A collective cry filled the room as Ethan dropped. The bullet penetrated his upper back. He writhed and coughed for a few seconds before going still. Permanently.
“Alexia, stand the fuck up!” Hannah shouted.
“No no no no no no!” came a terrified voice from the corner of the room.
“You can do it!” Hannah screamed. “I know you can! Or how about Micah? Jon? Tara! Tara’s in here somewhere, aren’t you Tara, you little fucking bitch!”
“Nobody stand up!” Jeremy shouted, crouched under the table with Regan. He dropped to his knees the moment Hannah pulled the trigger on Brandon.
“Fuck you, Jer!” Hannah spat. “You betrayed me! You turned your back on me!”
Slight shuffling. Jeremy watched Hannah’s feet move to the left of the room. She was headed toward Alexia.
“Oh, God,” he breathed, bracing for impact.
A plea for mercy. A refusal. A gunshot.
Shrieks.
“CASEY! Maybe you can give me the keys!” Hannah called, moving to the front of the room once more.
Jeremy turned to Regan and communicated silent instructions with crude sign language. She shook her head frantically when she understood his plan. He was going after Hannah.
She tugged on his arm as he started toward his target. He stopped and looked back.
“It’s okay,” he mouthed.
She grabbed the front of his jacket—a last effort to force him to stay with her.
He squeezed her hand. “It’s okay, Regan,” he whispered, searching her eyes.
“Promise,” she demanded.
“I promise,” he said, then crept soundlessly under the tables toward Hannah.
Regan turned to Casey, who was crying hysterically.
“Do not stand up,” she said to her friend, crawling toward her.
“Shut your mouth, Regan!” Hannah cried. “Casey! Get up!”
Regan shook her head, pressing her finger to her lips.
Casey’s eyes went wide. “No, Regan!”
But Regan already made the decision—just like her victory goal. She envisioned it. She willed it to happen. Just like now. She envisioned standing up and distracting Hannah to give Jeremy the few precious seconds he’d need to take down the gunman. No, it wasn’t part of Jeremy’s plan, but she knew she had to do it in order for him to have a chance.
She stood up.
“You’re not Casey,” Hannah said. “Sit down.”
“No.”
Hannah growled. “You wanna be a hero?”
“No.”
“Good, because you can’t be. I’m the hero,” Hannah said.
“How?”
Just keep her talking.
“I’m ridding our world of evil people. I’m righting wrongs. I’m keeping bad things from happening in the future.”
Regan scrambled. “And . . . and who’s to say these bad people won’t turn good someday? You’re not even giving them a chance.”
Hannah sneered. “Did they give me a chance?” she spat. “Did they give me a chance to be happy?”
Regan said nothing.
“ANSWER ME!”
Hannah dropped the rifle in front of her chest once more, securing it against her shoulder. She pointed the nose at Regan’s heart.
Regan burst into tears.
“No, Hannah,” she sobbed. “They didn’t.”
“That’s right. They—”
Jeremy plowed into Hannah from the side, throwing his arms around her waist. The gun discharged, eliciting another round of screams. They slammed into Ms. Griffin’s desk, the force knocking the rifle from Hannah’s hands. It dropped to the floor with a loud clack! and Jeremy kicked it away—far on the other side of the room where it posed no more threats.
“Get off!” Hannah screamed in his face.
“Regan, grab the gun! Put it in the hallway! Everyone, run!” he ordered, struggling with his friend.
Students hesitated.
“I said RUN!”
They charged the door, streaming through the opening like fast water down a drain. Only Casey and Regan remained behind.
“Jeremy!” Casey cried. “Help me!”
Jeremy looked over at Regan sprawled on the floor. Blood oozed from a wound in her left shoulder—much too close to her heart.
“Jesus!” he breathed, and released his assailant.
He ran to his girlfriend and cradled her head.
“Regan!” he shouted. “Regan!”
“Hmm?” she asked, opening and closing her eyes.
He turned to Hannah, who stood stunned. Regan wasn’t a target. She was never a target. Anyone dead deserved it. That was the plan. Kill the bad ones. Spare the good. That was the plan for redemption. This girl on the floor wasn’t the plan. She messed up everything. She tainted the righteous retribution.
“I didn’t mean it,” Hannah whispered. “I didn’t mean it.”
Jeremy turned to Casey. “Get help!”
She nodded and jumped up. Where? Where should she run? She knocked into Hannah on her way to the classroom phone. Busy signal.
“Fuck!” she screamed, and ran to the window.
The building was surrounded by cop cars, ambulances, fire trucks—all at a safe distance. They were making careful plans while people bled out in the building.
Casey grew angry and pounded the window.
“Up here!” she screamed. “We need help!”
“I didn’t mean it, I didn’t mean it,” Hannah went on, a broken record in the background.
“People are dying!” Casey screamed, fumbling with the window locks.
She couldn’t open them and grabbed a chair. She swung it against the window. Nothing. She swung again. Nothing. She grunted and slung the chair a third time, cracking the glass a fraction. She pulled back and swung with all her might, shattering the glass completely. She balled her hands and punched out the shards, then leaned her face out.
“WE NEED AN AMBULANCE! NOW!!!” she bellowed, and watched two small men dressed in black run for the door nearest the lab.
She ran back to Regan and clutched her hand.
“They’re coming, Regan,” she panted.
Regan nodded, eyes closed. “I’m cold.”
“I didn’t mean it . . .”
“No, you’re not,” Casey barked. “It’s not cold in here. You’re not cold.”
Jeremy ripped off his shirt and bunched it against Regan’s wound.
“I know when I’m cold, Case,” Regan argued.
“I didn’t mean it . . .”