Fostering Death (28 page)

The door slammed before the kids could get there.

I heard a burst of what sounded like automatic gunfire. A lone figure ran down the hallway by the office, with what looked like an AK-47. He was dressed in black except for his jacket, which was a red and black buffalo plaid hunter’s jacket.

Just like mine.

He kept running down the hall, past the office.

The siren whined to a halt out in front.

I looked around. The kids were clinging to me. I
had
to get them someplace safe.

A female uniformed police officer appeared in front of the office, followed by several men, not in uniform but looking very much ready to take charge of the situation. They skidded to a halt, their guns drawn, and looked straight at me.

“Put it down.”

What? I looked at my hands. The solar system project. I tossed it to the floor, trying to get it away from us.

One of the men swiped at it with his boot and kicked it away from us.

No one said to, but I clasped my hands behind my head and spread my feet.

“Don’t move,” the woman said.

“Yes, ma’am,” I said. “Let the kids move away, though.”

She stood silently, her left hand steadying her right, which held the gun.

“Chris. Brianna. Get under the desk,” I said.

Chris let go of my jacket and took a step toward the secretary’s desk.

Brianna held on tighter.

“Chris. Come get Brianna. She
has
to go with you.”

Chris’s frightened eyes looked up at mine. “Get her, Chris,” I said. “Now. Go sit under the desk and pull the chair in behind you.”

He grabbed Brianna by the arm and pulled her toward the desk. She whimpered.

“Go, Brianna,” I said.

As soon as the kids were no longing clinging to me, one of the men tackled me, sending me flat on the floor. I fell hard, smashing my already battered face into the floor, but I didn’t resist.

I felt a knee in the small of my back. My hands were jerked back, and I felt the cold familiar bite of handcuffs.

“How many of you are there?”

I tried to make sense of the question. “I don’t know what you mean.”

I felt something jam into my neck just below my ear. Something metal. The muzzle of a gun? Good bet. The knee was still in my back, and someone was now holding my legs down.

“How many of your buddies are running around this school?” he asked.

I swallowed hard. “I’m by myself. Except for the kids.”

“I’m not afraid to use this,” he warned, shoving the gun harder into my neck. “We’re in an ‘active shooter’ alert; that means we go by military standards, not civilian police. Shoot first and ask questions later.”

But he
was
asking questions. Questions I couldn’t answer. I fought down an urge to try to scramble to my feet and make a run for it. That would probably be a fatal move. I closed my eyes and wondered how quickly I could figure out how to pray. Or if there was anyone out there willing to listen to me if I tried.

“We got your one buddy. The one doing the shooting. And we’ve got you. Are there any more of you?”

I didn’t have an answer for him, so I didn’t say anything.

“Let’s get him away from the women and children,” someone said.

The knee left the small of my back, but my legs were twisted up behind me. I felt something tighten around my ankles, just above my boots. It didn’t feel like regular leg irons. Probably those plastic disposable ones the cops carried.

Time seemed to stop, although I bet it was only a few seconds until I heard more boot-steps come into the office. I opened my eyes without moving a muscle. I was surrounded in all directions by polished boots, inches from my body and face. If they smashed into me, they’d do a lot of damage.

“What’ve we got here?” The words came from over by the door.

“One of the invaders,” the man with the gun said as he shoved it harder beneath my ear. I felt the gun waver as he turned. I hoped he had a steady hand.

“Was he armed?”

“Over here,” someone else said. “Wrapped in this towel. We haven’t looked to see what it is.”

I wanted to say, “A science project of the solar system,” but I didn’t think anybody would listen to me anyhow.

“Let’s get him up.”

Rough hands hauled me to my feet. The effort wasn’t well coordinated—the guy leaning on my legs didn’t let go until I was halfway up.

I was suspended by two men holding my arms as my legs tried to catch up with the rest of me. I finally managed to get my feet under me and stood up. I left a small pool of blood behind on the floor. Blood dripped down my throat, and if my nose hadn’t been broken from before, I was pretty sure it was now.

A man in a quasi-military uniform seemed to have taken charge. “Has he been searched?”

“Not yet.”

“Get that jacket off him and take it outside. The other guy had something sewn into the lining.”

“Explosives?”

“We don’t know yet. But we’re not taking any chances.”

My hands were uncuffed. The jacket was unzipped and pulled roughly off. Someone brought a waist chain, and my hands were cuffed again, this time in front of me and locked to the waist chain.

Hands from behind reached into my pockets and pulled out my wallet and my key ring. They felt under my shirt, around my belt, and between my legs.

“No weapons, lieutenant,” the searcher said.

“What’s your name?” the lieutenant said.

I didn’t realize he was talking to me until one of the men holding my arms gave me a shove. “Answer him.”

“Jesse Damon,” I said. My tongue was thick, and I tasted blood.

“That’s the name the secretary gave us last week,” someone said.

“Last week? He’s been in the school before?”

“Yes, lieutenant. Maybe to scope things out.”

“Damon,” the lieutenant said.

“Yes, sir?” I answered.

“Look at me.”

Reluctantly, I raised my eyes to his face. He was clean-shaven with a scar down his left cheek. His steely eyes didn’t blink.

“What’s your buddy’s name?”

“I don’t know, sir. I came in by myself.”

“Right. You expect me to believe that?”

Not much to say to that. I tried to shrug, but the grip on my arms was too tight.

“What did you come here for?”

“Dropping off some kids who go here. My girlfriend’s kids.” Not the time to discuss whether Kelly was really my girlfriend.

“Oh, yeah? And where are these kids?”

“I told them to hide under the desk,” I said. “I think they’re still there.”

He narrowed his eyes and peered at me, but he moved behind the secretary’s desk and jerked the chair out.

No one said anything for a long minute.

Finally, the lieutenant said “You kids okay?”

“Yeah,” Chris said in a timid voice.

“Can you come out?”

“Yeah.” I heard the kids scramble out of their hiding place. They were behind me. So I couldn’t see them. I wished they couldn’t see me.

“Get someone in here to pick up two kids.”

“Medics?”

“Don’t need medics. Social worker or something, if you got one.”

I risked a look over my shoulder.

The female officer had taken the kids by the hand and was steering them toward the back offices.

Brianna looked back at me. “Jesse,” she said. “You’re hurt.”

“I’m okay, honey,” I said. “You just go with the nice lady.”

“But you’re
bleeding,
” she said, pulling her hand away and running over to grasp my leg.

“I’ll be fine, Brianna. The lady will take good care of you. Just go on with her.”

One of the other officers pried her fingers off my leg and lifted her up.

Chris stood staring, his expression unreadable. He looked at his solar system project and took a step toward it.

“Leave it, Chris,” I said.

I was jerked backward. “Shut up,” one of the guys holding me said.

Why did the kids have to see me like this?

Chris stopped.

“Your mom’ll be proud of how brave you guys are being,” I said. “You tell her I’ll be in touch as soon as I can.” Which would probably be a while. If ever.

If I sent her a letter from jail, would she get somebody—maybe Chris—to read it to her? Or would she just throw it away? And if she did get somebody to read it, would she get them to write me back for her? Why should she?

Looked like I’d pick up some pretty heavy new charges. Or at least get pulled in on a parole violation. We’d both be old by the time I had any chance of being released again.

The lieutenant watched as the kids were shepherded into the office and the door closed. Then he turned back to me. “You put your girlfriends’
kids
in the middle of this? You’re one sick pup.”

He wasn’t going to listen to anything I said.

“Let’s get him away from the women and kids.” They shoved me toward the door to the office.

“Is the building cleared yet?” the lieutenant asked.

A uniformed officer by the door to the office said, “I don’t know. We’ve been maintaining radio silence.”

Mrs. O’Neill slipped out of the back office. It must have been getting crowded in there.

The lieutenant nodded toward me. “Let’s get this guy out of here.”

The officer opened the door, and the two men holding my arms shoved me forward. The leg restraints only let me take a small step, and I stumbled, falling forward through the door.

From down the hall, several shots rang out.

My forearm felt like it had been stung by a giant wasp. It hurt so much I hardly noticed the sudden burn on my leg.

“Hold your fire!”

I felt myself being jerked upright. My arm was numb, but the left calf throbbed. I tried to put most of my weight on my right foot.

Two men in camouflage suits dashed up, They were both holding rifles. “Lieutenant.”

“Is the building secure?”

“I think so. Should I make a round? Or should I use the radio.”

“No sign of any explosives planted anywhere?”

“Only the jackets. Looks like a small amount of those plastic explosives. We put them out beyond the parking lot until the bomb squad gets here.”

“How many intruders were there?”

“Just the two guys.”

“This one and the shooter?”

“Yep.”

“ID the shooter yet?” the lieutenant asked.

“Yeah. One Xavier Bradley.”

I wondered if that were
the
Xavier. I mean, how many people are named Xavier?

“Any motive?”

“He’s got a son in this school. And he’s in the middle of a custody battle with the boy’s mother.”

“Xavier Bradley?” Mrs. O’Neill said. “He came in trying to take his son out of school late last week. I told him he couldn’t. We have a copy of a restraining order.”

“Did he seem upset about it?” the lieutenant asked.

“He said we’d be sorry, that it was his son and we couldn’t keep him from taking his son. He said he’d be back. We called the police.”

“Is that why this school’s security level has been so high?”

She nodded toward me. “That and Mr. Damon there coming in.”

“Wise thing to do,” the lieutenant said. “We were ready for something to happen here. If we hadn’t been on high alert, it would have taken a lot longer for someone to get here.”

“Was anybody hurt?” Mrs. O’Neill asked.

“Just the gunman. The medics are getting ready to transport him to the hospital now. Otherwise it’s just property damage.”

I felt hot, sticky blood making its way down my leg and pooling in my boot. My eyes were so swollen I could hardly see out of them, and I had no doubt my face was a mess. I couldn’t feel my arm. I guess I didn’t count.

“Thank God,” she said. “It could have been so much worse.”

“You got that right.”

“What are we going to do with this one, lieutenant?” one of the men holding me asked.

All eyes turned toward me.

“Take him downtown,” the lieutenant said. “Have them hold him while we get a few things figured out.”

“Should we get a medic to take a look at him?”

“Nah. The detention center intake ought to be able to take care of that.”

“We’re booking him? What are the charges?”

“We don’t need charges. Damon here is a paroled murderer. Don’t need no other reason to hold him. Find out who his PO is and let him know we’ve got him.”