"Sorry," He huffed a sigh to relax his rapid heart rate.
"Dude, why are you out here?"
"I should ask you the same, I didn't make it to a class in time."
"I was heading down to the auditorium to help one of the teachers. Then the alarms went crazy—"
The words left Victors mouth as he caught sight of the bottom half of a body sticking from the doorway. He immediately wove around Richard and hastily approached it. Once he caught sight of all the other bodies, he realized that this was the class he was supposed to be attending. An unknown tear rolled silently down his cheek.
"Hey, you okay?" Richard asked slowly.
"No man, I'm not. This was the class I was supposed to be in. I would've been dead like all these guys. It's not fair; I was selfish and I chose to skip it. I don't deserve to live while they didn't have a choice," Victor's voice cracked towards the end. His palm wiped his eyes dry and he took a settling breath.
He continued, "I just feel really selfish right now—Rachael! This was her class!"
Before anything else could be said Richard jumped into the room. He held his breath; to avoid throwing up and to avoid smelling the bitter copper and death smell that was feint in the hallway but concentrated in the class. His eyes scanned over the bodies quickly. There was a few students he had known, but they had not been deer to him like Rachael was.
"She's not here, Vic," He mustered a small smile, then shook his head in regret; now is not the time to be happy or smile. But at least he had a clue that his Rachael might be safe.
His Rachael. He hadn't meant to think that. She was not his—not yet. He really liked her and he suspected that she liked him right back. But they were just friend, he kept telling himself; however, he felt more for her.
"I should've been here. I wonder if she's okay?" Victor's guilt trapped his eyes with glisten and pain, regret and loss dropped down his cheeks in small wells.
"We have to find her!" Richard strode out of the room, happy to get away from the carnage. Victor solemnly followed.