Chapter 18: Keep it Locked Down
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Chapter 18, Keep it Locked Down
"Attention students and faculty, the school
is being placed on lockdown at this time."
The PA
was piercingly loud, it jerked Harold up and out of his slumber.
His
neck was tense and sore- napping hunched over his desk was a
less-than-ergonomic sleep position. He stretched, and yawned.
"Again, the school is being placed on
lockdown at this time."
His ears perked up, and he
glanced around the room. Hanlon was gone, he was alone...
"Faculty in classrooms in Section A or
Section B, close and lock your door immediately, conduct attendance, and report
discrepancies to the main office."
He lurched out of his chair
and stumbled to the door of the detention room. He tore the door open, and
yelled into the hall, "Hanlon! Were in lockdown where are you!?"
No
answer, except the pulsing alarm bells, and the over-loud voice of the PA
system.
"Faculty in Sections C and D, clear the
halls immediately and then lock your doors and report attendance to the main
office."
He stuck his head into the
hall, and winced- there was blood. Lots of it.
His
mouth fell open, and he shook his head. He saw a security guard, mangled and
torn.
"Attention students and faculty, if you
are currently in the halls, evacuate immediately. If you are in section A or B,
make your way to the nearest safe room and report your attendance. If you are
in section C or D make your way to the nearest class room, and report to the
supervising faculty member. If you are in the halls, make your way to the
nearest classroom."
Harold
shuddered and almost fell back into the hall. He slammed the door shut, and
latched it.
His
fingers felt numb, he groped for the classroom phone and hit the red button for
the main line to the office.
The
secretary's voice was brisk, she spoke quickly. But Harold could hear the fear
in the cracks and knew she was only barely holding it all together, "Main
office, report your attendance."
He
swallowed, and spoke, but his voice was hoarse, "It's just me."
"I'm
sorry? Follow the format, report your room number and attendance discrepancies
please."
Harold
coughed. "I mean it's just me, Harold Maria. I'm in ISS, and Mr. Hanlon
was supposed to be watching me. But he went to the bathroom before the lockdown
and he's not back."
"You're
a student?"
"Yeah.
I'm alone here." The words felt stale and wrong in his mouth.
"What
room are you in Harold?"
"I'm
in A-27."
Her
voice took a frantic edge, and it scared him to his core, "Section A?!
Stay in the room, lock your door immediately!"
"What
about the people in the hall? I saw somebody I think it was security. I don't
know if he was alive. It looked like he-"
"Lock
the door and stay there!" He could hear the strain of tears forcing their
way out. "Harold, do you need me to stay on the line with you?"
It
wasn't until that moment, that Harold became aware of the background noises in
the main office. He heard phones ringing. He heard a flurry of voices asking,
'what room,' and, 'main office, please report your location and attendance,'
and, 'wait for further instruction.'
He
swallowed, and tried his best to sound calm. "No, I locked the door, and I
know you've got to take more calls. I guess I'm just reporting my location and
that... Mr. Hanlon is missing."
"It'll
be ok Harold. Stay away from the windows, and wait for the authorities to clear
the school."
The
call ended with a click.
Emily!
He
raced back to his desk, and picked up his phone. His heart sank into the pit of
his bowels when he saw he had a missed call from her.
The
alarm bell pulsed in the halls, his blood pulsed in his ears. But it was all to
a different beat, he felt dizzy. He thumbed his cell, and dialed her number.
It
rang, and rang, and rang.
----------------
"911,
please state your location and the nature of your emergency."
Emily
wanted to wipe her tears off her face, but her fingers were too bloody. "A-A-Asbury
High School. My name is Emily Green, I'm locked in the ladies restroom in
Section A, and..."
"We
have a rapid response team entering your school, and they'll be there to help
you any moment. Are you injured?"
"No.
No, but my teacher is."
"We're
dispatching a medical team to your location, please confirm the lady's restroom
in section A."
"Yes,
that's it. Oh god!"
"It'll
be okay, help is on it's way. Stay on the line with me, okay?"
Emily
whimpered, at first all she could do was nod. But then words came out along
with a flood of tears. "I tried to- stop- the- bleeding..."
"Can
you tell me what happened?"
"I
was, um, hiding in the bathroom. I heard something in the hall, I thought it
was a fight or a terrorist attack or something. So I locked the door at first.
But then I thought somebody in the hall might need my help. I opened the door
and- I looked- and I saw- some kind of animal! It was attacking one of the
security guards. I saw it had also mauled my teacher and I managed to pull him
into the bathroom before locking the door again... I... tried to stop the
bleeding, but- his eyes are shut! And he's not moving."
Emily
could hear voices in the hall, strong and bold- "Blue team move, Red team
move! Push towards section B, clear rooms as you go! Red team with, we're on
detail. Shit- get the med teams here now, we've got eyes on 1 wounded male, and
a confirmed location of one of the calls to dispatch!"
"I
hear people!" She told the dispatcher, "I hear them in the
hall!"
"That's
the rapid response team, they're here to help. Emily, I need you to unlock the
door and let them in, and then I need you to stand aside so the med team can do
their work."
A
radio buzzed outside the door, "Student in lockdown in the restroom, she's
reported a badly wounded male, who is no unresponsive. High priority med
team!"
She
leapt to her feet, and shouted, "I'm in here! I'm in here!"
She
twisted the lock and opened the door, "Help! My teacher is badly wounded."
Her
world was a daze.
A
team of EMTs rushed in with a gurney. She saw one of them place a plastic mask
on Hanlon's face, and then start breathing into it, while another worked to
stop the bleeding, which by now was sluggish and weak.
She
watched, blankly, as a third laid down the gurney, and a bunch of digital
equipment.
A
uniformed officer, ushered her attention away from the scene, and asked if she
was hurt.
She
couldn't understand the question. She knew what the words meant, but she just
couldn't make sense of it. Couldn't make sense of any of it.
"Are
you injured?" The officer said more firmly.
"She
shook her head. "No." Then she looked at her hands. "No, This
isn't my blood."
He
passed her off to another officer, "Barkley, get her out of her, get her
cleaned up."
She
lapsed back into a daze, and shot one more look over her shoulder. Hanlon was
on the gurney, which they were raising up. He was hooked up to an oxygen tank,
his eyes were bloodshot and vacant.
Then
she was in the hall. She tried not to look, tried her very hardest not to
notice, a second team zipping away the bodily mess that was the security guard.
And
she was crying. She wasn't sure if she had been all along, or if she had only
just now started.
She
betrayed herself and looked again, at the body shaped bag.
The
officer ushered her away from the carnage, guiding her feet around the messy
red puddles.
-------------------
Harold
slammed his phone down. "Dammit!"
It
had gone to voice mail.
"Emily!
My god, where are you?"
Then
he heard voices in the hall, ""Blue team move, Red team move! Push
towards section B, clear rooms as you go! Red team with, we're on detail. Shit-
get the med teams here now, we've got eyes on 1 wounded male, and a confirmed
location of one of the calls to dispatch!"
He
crept to the door, and peered through the window. He saw what might have been a
swat team, officers in armor. They were moving through the hall, aiming their guns
wherever they looked. One of them came to his door, he backed away in instant
fear. The officer lowered the muzzle.
"Are
you ok?" his voice was muffled, but clear enough to hear through the door.
Harold
nodded.
"Anybody
in the room injured?"
He
shook his head, and yelled back, "It's just me. I'm not injured."
The
officer nodded. "Stay put!" Then he moved on down the hall.
His
head swam. Harold though he heard a girl screaming but it was an eternity's distance
away and he could not tell what she was saying. Then her voice again, very
muffled, "Help! My teacher is wounded!"
Harold
ran back to the door, and pressed his face against the window, to look.
He
heard the muffled fragments of a conversation, and saw shadows moving, but
couldn't make them out.
Could
it be Emily?
He
thought about unlocking the door, but hesitated.
What
was he supposed to do?
What
the fuck had even happened?
The
swat guy had told him to stay put. Was it dangerous to fling the door open and
figure out who was out there?
What was he supposed to do?
He
slumped to his knees and laid his head in his hands with his ear against the
door.
Was
Hanlon dead?
An
image flashed before his fractured mind, the security guard with pieces
missing. Blood spattered across the walls and pooling on the floor.
"Emily..."
Was she ok?
He
trembled, and crawled back to his desk.
How
long was he supposed to stay here? Would they forget he was here?
The
officer had told him to stay put. The PA had told him to stay locked down. The
secretary in the office had told him to stay in the room with the door locked.
What
the hell had happened?
He
sat at his desk and tried to reason it out.
A
shooter?
There
were pieces missing from that
security guard. Bullets wouldn't do that, would they? It couldn't be a
shooting, he'd have heard the gunfire. He was tired, but he couldn't have slept
through that.
He
thought about Joe, and shuddered. Had Joe looked like that? Somewhere in the
back of his mind, he knew it for what it was. An animal attack.
An
attack from a savage beast.
He
grimaced, and tasted bile.
The
motherfucker that he and Joe hadn't succeeded in trapping. The motherfucker
that he and his dad hadn't succeeded in shooting.
In
the school?!
His
blood felt hot, and he wanted to break something.
Where
was Emily?!
If
she was harmed...
He
imagined the motherfucker: on it's back, it's legs tied at opposite angles,
parallel to the earth, it's joints overextended, strained at the shoulder and
hip. He imagined it's tongue lolling in helpless agony.
It's
tail curled up. He wanted to make it afraid before it died.
He
imagined it straining, and failing, to bite him as he hammered a wedge through
it's chest.
He
imagined it shuddering, gasping, shaking.
He
imagined it struggling as he placed the tip of the spear against the
motherfucker's muzzle and drove it's brain into the dirt.
His
rage knew no bounds.
Harold
wanted that animal to suffer.
And
he wanted it to suffer at his hands.
His
arms were tense and sweaty. He gulped and wiped away the tears that had
trickled down his cheeks.
"Emily
better be ok." But his words fell on an empty classroom, and he knew
exactly how powerless he was.
His
ears became attuned to the grave silence, and he heard the detached ticking of
the clock.
He
checked his phone. Nothing.
Harold
groaned. He needed something- anything- to take him out of the moment.
The
assignments. He groped for the folder which he'd been sleeping on, and tore it
open.
His
fingers were cramped, so was his mind. He was in an utter anguish of
discomfort.
After
today, classes would probably be canceled. For a while at least.
The
assignments would probably be forgiven, at this point he didn't care about his
grades anyway, but he just needed something
to take him away from the doom of the present.
But
it sure as fuck wasn't gonna be math. He threw those worksheets on the floor,
and thumbed through the rest of his classes for something interesting-
His
eyes fell on a note from one of the classes he'd missed yesterday. There was
bold, blue ink, and written- a message from Miss Day, the art teacher- 'Harold, remember you aren't alone. Reach out
if you need to talk. This is the in class assignment. It's not going to factor
into your overall grade, consider it extra credit- you don't even have to do
it, unless you want to. Given the circumstances. Feel free to use this if you
need a distraction, otherwise I'll see you in class when you're ready.
Sincerely, Miss Day.'
He
felt a glimpse of peace, and sent her whatever good vibes he had to send.
Harold
read the print out for the original assignment. 'First you drew something from memory. Then you drew that something from
a model. Your third and final assignment on this theme is to draw that
something one more time: from your imagination. Draw that something in a
different scene, with a different structure or purpose, draw it in use, or draw
it in whatever context you'd like to imagine.
He leaned over the paper and
fueled the pencil with all his fears, his anxieties, and his hate. He drew the
skull. And he put it on a body. He gave it all the extensions of life. And he
drew it to be full of the evil he feared from the coyote- or wolf or whatever
it was- that had taken his friend, and now others.
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And
he hated the sight of it. The pencil scratched away, and he hated every second
of it. He drew the motherfucker in a place- corrupting a place of safety. He
drew the signs of it's rampage and it's violence. He darkened the scene and
blurred the lines and added red:
And
his head was buzzing. He leaned back from the drawing, and felt a vague hint of
truth in the dark pit of his brain.
The
thing that had killed Joe was not an animal at all. It was a demon.
And
it was linked to that skull.
He
thought back to the weird little basement man at the museum. He thought back to
the demon wolf inscriptions, and his vague, desperate reaching for a solution.
Hadn't he said something to his dad about putting the spear back in the skull?
Maybe
he hadn't said it, but hadn't the thought crossed his mind?
"Why
didn't we just try it?!"
He
knew it in his soul: they were cursed. They dug up something that was buried
for a reason. They took the spear out of the skull, even though it was there
for a reason. And now something worse than an animal was savaging the people in
his town.
Why
hadn't it just killed him? He was the one who took the fucking spear.
"Maybe
it's afraid of me."
Harold
shook his head. That couldn't be it at all. How could a thing that vicious be
afraid?
But...
Then again... it only attacked when he was asleep. Maybe it really was afraid
of him!
He
unleashed the curse, maybe that meant he was the one who had the power to bind
it once again.
Then
he slammed his fist on the desk. "This is all crazy talk!"
How
could it be a demon? Demon's weren't fucking real.
But
how could it be a real, flesh and blood animal? That was impossible too.
"And
why in the ever loving fuck does it only come when I'm... asleep!"
When
it dawned on him, he was struck dumb in mind and in speech.
He
looked at his hands, they trembled. Then they positively shook.
Why
was he naked the night Joe was... Why didn't his parents see him sleeping
there- it was where he fell asleep, it was where he woke up!
"The
fucking bastard!"
He
leapt to his feet. Rage trickled through his veins. He picked up his desk and
threw it hard onto to the floor- it cracked down the middle with a loud snap,
and his pulse thickened.
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