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For the first time in a long time, I pray. My mother’s blind faith is something I did not inherit. Yet, I find myself pleading to a higher power. For him or her to watch over everyone in the school. My pleading becomes more specific because I pray that Rory’s safely locked away in her office and nowhere near the perp with a gun. I also pray that this is a big misunderstanding, and when we show up at the school we can breathe a sigh of relief at the false alarm.
With the school in eyesight, I realize my last prayer has gone unheard. There are a handful of students and staff on the sidewalk. Some are crying and all look panicked. I swerve and aim the hood of my truck at the school, then hop out.
Everything in me wants to run in there, guns blazing. But I can’t, not yet. Doing that runs the risk of the shooter firing and possibly hurting someone, or me.
“The neighboring towns are sending backup,” Skip tells us.
Glancing around, I see the entire force is here. I hadn’t even noticed. My tunnel vision is directed at the school.
“Did we get any more info?” I ask.
Skip’s eyes meet mine and I already know the answer. “There was a school board meeting today. Principal Aguirre and Vice Principal Miller are on their way now. Melody Harris was the only employee in the office this morning.”
“And that’s where he’s barricaded?” one guy asks.
“Yes. Active shooter drill means that all classrooms are on lockdown.” More squad cars arrive every minute that Skip talks. “We get suited up and start with the classrooms on the outer wall. When everyone’s evacuated, we move on to the next. Once all the other departments are here, we’ll assemble two teams for the interior. Remember, everyone is a suspect until proven otherwise. We don’t know if the shooter is a student or someone from outside the school. Stay alert.”
A resounding “Yes, sir” sweeps through us.
As the others break to divvy up the tasks at hand, Skip places his hand on my shoulder. “She’s not answering her phone.”
“I know.” I should tell him she’s all right and make up excuses as to why we can’t reach her. But I can’t lie to Skip or myself.
“So help me God, Jackson, if something happens to her.” Skip’s voice catches, and I watch as his eyes burn with tears as he looks helplessly at the school. Someone calls his name, and he tries his best to shake off the worry. “We go in soon. Get ready.”
Reaching for my phone, I try Rory once more. Still nothing.
Something is wrong.
If she was on campus and heard the gunshots, she would have called to report it immediately. Or at least texted one of us to let us know she’s ok. Dispatch said countless calls came in after the first one. If one would have been from Rory, they would have told Skip, who then would have told me. Just as I’m about to dial her again, I hear my name being called. I look up to find a distraught Lyndsey running toward me.
“She’s in there.” My heart stops beating and my knees go weak. “She’s in there, Jackson. You have to go get her.”
Lyndsey is frantic. But I snap myself out of it, needing to remain calm. Jumping to conclusions and panicking won’t help.
“Where is Rory, Lynds?”
Skip is off to the side of me, arguing with one of the higher-ups from a different town. There’s no way for me to get his attention.
“The photocopier went down and Rory was in the office fixing it. She’s in there. I heard two gunshots. Oh, God. What if they shot Rory and Ms. Melody?”
Lyndsey just confirmed my fear. The reason Rory isn’t picking up her phone or calling me or her dad is because she’s being held hostage at gunpoint, or worse. No! I refuse to think anything worse has happened.
My eyes dart to Skip. He’s being lectured by more than a few people now, and I watch as he finally surrenders. The man, who I can only assume is now in charge, looks around. Glancing back at Skip, he makes eye contact before mouthing the words “Go now!” at me. They’re benching him because of his relation to a possible victim. I need to get in there before they do the same to me.
I rush toward the side of the school. In front of me, I see one group of officers moving from window to window, evacuating the students and faculty inside those rooms. In front of the school, another group is suiting up and will start clearing the interior. That’s the team I should go in with, but if I do, I’ll be caught and forced to sit out here and wait. And I can’t wait. Not as long as she’s in there.
Moving toward the back of the school, I pause at the gym door and remove my gun from its holster. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve had to draw my weapon while on duty. Not once did I think I’d have to do it here. I pull open the door and raise my Glock, scanning the interior as I make my way through the empty room.
Hallway after hallway, I sweep in total silence. It’s eerily quiet, with everyone locked inside their classrooms, hiding under a desk, or huddled together in the corner. All of them fearful to make even the faintest of peeps because it might draw the attention of a crazed shooter. As I move closer to the office, I stop dead in my tracks. The clicking of high heels on the vinyl flooring echoes throughout the school, and I rush toward the sound.
Rounding the corner, Ms. Melody almost lands face first in my gun.
“Jackson, oh my God!” she cries out.
“Shhh, I need you to lower your voice,” I tell her, pulling her back around the corner.
“He’s crazy, Jackson. That man, I thought I was a goner, but he let me go.”
