FRIDAY, 25 SEPTEMBER 1998 — EAST RACCOON ELEMENTARY — 11:00am
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Someone was still coughing in the corridor behind them.
The corridor emptied slowly around them, children scattering toward the playground and the lockers and the cafeteria, their voices bright and strange in the fluorescent light. Owen walked with his legs heavy and his eyes wanting to close. Maya was beside him. She hadn’t let go of his sleeve. The door to the maths room stayed closed behind them, and Mrs. Barnes was still standing near it, and the sound from behind it — that low, wet groan — had stopped, or maybe it hadn’t, and Owen just couldn’t hear it anymore.
They found a low wall near the edge of the playground. Benny was already there. He was sitting with his hands in his lap and his head tilted at an odd angle, and when Owen and Maya sat down beside him, he didn’t make a joke. He didn’t say anything at all. Michael arrived a moment later. For a long moment, none of them spoke.
The playground was full of noise. Kids were running, shouting, laughing. Someone was coughing — a wet, rattling sound that went on and on. But the laughter didn’t settle. The running felt a little too fast.
Benny broke the silence.
“That was...” He didn’t finish. His voice was slower than usual, the words heavy in his mouth. His head tilted again, trying to find an angle that didn’t hurt.
No one finished for him.
“Do you think he’s going to be okay?” Benny asked finally. “Mr. MacAllister?”
Michael didn’t answer right away. He thought about it. “Yeah. Yeah, I think so. People have fits. My uncle had one once. He was fine after.”
“What kind of fit?” Benny asked.
“I don’t know. A fit. He was on the floor and then he got up and he was fine.”
“He was on the floor and then he got up?”
“Yeah.”
“Was he making sounds?”
Michael hesitated. “I don’t remember.”
Benny nodded slowly. He didn’t look convinced. His hand came up toward his neck — the skin there was cracked and raw — and then stopped. His fingers hovered near the skin without touching it. He pulled his hand back and dropped it in his lap.
Maya hadn’t said anything. She was sitting close to Owen, her hand still resting near his sleeve, her eyes on the ground. When she spoke, her voice was quiet and slightly hoarse.
“He was scared.”
“Who?” Benny asked.
“Mr. MacAllister. Before he — before. He was scared. You could see it.”
No one answered. The silence stretched.
“He told us to go,” Owen said. His voice came out quieter than he meant it to. “He said he didn’t want to hurt us.”
“That’s what I mean,” Maya said. “He knew something was wrong. He knew and he made us leave.”
Michael leaned forward. “That’s good, though. That means he was still thinking. He was still in there. If he was still thinking, he’s going to be okay.”
Maya looked at him. She didn’t say anything. Her hand, resting on the brick, was trembling — a fine tremor she didn’t seem to notice.
Benny shifted on the wall. His head kept tilting, kept trying to find a comfortable angle. When he spoke again, his voice came out slower than he meant it to.
“Do you think Mrs. Barnes is going to tell us what happened?”
“I don’t know,” Michael said. “Maybe.”
“Maybe she doesn’t know either.”
Michael didn’t answer. He was looking at his hands. His fingers were shaking — a small, persistent tremor that hadn’t been there before. He pressed them flat against his thighs. It didn’t stop.
Owen watched Michael’s hands. He watched Maya’s hand trembling on the brick. He watched Benny’s neck. He saw these things and then he looked away.
The conversation drifted. Benny and Michael were talking about something else now — whether they’d have to go back to Mrs. Calloway’s room, whether there’d be a different teacher. Their voices faded. Benny’s words were slow and deliberate. Michael answered in fragments, his attention still on his hands.
Maya turned to Owen. Her face was pale and tired, but her eyes were focused on him. She’d been watching him all morning.
“What do you think is going to happen?” she asked. Quiet. Just for him.
“With what?”
“Mr. MacAllister. And —” She paused. She didn’t seem to know how to finish. “Everything. This morning. It feels wrong.”
Owen thought about it. Or tried to. His brain was heavy. “I don’t know.”
“Me neither.”
She looked down at her hands — the tremor in them. She pressed them flat against her knees. When she looked up again, her expression had shifted. There was something in it he hadn’t seen before. Nervousness, maybe. Or something close to it.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Yeah.”
“After school. I was going to — I mean, if you’re around. I could stop by. Your house. Just to see if you’re okay. After everything.”
Owen blinked. His tired brain took a moment to catch up. “You want to come over?”
“Just for a bit. If that’s okay.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, that’s — that’s okay.”
She smiled. Small. Tired. Real. “Okay. Good.”
She turned back to the playground. Owen looked at his hands. His heart was beating a little too fast. He didn’t know why. He knew why.
He was happy. He was also tired. He was also worried about Mr. MacAllister. But underneath all of that, he was happy. Maya wanted to come over. After school. She wanted to see if he was okay.
She coughed. A wet sound. She covered her mouth with her hand. When she lowered it, she didn’t look at it. Owen noticed. He didn’t say anything.
Voices. Not the children on the playground — adult voices, low and urgent, coming from the side door near the corner of the building. Owen looked up. Mrs. Barnes was standing there with her arms folded, her face tired. Mr. Hendry was talking to her — the Year 5 teacher, a man Owen had seen around the school but didn’t know well. His voice was insistent.
Owen caught fragments.
“...I’m telling you, you need to hear this.” Mr. Hendry. “The National Guard has the whole perimeter sealed. They’re not letting anyone through. They’re calling it a precaution but you don’t bring in the military for a precaution.”
Mrs. Barnes said something Owen couldn’t hear. Mr. Hendry cut her off.
“There’s more. My sister-in-law works at the hospital. She was on shift this morning. She heard it from one of the paramedics who was at the checkpoint. A woman was trying to get back into the city. She had a daughter here. Ten years old. She was at the barricade for an hour and then she ran. She ran through the gap and they shot her.”
Mrs. Barnes’s voice, sharper now. Owen caught only part of it. “...shot her?”
“On the road. In front of everyone. She was holding a photograph of her daughter. Showing it to the soldiers. And they killed her.”
Benny said something beside Owen. Owen didn’t answer. He was listening to the teachers.
Mr. Hendry kept going. His voice was building now.
“That’s not all she heard. A teacher from the high school collapsed in the staff room this morning — same thing as MacAllister. They had to lock her in the nurse’s office.”
Maya’s voice, beside Owen. “Owen.”
He didn’t answer.
“Owen. What are they saying?”
He blinked. He looked at her. “I don’t —” He looked back at the teachers. “I don’t know. Something about the checkpoint. A woman. Someone got hurt.”
Maya nodded slowly. She didn’t ask again.
Mr. Hendry was still talking. His voice was different now. Not insistent. Frightened.
“You need to talk to the principal. You need to seriously consider —” He stopped. “Look at them. Look at the kids. Half of them are sick. More than half. They came in this morning coughing and putting their heads down. There are empty desks everywhere. Kids who went home before first break. It’s not just here. It’s not just the high school. It’s everywhere. Something is wrong. Something has been wrong since the bell rang.”
Mrs. Barnes didn’t answer.
“You’ve seen it. Every classroom is the same. Every year group.”
Mrs. Barnes spoke. Her voice was sharp but there was something underneath it. “What do you want me to do?”
“Send them home. All of them. Before —”
“Before what? Before what, exactly? What do you want me to tell the principal?”
“Because Tom MacAllister just had a fit in front of his entire class. Because the same thing happened at the high school this morning. Because whatever is happening, it’s not stopping. It’s getting worse. And if we wait until someone else collapses —”
He stopped.
Mrs. Barnes didn’t answer. She was standing very still, her arms still folded, her face pale.
Then she nodded. Once. Small. “I’ll talk to him.”
Mr. Hendry exhaled. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. I don’t know what I’m going t-.”
She didn’t finish. Because somewhere down the east corridor, someone screamed.
Not a word. Just a sound — high and sudden and wrong. And then another voice, shouting. And another. And then the sound of running feet.
Mrs. Barnes turned. Mr. Hendry turned. They looked at each other, and then they were both moving — Mrs. Barnes running toward the corridor, Mr. Hendry behind her, and other teachers were appearing now, coming out of doorways, their faces sharp with alarm.
Owen was on his feet. Maya was on her feet. Michael was already up. Benny rose slowly, his head heavy.
They moved toward the corridor, toward the noise. The children on the playground had stopped playing. Everyone was looking toward the east corridor.
More shouting. More running. Mrs. Barnes’s voice cut through — “Out of the way, move, move —” and the children in the corridor pressed themselves against the walls. Mr. Hendry was near the office door, pulling a radio from the wall-mounted charger, his voice high and breathless.
“We need security at the east corridor. Now. He’s — just get here. Now.”
The radio crackled. “Security’s on the way.”
Then Mrs. Calloway’s voice, high and sharp. “He’s out — he’s in the east corridor —”
And then a scream. This one had words in it.
“He bit me!”
Mrs. Calloway. But not the voice Owen knew. Higher. Terrified. Breaking.
“He bit me — my god — why did he —”
“The janitor’s room — get him in the janitor’s room —”
“— why did he bite me —”
Mrs. Calloway’s voice again, high and thin: “— it hurts —”
“Just get him in —”
A door slammed. The heavy metal sound of the janitor’s room. More footsteps. More shouting. Mrs. Calloway was still crying out — a high, thin sound, words and not-words mixed together.
“Hold it. Don’t let go. Don’t — someone get the nurse.”
Mrs. Barnes, sharper, over the top of her: “Everyone back. Give him space. Don’t go near the door. Don’t —”
A thud against the door. Once. Twice. And then a sound that wasn’t human. A growl, muffled by the metal, low and wet and wrong. And then silence from behind the door.
The corridor went quiet. For a moment, the only sound was breathing — ragged, heavy.
And Mrs. Calloway, still crying. Quieter now. “He bit me. He bit my arm. Why did he — I don’t understand — he was —”
She came out of the corridor. She wasn’t walking — she was stumbling. Her grey hair had come unpinned and hung around her face. Her glasses were gone. Her left hand was pressed hard against her right forearm, and there was blood on her sleeve, a dark stain spreading, and she was still speaking — fragments of words, fragments of pain.
“He bit me. He bit me. Why did he —”
Mrs. Barnes was behind her. “Get her to the staff room. Someone get the nurse.”
Mr. Hendry was still holding the radio, his voice cracking. “We need medical assistance at the east corridor. A teacher’s been bitten. We need —”
Another teacher put an arm around Mrs. Calloway. “Come on. Come on, let’s get you sitting down.”
“He bit me —”
“I know. I know. Come on.”
And then Mrs. Calloway looked up.
She saw them. Owen. Maya. Benny. Michael. Standing at the edge of the playground. Watching.
She stopped speaking. Her mouth closed. Her face was wet and white and twisted with pain, but she closed her mouth. She looked at them — really looked at them — and she didn’t say another word.
She let herself be led away. Her back was straight. Her hand was still pressed against her arm. The blood was still spreading. But she was quiet now.
Owen watched her go. His teacher. The woman who had written PREDATOR AND PREY on the blackboard. Stillness. Silence. The herd. Know your exits. Hide, and now she was bleeding.
The janitor’s room was sealed. A teacher Owen didn’t know was standing in front of it with his arms folded. Mrs. Barnes was beside him, her hand resting on the doorframe. A security guard had arrived and was standing with them.
Mrs. Barnes looked up. She saw them still standing there, still watching.
“No,” she said. “No. Get back. All of you. Go back to the playground. Now. Go. Go.”
She wasn’t shouting. Her voice was almost pleading.
The children didn’t move at first. Benny was staring at the grey metal door. Michael had his hand on Benny’s shoulder. Maya was gripping Owen’s sleeve.
“Go!” Mrs. Barnes shouted. Her voice cracked.
They went.
They walked back toward the low wall. Owen’s legs felt like they belonged to someone else. Maya was still holding his sleeve. Benny was quiet. Michael kept looking back.
“Why would he bite her?” Benny asked. His voice was small. “He’s a teacher. He’s been here forever. Why would he do that?”
No one answered.
“She was screaming,” Michael said. “I’ve never heard a teacher scream before.”
“What’s wrong with him? Because that’s not a fit. My uncle had a fit and he didn’t bite anyone. He didn’t — he didn’t sound like that.”
No one answered that either.
They sat down again on the low wall. No one spoke. The grey metal door stayed closed. The morning continued around them — other children playing, someone laughing too loud, the fluorescent lights humming — but the four of them were very still.
Michael’s hands were still shaking. He looked at them. He didn’t say anything. Benny’s neck was raw and wet. He hadn’t touched it again. Maya coughed — a wet sound — and covered her mouth with her hand. When she lowered it, there was a trace of something on her palm. She looked at it. She wiped it on her skirt.
The bell rang.
The sound was the same as it had always been. The morning was still structured around bells.
Benny got up slowly. His movements were heavy, deliberate, like he was thinking about each one. Michael pushed his sleeves down — his hands were still shaking. He didn’t look at them.
Maya let go of Owen’s sleeve. She’d been holding it all break. She looked at him.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Yeah,” Owen said.
“After school,” she said. “I’ll come over.”
“Yeah.”
She nodded. She walked toward the door. Michael followed. Benny followed. Owen stood there for a moment, watching them go.
Owen followed his friends. His legs were heavy. His eyes wanted to close. The door to the east corridor was closed now. Security was there. Teachers were there. The grey metal door was sealed and guarded and whatever was behind it was, for the moment, contained.
The children walked to their next lesson.28Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7zimVyrOuD
