“Oh my God,” she whispered.
Hannah planned it all along! This was no random shooting! She knew their schedules. She knew when they’d all be together—easy targets clumped in one space—at the far end of the building where it would take police longer to access. The lab could already be the picture of a mass murder for all Regan knew. She may be too late.
“I’ve gotta get out of here,” she said, shoving a desk aside from the doorway.
“What?” Jamie cried.
“It’s not here. It’s not happening here,” Regan replied.
“I don’t understand,” Jamie said.
“Ms. Griffin! Where are your keys?”
“Huh?”
“Your classroom key!” Regan cried.
“Purse,” Ms. Griffin breathed.
“Where’s your purse??”
“Drawer.”
“What drawer, Ms. Griffin?”
Time ticked. Precious precious time.
“WHAT DRAWER?” Regan bellowed.
“Right drawer,” Ms. Griffin said. She drew in a long breath. “Hidden under the files.”
Regan dropped to her knees and kissed her teacher’s cheek.
“Thank you. You’re gonna be okay,” she said, and bolted from the classroom, yelling a last set of instructions as she left.
She flew down the hallways, running faster than her heart allowed. It burned in her chest, demanding she slow down.
“I won’t!” she cried, picking up her pace.
Hallway C. And then D. She just needed to make it to the end. She had to beat Hannah to it.
She charged down the hallway like an Olympic sprinter, bursting through the lab door to another set of terrified cries.
“It’s me!” she yelled, then cried out as a set of arms flew around her neck, squeezing her tightly.
Jeremy!
“Are you okay?” he asked, looking her over.
She nodded and ran to Ms. Griffin’s desk.
“I tried!” Casey cried, coming out from her hiding place under a table. “I couldn’t find it!”
“It’s okay,” Regan said, throwing the files and dumping the contents of Ms. Griffin’s purse.
Yes! Yes yes yes!
She flew to the door, fumbling with the keys. Too many keys! Her fingers trembled as she tried the first one. No good. She tried the second. No good. The third. No.
“FUCK!!!” she screamed.
Jeremy yanked the keys from her hands.
“It’s okay,” he said calmly.
He flipped through them one by one, ignoring what he knew was a house key, giving no notice to the car key, skipping a clear cabinet key.
There. There it was. He knew it, and immediately slid the key into the lock.
Blast!
Splintered door. Petrified screams.
A student collapsed to the ground—someone standing in the path of the bullet. The door flew open, and Hannah barged in, screaming for silence, brandishing her firearm above her head. Jeremy grabbed Regan’s hand and pulled her to the floor. They crawled under the first row tables. The second. The third, passing the student who was hit, who was dead.
“SHUT UP!” Hannah shouted. “Shut up, or I’ll kill you all!”
The room fell silent except for intermittent, involuntary sobs. Boys and girls. They were all crying.
Hannah noted the keys still dangling in the doorknob. She slammed the door and locked it, then tossed the keys to the middle of the room. She turned on the lights, eliciting a wave of gasps.
“Brandon! Pick up those keys! I dropped them,” she said.
No one moved.
Round of firing mixed with shrieks. Pieces of the ceiling fell one by one, smacking the tops of students’ bowed heads.
“Brandon, if you wanna live, pick up those goddamn keys!” Hannah screamed.
Jeremy pulled away. Regan clawed desperately at his shirt as he stood up.
“Hannah,” he said softly.
She dropped the rifle’s nose, aiming for his chest.
“Don’t you fucking move, Jer,” she warned.
He slowly raised his hands in surrender. “I won’t. I won’t.”
The light reflected the tears that coursed her cheeks. So many tears, and he knew she earned the right to spill them for all to see. But she did not earn the right to take her tormentors’ lives. He learned that a while ago when he stopped being angry, when he decided to allow love to heal him and give him a future.
He lay in bed the night before stewing over his fight with Brandon—letting his vigilante coax and debate. He almost gave in. He almost returned to what he now understood was the darkness. But his very last thoughts before drifting to sleep were of Regan. And love. And forgiveness. Those thoughts blinded the pain, maimed the resolve to kill, and they stumbled out of his heart forever.
“I am broken because of them,” she whispered to him from across the room.
He stood shocked—the same words he screamed at Regan the day he confronted her about his journal.
“I know,” he whispered back.
“They deserve it,” she went on.
He shook his head.
“No? Are you one of them now?” she asked bitterly.
“Look at me, Hannah,” he replied gently. “You know me.”
She nodded.
Maybe there was a chance to save her. If no one was killed, there was still a chance.
“How many so far?” he asked.
She frowned.
“Who’s hurt?”
“Lots,” she replied.
His heart sank.
“Wounded?”
“Dead. Dead dead dead!” Hannah yelled, and her brain snapped. “BRANDON! Pick up those goddamn keys, or Jeremy goes!”
“Hannah!” Jeremy cried.
He heard the click of the rifle. Locked and loaded. Instant sweat under his arms, dotting his hairline, prickling the backs of his knees.
“You drop to your knees, and I’ll blow your head off,” she warned him.
Brandon stood up slowly, the keys hooked around his index finger, jangling with the shivering of his body. He drew in his breath.
“I won’t let someone die because of me,” he said. His breathing came faster. “Hannah, I’m sorry—”
Blast!