"The Last White Event."
[Branded 1.2]
Blinking away hazy vision. My sight clears and what greets me first is a plume of dark smoke rapidly rising through the massive hole in the ceiling. The very next is the unwelcome screech of the fire alarm blaring overhead.
To suffer one horrible morning alarm is criminal enough, a second is warrant of corporal punishment.
The pressure I'd felt begins to dull. Though its memory lingers still. Brief bursts of images, of faraway stars and a blinding white light. I idly wonder if it had been real, or a delusion brought upon by the blood rushing to my head which is now awash with half formed questions. The most basic of which are composed with colorful swear words that would make a sailor blush.
Attempting to sit up proved difficult. There's a shadow of prickly numbness running up my arms, a hollow sense that seemed to quickly wane then just as readily return. My forehead throbbed, feeling like I'd been staring at flashing lights for too long, there were spots in the corners of my eyes. On top of that, there was an unsettling churning in my stomach, like I'm about to lose my breakfast all over again.
My thoughts drift to what must have been only minutes ago, back to the horrible sight that had greeted me. The muck of putrid waste intertwined with spent hygiene products. The mere thought of that awful smell nearly sent heaving again.
Recalling that I'd been dunked headfirst into that mess, I ran a hand gingerly through my dark hair. Without a mirror I could only speculate on my outward appearance and just how badly I'll need to wash up later. But, to my surprise, I felt nothing as I ran my fingers along the top of my head. Probing deeper, scratching at my scalp, I continued to find no evidence of the event. As if the whole thing hadn't happened.
But it had happened. And I wasn't trapped anymore. I'd gotten out somehow.
Looking for familiar landmarks, I quickly recognized the unblemished second floor staircase further away. Comparing it relative to my current position and contrasting it from my memories of walking to and from my locker, I frowned at the results. Based on what I could tell, I was probably lying where my locker had stood. More specifically, I was flat on my back where a row of lockers including my own as well as the wall it leaned against should have been.
Glancing around, searching for answers, I noted the poorly waxed tile floor beneath me was in a pristine condition relative to the rest of the surrounding hall. Blackened scorch marks encircled me, and ashy soot rained down like flakes from the burned ceiling.
Really taking a look now, I understood that I was kneeling in a disaster zone. Winslow had three whole floors filled with classrooms. A mere glance upward and I can tell by the hole that whatever had happened had blasted cleanly through the roof to the bottom. Or, possibly from the other way, the inside out. It was a dark thought, but it was one worth consideration. That someone had brought a bomb and set it off. Entire sections of walls had been blasted through, extending roughly fifty feet in diameter around me to the ends of the classrooms on the other side.
I paused at the thought of it.
Classrooms.
After running away and hiding for so long from the Trio, I'd gotten good at finding my way around the school. By the second month of my freshman year, I'd committed the layout to memory. There were classrooms right where the hole was. Three whole floors with two rooms on either side of the hall which made six, and last I checked they were in session.
Peering into the wreckage, through the rising smoke, I could make out several still forms in the ground level classroom across from me. Only the furthest looked vaguely identifiable as crumpled up in heaps, charred bodies folded up on themselves like used napkins and were supported only by melted desks. Those closest, however, had been reduced to bone and ash.
The sight was paralyzing. I'd seen a dead body once before. It was one horrible day in what had been a horrible two years. But, looking over at split open skin and bone searing burns, I realized that this was somehow worse. All those people, who were my age, younger or older, they'd been there and now they were gone. My only hope was that they hadn't suffered. That whatever caused this had the mercy of killing them before they could tell they were being burned alive.
I wanted to scream, out of frustration more so than disgust or fear. Because I was still here, and all those people weren't. I felt like I'd been left here on purpose. As if I'd been freed from the locker to hold vigil on the newly dead like some kind of trick.
No, I bitterly thought, like a prank.
Had this all been some twisted scheme of Emma's? Was that why I was still alive while all these other people weren't? By the facts that I've discerned for myself I was directly in the line of whatever did this. I should be a burnt-up corpse just like all the others, another nameless hunk of blistering limbs in the pile.
Only then did I vomit again. Heaving whatever I had left over from breakfast and, for good measure, dinner too.
What a sick joke. I loathe myself for ever thinking about it. All this horror and I dare to make it about me, or Emma and any of the rest of them. Enough of that. This was an indisputable tragedy and it deserved to be treated as such, without any bluster and pageantry.
The shock began to dull, my senses returned with a surge of panic. The fire alarm, I recalled, was still blaring. There was a goddamn fire loose in the school, probably on one of the other floors and I was just laying around when I should have been moving toward an exit. I never put too much thought into the state mandated drills, even all the way back in elementary school. Like so many others I thought it was a great excuse to get out of a boring lesson. But now I was living through it and needed to act.
Smartening up, forcing myself to my feet and fighting every uncomfortable pain along the way. I shot up and took a running step down the corridor, retracing my morning routine towards an exit. But I clearly overestimated my ability to maintain my balance. It was like I was learning how to walk all over again. Stumbling and tripping over on the second step, I barely had enough time to whip my arms forward to soften my fall.
With outstretched palms I smacked against the ground with an audible clap. I sucked in a quick breath through clenched teeth expecting the sensation of sharp soreness and sudden swelling of my hands. Yet I couldn't help but notice how little it'd hurt. Like a light tap against the tips of my skin. It was probably the adrenaline. I'd heard about fight or flight responses. Seeing that kid had me freaked. The part of my body that was telling me to run was most likely pulling double duty and putting the pain I'd otherwise be feeling on pause. That had to be it.
Looking to my palms, my eyes widen in a mix of surprise and confusion. There, etched beneath the skin of my right hand was a tattoo. It looked like a compass, with four distinctive black lines overlayed on top of one another. The two most prominent of which were considerably longer, the tips of which resembled four cardinal points extended beyond an unfinished circle.
With my free hand, I reflexively adjust my glasses for a better look at the thing that was now a part of my hand. But, to my further shock, I discover that I am no longer wearing them. And that despite my lack of prescription eye wear, my vision is as clear as if I were. In fact, it was better. I could see as far as the end of the hall and make out every distinct detail along the way.
"The fuck?" A voice spoke aloud unknowingly mirroring my own thoughts.
Turning my head to the side, I observed Mr. Quinlan's classroom door open fully with an audible creek, revealing the students within gathering their things and beginning to march out for designated evacuation site in the school parking lot. Caught up in my own thoughts, I hadn't even noticed Principal Blackwell give the go-ahead over the loudspeakers.
Standing in the doorway was a broad-shouldered boy whom I recognized from World Issues by the name of Trent or Troy? Something like that. His face was scrunched up, eyes searching me for an explanation and betraying his confusion.
As I offered the boy no explanation, he simply began looking for his own and began look past me. His eyes widened, face visibly paled, and a lump formed in his throat as he struggled to put what he saw into words. I couldn't help but notice as he broke out into a profuse sweat, the dark brown bowl cut beginning to stick to his forehead like damp rags. With a hitching breath he stepped backward into the room, knocking a classmate who had been eagerly waiting to leave behind out of the way. There was a great number of angry voices beginning to erupt from within the room before the door was shut in my face. Though I could have sworn there was some incoherent sputtering about a flashing white light.
Making a conscious effort to ignore how the boy had not offered to help me up, I decided to table the mystery of the tattoo and my eyesight and instead focus my efforts into once more finding my footing. Thankfully whatever was wrong with me was beginning to pass. The nauseousness began to subside, strength returned to my legs.
Pulling myself up once more, I cast a look through the door's single pane window to glare at the boy who couldn't be bothered to help me up. Instead, what I saw was a mob begin to storm for the door. Leaping out of the way oncoming storm of bodies blasted through the doorway, each of them screaming at the top of their lungs. In their wake water spilled out of the room like a geyser and began to flood .
Peering past the fleeing students, within the room there appeared to be a jet of water streaming out from the ground. Mr. Quinlan was still inside with his hands held up to shield his face from the force of the torrent, which along with the fire alarm, drowned out his voice. Oddly enough, there was no discernible breakage in the floor, no exposed pipe for the outpouring stream to shoot through. Even stranger, as I looked over the students fleeing down the hall as well as those who remained inside, bowl cut boy was nowhere to be found.
As I turned away to resume my trek, more classroom doors began to open. More students were beginning to step into the hall. Though confusion and concern were a common sight amongst them, especially as they watched Mr. Quinlan's class race away. There was a distinct lack of urgency. A bomb had probably gone off, the alarms alone informed them that this wasn't a run of the mill drill, and still they moved sluggishly despite the danger.
"Well look who decided to show her face." A voice called out loudly, catching my attention and causing me to whip my head around.
Amongst the students pouring out from Mrs. Boehner's class was Emma and behind her stood Julia and a few other girls like Yolanda. I didn't know they shared social studies. Of course, I'd been clueless to their schemes regarding the locker stunt from earlier. As it happened, there was much I was ignorant of. A fact that stung regardless of me accepting it.
Gone was the pretense of friendliness, Julia's face was a twisted smile that didn't seem to fit, like she was working overtime to set herself apart from other girls backing up Emma. She even stood apart from the rest now, directly in front of Yolanda, who was doing her best to keep the side eye to a minimum. Julia had cut out her own niche within the Trio's following.
This is who she is, I told myself. There was no warmth or nervous kindness, everything that she presented herself as during our conversations was absent, having never truly existed. This is who she always was. Just another Emma. Someone who'd stab me in the back for a kind of social currency.
"Looks like that trash can of a locker didn't even want you." Julia said, her voice reeking of disgustingly fake pity. "Not like that's anything new for you. Who'd actually want to be around you?"
Without rising to the bait, I quickly checked to see if their teacher would intervene. Mrs. Boehner looked visibly stressed. The woman was busy attempting to herd over thirty kids, most of whom weren't paying her the bare minimum of attention. Her voice was competing not only with her own students but also that of nearby classes as well as the deafening screech of the fire alarm. noting the increased foot traffic and set down the hall. No wonder they felt bold enough to target me in such a public display, because she thought she could get away with it, just like how she got away with everything this morning. Just like before, there would be no help in stopping Emma and her posse.
However, this wasn't my class and Ms. Boehner was not my homeroom teacher. I wasn't supposed to be here. I didn't have to stand here and take this kind of abuse.
Indulging the impulsive thought, I started walking away from Ms. Boehner's class and began to weave my way through the hall, cutting through pockets of gathering students who would rather stand around and talk about 'white lights' instead of sensibly walk towards the nearest exit like a sane person.
What was even more troubling was that some teachers looked to be in a daze, going through the motions without any real attachment, stiffly guiding their charges through rehearsed protocol lacking any urgency.
Even though I'd put distance between myself and Emma, I couldn't help but feel them closing in. A quick scan over my shoulder proved the feeling I'd had correct. Breaking apart from the rest of their class, Emma and company matched my pace and followed after me. Their teacher, if she could even be bothered, would probably be wondering where they'd run off too. But they didn't care. All they wanted was to hound me, nothing else mattered.
Making a turn at the school's main hallway, I caught a glimpse of Sophia emerging out from a classroom across the way. The athletic girl quickly noticed my presence, a feat no doubt made easier by my taller than average height. Her brown eyes hardened as she cast a scrutinizing gaze over the rest of the busy intersection. She was always good at picking her targets, maybe that was what gave her an edge in that after-school club of hers. She must've judged the cost-benefit of her involvement to be acceptable as she hurriedly broke apart from her own class to cut off potential avenues of my escape, boxing me in at the center of the busiest intersection in school.
I never did understand what Sophia's issue with me was. Nor did I understand why someone who was practically my sister in all but blood would turn tormenting me into a personal sport.
"Go ahead." Emma said from somewhere behind me. "Show us what you can do.
Stepping up past Emma, half smirking with a barely containing her eagerness to please, Julia rounded alongside me and launched into a verbal assault. "Oh Taylor, how stupid can you be to have ever thought I wasn't pretending to be your friend?"
In the span of a minute, she'd dredged up the most minor details from our exchanges to needle me with. Which might have been impactful, but at the end of our association, she wasn't Emma. She lacked the years of intimate knowledge that my former best friend possessed. I'd purposely kept her at arm's length. Nothing that she said had any real bite to it.
Truthfully, I really couldn't begin to pay her any mind. Maybe because I was traumatized by the morning's earlier betrayal. All those months spent cultivating a friendship down the drain. Illusions of a better tomorrow shattered. Or maybe it was because I was focusing my attention on not ending up like any of the dead kids I'd seen minutes earlier. Regardless, I wasn't feeling inclined to give her, or any of them for that matter, the attention they so desperately wanted from me.
As much as they wanted it to be another day at school, it wasn't anymore. The insults were white noise, drowned out by everything else happening around us. Her mere presence became an afterthought. It was all just too small to matter.
At Emma's continued prodding, Julia still tried. Her voice was gaining a measure of heat as I continued to ignore her. The insults seemed so lackluster and repetitive. The details of which were hardly noteworthy. Instead, I focused on what was going on around us.
Teachers struggled to manage the students under their care, while said students were acting lost or in a stupor. The clashing of competing noises was becoming unbearable. Students stomped down nearby staircases and began to force their way into the already claustrophobic walkway earning angry shouts of protest from those standing already there.
Meanwhile, classes from the other end of the hall began to push and shove their way against the flow of traffic. Students moving other way clashed against them knocking a few over and causing the evacuation to stall.
It was a mess, a chaotic jumble of nonsensical attitudes exacerbated by directionless authority figures who failed to rise to the occasion.
Catching an odd shuffling out from the corner of my eye, it was Greg walking through the crowd waving his hand wildly in some upperclassmen's faces. Regardless of the fervor in his actions, the older students seemed to be ignoring him. Not like I could blame them. Greg was barely tolerable on the best of days. The school was in a state of emergency, we all had more immediate concerns to deal with. But I imagine at least someone would have told Greg to knock it off or threatened violence. Instead, they carried on, not at all bothered by his presence. Which, given the perplexed look on Greg's face, was not the reaction he or I had been expecting.
"My god, what's going on back there?" Someone in the passing crowd had practically shouted into my ear while others nervously whispered in hushed tones about a flash of white light. I couldn't distinguish who had if they were commenting on the water main, fire somewhere in the building or all the dead. Really, it was all of the above.
The spoken question must have been on other people's minds, as once it had been uttered and allowed to hang in the air. Those standing behind Julia began to look back, searching for the cause of all the commotion. Even Sophia, who had made a sport of making my life miserable showed more worry of the ongoing disaster than whatever this pathetic attempt at bullying was.
But Julia didn't seem at all concerned. Not with the alarm, not with people screaming bloody murder from back down the hall, and most certainly she couldn't be bothered to even consider that her life was in any real danger. What mattered to her was that she was putting me in 'my place' and in doing so gave her a type of prestige. A status that lost its value the moment the fire alarms started going off.
I couldn't help but pity her.
The sentiment must have shown on my face as Julia's eyes narrowed, a scowl forming in the corners of her mouth.
"You're just a sad, friendless, weirdo with rocks for brains or something." She spoke harshly, spittle spraying out from her mouth. "Mind-numbingly gullible and hopelessly deluded. You're so stupid, so unbelievably stupid."
All the while Julia shouted and cursed at me; the fire alarm beat like a drum to the chorus of students yelling from back down the way we'd come from.
I began to dwell on the noise, to consider it. How it's ungodly whining reminded me so much of It reminded me of every dreadful morning where I'd wake up to my own bedside alarm clock and have to come here to Winslow and endure the worst shit imaginable from pissants like Julia, who thought that just because a few other more popular girls were targeting me it was acceptable to do so as well.
Oh, how I hated that morning beeping, like how I now hated listening to this screeching and wished it would stop.
As the thoughts crossed my mind, there was a sudden warmth in my right hand. Holding back the urge to investigate, steeling my nerves to remain as passive as I could manage, instead focusing on the distant flashing light of the wall mounted fire alarm boxes.
Then, just as I held it in view, the thing began to shoot out sparks, earning shocked shrieks from those standing closest. My attention now firmly fixed on the wall, it was though there were light trails dancing around each of the boxes, flowing through them and finally causing them to explode. One by one, down a line through each individual corridor, the alarms burst into flames. There were more shrieks and upsetting cries. But the alarm, that incessant wailing, had ceased.
The sudden explosions seemed to wake people up from their fog as outstretched pointed to each of the open flames. Those standing closest to me began to look very nervous. Now that there was visibly proof that there was cause for concern, now they were beginning to take things seriously. But not enough to move quicker or out of my way.
No, that would be asking for too much.
Unfortunately, Julia either hadn't seemed to notice the shift in the room or chose to ignore it, opting to continue badmouthing me instead. Sophia's attention, however, was already beginning to wane, her eyes darting back and forth between me and the quickly opening and closing gaps between students, as if looking for an exit of her own. Even Emma, who'd been egging her on was now appraising her surroundings with a calculating eye.
I didn't react, though, just maintained a quiet bored stare as there were more interesting things going on than listening to her offending comments. I didn't give her the satisfaction of seeing a breakdown or any other kind of reaction other than a blank silence. She'd thrown out the worst she could, and it wasn't anything worth fussing over.
"You're a loser with no friends and-and"
A loss for words, burning herself out along with whatever material she had. Turns out you really can weather a storm of bullshit.
Seeing how Julia crashed and burned against a loser like me, Yolanda seized the opportunity to talk behind her back in what they imagined to be whispers.
"This really isn't a good look for her."
"Squashing Hebert really shouldn't take this much effort."
"Like a 'Lame-off' who can out do who."
"Yeah, but while Hebert just needs to stand there looking ugly as ever, Julia's really fighting for that championship belt like a tryhard."
"Gross."
Except with everyone talking over one another, properly gauging what considered as a whisper was on par as speaking normally. Julia looked utterly mortified, hearing her 'friends' talking about her in such a manner, how her attempts to badmouth me only made her look even more pathetic than I did.
Of course they couldn't stop themselves from trashing me in the process.
They just had to get their shots in when they could. But it really drove home how low they thought of her in comparison to me. So, while Yolanda sprang her coup, Emma watched in silence, content with letting her social circle devour itself, no doubt already plotting how to capitalize on the moment.
While Julia suffered that crisis, I moved to leave. But as I did so, Sophia stepped in my path, scowling madly. However, before she could box me in fully, she began to stumble forward. I barely had time to process what was happening before sidestepping and allowing her to topple over onto the ground unimpeded. A boy nearby, who'd been a silent bystander to the whole affair shot me a disapproving look.
I shot back one of my own. It's been a particularly upsetting day; you'll have to forgive me for not bothering to stop one of my tormentors from keeling over.
Sorry, not sorry.
Noting the sudden pause in Julia's barrage, I turned around to find that she was clutching the sides of her head. Everyone standing behind her, like Emma and Yolanda, were similarly inspecting their heads, though not as intensely as Julia who looked overcome with pain.
Others nearby had noticed Sophia collapse and called for help. A man, someone I didn't recognize which meant he probably taught one of the senior classes, answered the call and sprang into action. Pushing his way through the crowd, he reached out to check on Sophia's prone form. Before he could reach her, the teacher froze in place, his mouth gaping in a silent scream of pain. A chalky red substance erupted from his mouth with such force that it knocked the teacher onto his back. The man writhed and kicked as blood spurt from all sides of his head, the strange pole like object continuing to protrude at such a velocity that it smashed through the ceiling and beyond.
I quickly backed away, as did those within the immediate vicinity of the fallen teacher. But Julia didn't. Eyes wide in horror with a similarly pained look on her face, she continued clutching her head in agony.
"I-I can't move." Julia stammered, lips quivering and tears running down the sides of her cheeks. "Head hurts. Oh god it hurts."
The lightning quick commotion kicked off a new wave of panic. The teachers nearby who'd seen what happened to their colleague began shouting for their charges to evacuate, which amounted to giving everyone their express permission to run for it. Classes with teachers who'd just arrived from other parts of the school then began shouting their own contradicting orders, calling on their students to remain where they were, leading to arguments between the staff.
Regardless of anyone's decision to leave or stay, the halls were already cluttered with bodies. The school had two other floors worth of confused teenagers who were still descending the stairs and desperation was quite infectious. For many it was everyone for themselves as they all began to push and shove one another out of the way. The last remnants of rational thinking smothered by of bodies and replaced with the terrible fear for one's own life.
"Out of the way dumbass!" Sophia shouted, seemingly recovered from whatever had ailed her. Bolting off of the floor, she made a decision to shoulder check me aside rather than attempt to run around me. Even in the direst of times, she still had to get some kind of hit in.
Immediately noting Sophia's departure, Emma began to follow suit, running after the other girl and triggering a mass exodus of their friends. The ants went marching one by one, beginning with Yolanda and ending with some girl with hoop earrings, all of whom made a point of knocking into me before wading into the amassing whirlpool of anxious teens.
The few teachers who still had their wits steeled themselves. In the futile attempt to maintain order they began attempting to direct the traffic. But the sight of their fellow faculty member was on full display for all to witness. All anyone wanted now was to get away, myself included.
"Taylor!" Julia shouted, giving me pause.
Turning back around to face her, I found that Julia hadn't moved an inch. "Taylor! You need to help me! Please!" She cried as tears streamed down the sides of her cheeks. "It hurts! God dammit it hurts!"
For a moment I felt like laughing.
Not because I found the whole twisted situation gut-wrenchingly humorous. No, I felt like doing one of those cruel laughs. The very same everyone in this school gave me every time Emma or Sophia and Madison got up to one of their pranks. I wanted to point and laugh at Julia's sobbing face, to mock her the very same way that she did, like how all of them did to me. To call her stupid for thinking that her so-called friends wouldn't abandon her in a time of crisis and how in her time of need she was forced to turn to the person she'd stabbed in the back. I felt like doing a little twirl in place, to feel everything around that had once hurt me come undone.
But then I couldn't help but think how wrong that was.
How my first impulsive thought when seeing Julia hurt and pleading for my help, the first thing I thought was to emulate how Emma had treated me and to treat her as such.
It made me feel sick. Worse than sick. I felt ashamed, less than I ever could be. All because I was entertained by the idea of ever being like Emma.
I'm not Emma. I'm not. I'd never do that to a person.
I live in a world where people gain parahuman abilities, and like how some of my peers now were acting, some people would lash out at the world and prey on the innocent. But there are also those people who put on flashy outfits and use their powers to help others instead of using them to harm. That's the world I live in. Where you can be the worst of a bad lot, you could also be something else.
I thought of Alexandria, of her poster on my wall, telling me to 'Seize the day'.
"Fine."
Julia's face seemed to regain some color as she watched my approach, the relief almost palpable. "Taylor, I'm-"
"Let's just get through this." I quickly cut her off. Though I was willing to be there for her, I was equally unwilling to listen to an apology motivated by desperation. "Tell me, what are we dealing with? How does it feel?"
"It-it's like there's something there in my head." She said, her face soured by pain. "When I try to move, it's like a sharp pain, the worst migraine I've ever had. Like I'm pushing my brain up against a knife."
I frowned at the information. I wasn't a doctor, there could have been many things wrong with Julia that I couldn't diagnose. As horrible as it was to say, I'd have preferred she suffered a broken leg or something on par. At the very least then I could help move her out of harm's way. But we were talking about a head injury that was specifically keeping her moving.
Further attempts to move Julia led to her frantically shoving at my hands.
"It's no good! You can't move me." She cried. "Get a teacher! Get a teacher!"
A part of me wanted to remark on how she'd chosen to leave her own homeroom teacher behind just to mess with me and how if she hadn't Julia most likely wouldn't be in this situation. But we were running on precious little time and I was already doing my best to block people from accidentally bumping into her. So, I bit back the snarky comments and started looking for anyone who'd fit the bill.
Looking across the sea of students who made no progress in clearing the hall, I spotted a few teachers who were otherwise busy but still made the effort to catch their attention. Though it wasn't that large a distance between us, what concerned me was the near impenetrable wall of peers that blocked me from reaching them.
"Mr. Gladly over here!" I shouted as I began jumping in place, wildly waving a hand in the air, hoping to catch anyone's attention. "Mrs. Knott! Mr. Tano!"
However, my attempts to signal a teacher for help were, as usual, unsuccessful as I was drowned out by cacophony of noise produced by the brewing pile up. Mr. Gladly, who always seemed to me like he was trying to impress the popular kids, was folding like a lawn chair under the pressure, face blank and red, his mouth a thin line. Mr. Tano, who was generally well liked by the juniors, was busy trying to organize the few students who would listen to him while simultaneously fending off my homeroom teacher Mrs. Knott's combative arguments about remaining where they were.
Looking around to my immediate surroundings, those who hadn't already fled into the growing frenzied mass of the cross section were also beginning to suffer from strange pains localized near their head like Julia. Hands clutching foreheads and distinct hisses as numerous students appeared to be suffering from the same painful headache.
Seeing how things were starting to worsen, I stepped forward grasping out into the crowd and latching onto the sleeve of a stout boy who'd been skirting around the fallen teacher's prone form.
"You mind passing a message down the line to the teachers?" I asked while throwing a thumb over my shoulder and pointing at Julia. "We need help."
"Got my own problems, dude." The boy said before swatting my hand off his sleeve.
Feeling a rush of irritation at the boy's callous attitude, I stepped forward into his personal space and bared my teeth. "We're in an emergency and we need to report what's going on with our classmates. They need medical attention. Now's not the time to act like a jackass."
"Whatever, locker girl." He sneered before brushing me off again. "Every man and woman for themselves."
I didn't hide the judgmental frown that now adorned my face. It shown proudly as I watched with scornful eyes, tracking the selfish boy push and shove his way into the unmoving crowd up ahead.
Suddenly, as he began walking parallel to the teacher's body, the stout boy looking began to appear visibly strained. His face scrunched up and creased in all the wrong places. Veins began to pop out of the side of his neck as he proceeded with his intended path forward. Despite the obvious pain, he took another step and then another until something popped out the back of his head. The boy kept walking, knees weakening then buckling under his weight leading to his collapse.
As more voices shouted over one another and people pointed to the now fallen boy, my eyes trailed back to the object that had been left behind. There, suspended in the air, was a clump of black hair hanging off a bit of bone layered atop a chunk or pinkish brain.
"Taylor. Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god. What's happening? What's happening?" Julia hurriedly asked, trying her best to fight the impulse to turn her head and look for herself.
"Try not to think about it." I said, eyeing the sight of exposed brain with concern. "You-you just need to stand very still until we can get you help."
Looking back at Julia, she was worse than before, almost feverish. Despite my attempts at reassuring her it was impossible to hide how grave her circumstances were. There were awful shrieks, people hysterically yelling at the sight of blood pooling at their feet. My even tone could do little to alleviate her distress.
"Riot at Winslow!" A guttural shout silenced the hallway. Everyone who up until that moment had been breaking into hysterics now stilled. Down one of the intersecting passages was none other than Brodrick Dorff. Flanking at each of his sides was one of his fellow EE8 diehards.
"Come on! Let's start a riot!" Dorff bellowed as his affiliates started banging against locker doors with textbooks and throwing paper into the air. "Riot! Riot!"
One of the teachers, Mr. Tano, waded through the sea of students to confront him. Then Dorff, without a single word exchanged, punched him. From the angle it looked like an open palm shove, but the effect was anything but a slap. Mr. Tano was knocked into the air, striking several students in the process. More frightened cries followed as Dorff began to grab at locker doors and rip them off their hinges with an inhuman strength.
"Riot at Winslow!" His voice boomed before chucking the metal doors in he held into the crowd hitting a pair of students wearing ABB colors in the head and sending them to the floor.
Stomping through the opposite end of the hall, pushing his way through the hysteric crowd was and walking past me was Tom Ashida. Hunched over rather than standing at his full height, he stalked forward, his usual stony-faced exterior replaced with a seething rage. It was only as he drew closer that I noticed he'd been holding a hand over his blood-stained side.
"Dorff." He spoke with a forced calm tone.
"Aw, look at the baby. Fall and cut yourself in the bathroom baby man?" Dorff taunted, raising his hands to his eyes and pretending to rub the corners, simulating sobs in a mocking manner. "Ooo big scary Tommy boy slipped and fell on a nice sharp toilet bowl. Boohoo. Boohoo."
Tom opened his mouth as if to retort, which was odd because that had never been his style to indulge in banter. Instead of a snappy comeback or a threat, three trails of purple hued smoke began to pour out of his mouth. The three lines of puffy smoke maintained cohesion instead of spreading and engulfing the hall. They quickly began to veer off from one another and enlarge into individual clouds which hung in the air in front of Tom. The purple hued clouds, which were still connected to Tom by the smoke trails leading out from his mouth, began to take on new shapes and forms. Malformed arms protruded out of gaseous torso-like structures as singular glassy eyeballs sprouted from their tops.
"Oh! You wanna roughhouse?!" Dorff yelled before setting off running. "Let's fucking go!"
Hell broke loose at the sight. All attempts at reestablishing a semblance of order were lost as even teachers began trying to flee for their lives. Whoever wasn't already panicking now found themselves playing catch up. Two parahumans were squaring up to brawl and everyone ranging from teacher to student was as likely as the other to get caught up in the crossfire.
From where I stood, I could see Dorff clearly leap up into the air and maintain the altitude before speeding towards Tom. The three masses of smoke flew to meet him head on, shoving and tossing whoever was in their way to get there quicker. The malformed hands bawled into equally horrid looking sinewy fists of which six struck their target dead on. But Dorff did not buckle and tanked the blows. He reached forth and slapped one of the creatures aside and punched another up into the ceiling.
Tom reeled back his head in an attempt to redirect the flow of motion from his assailed smoke creatures. But it carried too much momentum and flattened a bystander who'd been trying to push his way out from hall. The purple creature quickly bounced off the floor and flew back to reengage Dorff in the air, leaving behind a pulpy red indentation in the floor.
"Taylor!" Julia shouted, snapping me to attention. Quickly looking around I caught sight of the cause of her distress. A wave of students was now rushing down the hall and ramming into everyone in their way.
I stepped forth, arms raised openly to act as a buffer and shield Julia. Planting my feet, bracing myself for the initial wave of oncoming students. Despite my best efforts, I was a twig stacked against a tidal wave. There were just too many people, and they didn't seem to care if we were in their way.
Still, I had to try.
Rushing forward, I waved my hands wildly at the oncoming crowd. I felt a flutter of hope as the first few students parted around me. But the succeeding waves of hurried and anxious teens seemed to fill the gaps left by the others. They didn't care that we were in the way, only that there was an opening made for them to hasten their speed and put as much distance between themselves and the fight behind them.
Fighting against everyone, like concrete made of frightened children. My protests went unheard as they forced me forward and carried me down the hall. I spared look over the rushing crowd. Of all the fearful faces filling out the crowd, I couldn't see the one I was looking for.
Straight brown hair with highlights, a hint of a wavy curls at the tips that complimented her face.
I couldn't see her. Julia wasn't there anymore.
I mouthed an apology. It was the best I could do.
So, I stopped fighting against the mob and started moving alongside them. But it was a more reflexive motion than anything as my body carried me forward. I felt drained, lacking whatever desperate urgency everyone around me seemed to have in great supply of.
The faster and more distraught of their number began to pass me by. I didn't need to run. It wasn't a race. I could see we were heading to the school's main entrance, our exit. All I needed to do was keep a fine pace and hope everyone behind me wouldn't try running me over again.
But, as I continued to progress towards the nearest exit, I quickly noticed there was a lessening in the hurried march at my back. Sparing a glance backward, to my shock, I spotted many of the students who'd uncaringly tried trampling over me, were now standing in place with a forced awkward stillness. Many of their faces contorted with an obvious strain that mirrored Julia's prior anguish.
The sight of all those people bracing against some invisible force that kept them from advancing, with pained expressions on their face, it made me want to cry. This damn day made me want to cry.
I didn't stop though. I didn't turn around or try to help anyone else. Because I didn't know if they could be helped. Because I was just me.
My head hung low as I mouthed another apology. Though for whom I am uncertain. Whether it's for all those kids bleeding from their skulls or for my sanity, well, the jury was out on that one. Fucking hell.
All around me the school was an uproar of screams and wails. Horrible death cries rang out from all directions. From the floors above as well as the space around me.
Shouts and blood curdling screams began to flood from up ahead. Out from one of the nearby classrooms erupted a hail of what appeared to be saw blades made of bone.
Instantly, a peculiar rainbow of colorful energy radiated around a nearby student's eyes. Reagan, I quickly noted. Without even bothering to see the oncoming blades, her body reflexively moved out of the way. Another whom I recognized in the clumped together group, Sparky, zipped past, dodging with an uncanny speed, leaving a blurry afterimage in his wake.
However, the other students who'd been running alongside them lacked the speed nor did they possess the reflexes to dodge out of the way. Sawblades struck them at breakneck speeds with a shattering force that propelled them into the opposing wall and tumbling over onto the floor with a resounding wet thudding.
The oddest part of the affair was how quiet it was in comparison to everything else happening around me. There had been little time for last words or gasps of surprise. It just happened and then it was over.
Reagan refused to slow her quickened stride though she did spare a parting look at the aftermath. She looked resigned to pleading horror, green and queasy at the sight, the energy that had once flowed from her eyes dissipating. Sparky, however, hadn't bothered to look back, nor had he stopped running. In the blink of an eye, he'd cleared the rest of the hallway and burst through the exit.
Taking an unsteady step out from the classroom where the sawblades had appeared from was a pale boy wearing a tattered and shredded yellow shirt with. Beneath his ragged clothing was his exposed ribcage, the bones of which were missing on one side and regrowing on the other. He took an appreciating look at the bodies, smiling at the sight before proceeding to rummage through their possessions.
Anyone who had been behind me immediately turned on their heels, beginning a mad dash back the other way. But not me, no not me. I could still hear the fight between Tom and Dorff raging from back down the hall. That coupled with all the other screams and inhuman noises brewing from within the school, there was no guarantee of safety wherever you went. But there was the exit and all I had to do was walk to it.
Taking a cautious step forward, I crept through the marred and now bloodied hall, intending to sidestep the boy who otherwise appeared more interested in the grisly display than myself. Crossing the distance, I kept the boy within my sight and blocked the thought of the class he'd emerged from out of my mind. I didn't want to see it or even consider the possibility that there had been people in it. I've seen enough of that already.
Walking past, doing my best not to draw his attention, I hurried toward the exit. As I drew further away and closer to the school's main entrance, I bothered to spare one final glance. Back down into the hell that was Winslow High.
The boy's head spun wrongly on his neck, circling three times before settling on my stare. The contortion of his body put an unsettling image of an owl nestled in a tree surrounded by the carrion of its kills in my head.
Still smiling, he raised his hand and held a finger to his mouth, mimicking a shushing action. Like a horrifying secret shared between us. His chest began to rearrange, skin and muscle seeping from corner of his body to cover the exposed chest cavity. The boy then reached down at one of the fallen who hadn't been hit in chest and pried their unblemished shirt off, replacing his own tattered one with it. The boy then simply turned and began walking back into the school.
I tried not to think about the implications. How he'd rather be there amongst all the horror than leave and what it meant. All I wanted now more than anything was to leave this place behind. There was no Emma to chase after me, no Sophia to box me in, nothing to hold me back. So, I did.
Trudging out through the front entrance, walking out onto the school's front lawn, sharply inhaling and then exhaling. I blew into the air just to see my breath stand out from the chilly morning. A hollow pit welled in my gut at the sounds of police sirens. Shoulders sagging, feeling dead on my feet, emotionally exhausted from what I'd seen, I began contemplating falling into a snow drift and letting the cold wash over me.
But I couldn't stop just yet. A cursory glance at my surroundings revealed to me the full extent of the damage. There was a fire on the roof, no doubt centered by the massive hole that I'd seen earlier. An entire section of the forward-facing wall was burned with a depressing line cutting through it.
Further along the northern facing side of the school, a darkly dressed figure burst from a classroom window. Quickly standing, the cape clad figure began motioning for others to follow them out. From the pack of students emerging from the impromptu exit, I could see Emma as well as Madison and several of their usual hangers on. Sophia wasn't with them.
I honestly didn't know how to feel about that.
Nearby on the street outside of Winslow, there was four car collision. A white SUV was pincered in place, the passenger side crushed and dented inward by a red muscle car the driver of which appeared unresponsive as he leaned into the airbag. The driver of the SUV, a woman with auburn hair styled in a ponytail, banged against her door as though it wouldn't open.
Firetrucks pulled into view and police officers began setting up roadblocks creating a perimeter around the school. Paramedics were running out from their parked vehicles and hurrying to meet the various students other than myself who'd made it out of Winslow.
Speeding down the street, sirens blaring at a significant pace, was a souped-up motorcycle. I recognized its driver instantly. Dark blue body armor with silver accents, he looked like a knight riding into battle. It was Armsmaster, the leader of the local Protectorate branch.
Seeing a hero actually appear, after everything that had happened, it left me feeling a mixture of relief and grief. Relief in knowing that things were being taken seriously outside of Winslow, that the school and everyone's actions were an anomaly that could be explained away with the calming presence of the city's premier cape. Grief in knowing that it hadn't been just another day, that the whole morning had been as awful as it felt, and it demanded the attention of hero with as big a name as Armsmaster to right the wrong.
Slamming on the brakes of his motorcycle at an angle, he slid into a parallel park. In a single fluid motion, Armsmaster stepped off from his bike and strode towards the wreck. Seeing his approach, those firefighters closest to the SUV backed away, giving the hero access. Reaching behind his back, armor panels began to automatically shift and move apart, producing an elongating polearm into Armsmaster's waiting hand. As he removed it from storage, the polearm produced a blade on the side lined with a glowing blue energy. Rounding on the side of the door he brought the weapon down in a chopping motion, cutting cleanly through the metal with a single strike and lobbing the sectioned part off.
It was a surreal feeling watching a hero in action. Armsmaster reached into the car and helped the woman, who was clearly several months pregnant. The woman hugged him, thanking for his help before being handed off to the firefighters.
Continuing to survey the front of the school, I felt an odd sensation wash around me. Following the feeling, tracing it along the vacant air as though I could see it, back to its point of origin. My gaze fell over a disheveled looking girl with messy blond hair stumbling out onto lawn. Her eyes were wide and red, arms wrapped around herself like a blanket, and she was talking to herself as she walked aimlessly out onto the lawn. There was a worrying dread that seemed to permeate around her like a statically charged reverberating hum.
"I want to go home. I want to go home." The girl half muttered; half twitched.
Watching the girl wander into the center of freaked out kids and aid workers, her haunted eyes committing to a distance beyond a thousand yards, I couldn't help but feel in my mind that something horrible is about to happen.
"Get away!" I screamed at the top of my lungs and tearing up my throat. "G-get away."
Some of the kids, who had no doubt seen some terrible sights within the school, instantly clocked my meaning once seeing the girl. Others were too out of it and the first responders seemed busy lining up and organizing. A boy, who had a grizzly gash along his side, attempted to sit up only for a paramedic to hold him down. He thrashed and kicked, biting at the woman's hand drawing blood, all in a vein effort to get clear of the worrisome girl. But the responder held firm in her convictions and called over aid, drawing more people towards the scene.
My gaze returned to Armsmaster striding towards the school. I couldn't ignore the strange vibes the girl was throwing out, how wrong the air around her felt. Seeing Armsamster approach, stepping into the area that surrounded the girl, I had to act.
So, I ran to him with a renewed strength powered by the fear for the local hero's life. Throwing my arms up against his chest, I began to push against the hero and impede his advance. Impede, not slow. A very important distinction as it felt like pushing against a brick wall. He had power armor and was no doubt muscular beneath it. I was a twig of a person. There was little I could do to stop him. All I could do was hope to get in his way and warn him of the danger he unknowingly walked to.
"You need to get away." My voice strained, feeling rough and shot to hell. "Back up. Back up."
"Everything will be alright." Armsmaster said in a professional matter of fact manner. In a single motion, he'd already grabbed at my arms and pulled me out of his way. "Head over to the police line. You'll be safe there."
"No, you don't understand. You need to step back there's something wrong."
"Miss, you are preventing me from rendering aid to your school. Cease. And desist. Now." He practically threatened.
But I ignored him, trusting that foreboding feeling that swam around in my head. Refusing to let him take a step further, I latched onto his armored arm and began to pull back. However, Armsmaster continued his stride, dragging me along the front lawn, not at all hampered. I was a very movable object against an unstoppable force.
Still, I had to try.
If not me, then who?
The nearby paramedics were busy tending to wounds, writing off fleeing students concerns from the school and not the danger present before them. Armsmaster was a hero and there was a school full of kids in danger, I couldn't blame him for being oblivious to my concerns.
Planting my feet, digging my heels into the ground, Armsmaster finally began to slow in his pace. Armsmaster sharply turned his head to look at me, frowning deeply and commenting on how unacceptable it was that I slowed him to such a degree. A small victory, one that I desperately needed. The sense of elation was quickly dashed the subtle vibrations in the air around us, a reminder that we were still in danger.
"Enough of this." He said, irritation lacing his words. Replacing his halberd back into its compact compartment, he reached out with his now free hand to pry me off.
Seeing him begin to pull away at my hands, I tugged with all the effort I could muster, feeling my hand burn against his cold armored arm. And then…we were on the sidewalk. We were now well beyond the vibrating air; at a distance I couldn't help but feel safe in.
Uprooted turf stained the sides of his steely blue boots from where he'd been dragged. I could feel Armsmaster's shocked stare from behind his opaque visor, his mouth already forming a question. But I couldn't listen, my attention was elsewhere, back to where that girl was standing.
"I want to go home!" She screamed.
The area around her began to shimmer and distort, like looking at a faraway distance in hot weather. Then, one moment she was there. The next she wasn't. She'd gone with a pocket of air and a patch of dirt, leaving in a thunderclap of winds rushing to replace what she'd taken.
Armsmaster and I were sent flying upward and over the police line by the resulting explosion. To his credit, the Protectorate hero maintained a level head while I froze up in the suddenness. Quickly reorienting himself in midair, he caught me in his arms to shield me before we crashed into the pavement.
The metal plates of the hero's armor scraped against the concrete with an eerie whine. Sparks trailed behind us before skidding to a stop against a parked ambulance. Armsmaster uncurled his arms allowing me to roll out onto the street and giving me the opportunity look back at the scene.
Bodies wearing aid worker gear littered the devastated lawn in crumpled bloodied heaps. Those closest to the explosion's epicenter were nothing more than a colorful paste. Officers who had been clear of the blast radius were already calling it in while stunned onlookers from the other end of the street observed in fresh horror. At least one of them had a phone out and had recorded the event.
"Go!" Armsmaster shouted. "Get to safety! Go!" Without another word, he stood and strode to the school with purpose. Ignoring the dead in his way.
Heading his words, I pick myself up again and started for the sidewalk.
I ran all the way home.
…connecting…connecting…connecting…
I feel that now is a good time to clarify the crossover elements of this fic. While The Star Brand originated from New Universe, the direct inspiration for this work is Warren Ellis' Newuniversal where the New Universe concepts were reimagined and condensed. Jonathan Hickman's work on Avengers built on Ellis' foundation and is also a great inspiration, issue #7 especially for those interested in insights for what was depicted in the chapter.
As stated before I don't have a schedule for when the next chapter will release. Chapter 3 is complete and will release upon the completion of chapter 4. Currently in my outline this arc will wrap up with chapter 5 and will be followed by three interludes.
Thank you for your time and I hope you found at least a measure of amusement while reading this.