Old habits die hard. When Calhoun heard the shots, his first instinct was to seek cover, the second to return fire.362Please respect copyright.PENANAF83R8ZyKc1
But he didn't have anything to shoot back with, and in that split second when his brain began to process what was going on, he realized that he was more concerned with Brooke's safety than with his own.
He lunged across the table, slid on the papers, knocked books and laptops aside, and grabbed her. The impact toppled over her chair. She cried out in shock. Calhoun twisted as they went down so that he hit the floor first and she landed on topo of him, rather than the other way around. His weight falling on her might have seriously injured her.
As soon as they were down, though, he rolled so that he was on top, on hands and knees, shielding her body with his own.
"Stay down," he told her through clenched teeth. "You'll be okay."
"Cal?! What...."
"Shhhh. Don't say anything." He didn't want her drawing attention to herself, or him, for that matter. He wasn't sure what was going on here, but getting on the radar of a hostile with a gun was never a good idea.
Calhoun looked around as best he could without raising his head too much. His senses were working overtime right now, attuned to everything that was screaming from other parts of the library's lower floor and realized that the man who had come down the escalator and started shooting wasn't alone.
He was the only one Calhoun could see from where he was, though, as he peered past a table leg and through a gap in the furniture toward the shooter. The man was around Calhoun's age, maybe a little older, somewhere between 25 and 30. Six one, around one-seventy. Wiry. Brown hair. Good-looking in a cocky way. He seemed very self-composed, which was good, Calhoun thought. Wild-eyed panic would mean more shooting. This guy looked like he wouldn't pull the trigger unless he had a good reason.
One of the students gave him a good reason for yelling and charging him. The gunman calmly shot him down, accurately enough to put the guy on the floor with only one round.
Calhoun's jaw tightened even more. That was a cold-blooded execution he had just witnessed. He had no doubt that the guy would kill him just as efficiently and ruthlessly if he tried anything stupid.
That means when he made his move, it had to be a smart one, Calhoun told himself.
His only weapon was the folding knife in his pocket. That wouldn't do him much good against three, maybe more, guns. He assumed that this guy's allies were armed at least as well as he was. The guy had a Glock 17 9mm, from the looks of it. He'd fired three rounds. That meant he could still have 14 or 15 shots, depending on whether there had been one in the chamber when he loaded a full magazine. And Calhoun wouldn't be the least bit surprised if the guy had at least six loaded magazines in his pockets, just waiting for him to switch them out if he needed to.
So there was a lot of firepower in here, at least relatively speaking because Stonewall College, like a lot of private colleges and universities, was a so-called Gun-Free Zone. That whole concept was one of the dumbest things Calhoun had ever heard of, a glancing neon sign of an invitation for evil to march right in and have its way, unchecked, but that was the situation and wishing it was different was pointless. More than likely, nobody in the building was carrying. Even the campus cops who worked like Neil Holt just carried stunguns, nothing lethal.
Which meant that if Calhoun was going to fight back successfully against these bastards, he needed to get his hands on one of their guns.
"Quiet down!" the gunman yelled. 'Everybody just shut the fuck up!"
He had to repeat the order several times at the top of his lungs before the racket began to die away. The screaming gradually stopped, but when it did, Calhoun could still hear people sobbing and whimpering. Somewhere not too far away, somebody said an obscenity over and over again in a terrified whisper.
It grew quiet enough in the library for the gunman to be heard all over the big room as he said, "All right, now you all know that we mean business. We're not terrorists or fanatics, if that's what you're thinking. We didn't come here today to hurt anybody, but as you've just seen, we'll do whatever's necessary in order to achieve our goals. Our group is large, spread out all over the campus, and committed to our cause. We're not just willing to kill in order to do what's right, we're also willing to die ourselves if that's what it takes to make America wake the hell up!"
Under his breath, Calhoun said to Brooke, "I thought he claimed he wasn't a terrorist or a fanatic. Sure as shit sounds like one to me."
She didn't say anything. Her eyes were wide and she was breathing hard. He knew she must be scared out of her wits.
"I'm sure you're all wondering what it is we want," the gunman went on.
He was well-spoken, Calhoun thought. Probably smart and well-educated, too, although you couldn't really tell that by the way somebody talked. In the service, he'd run across guys who sounded like they didn't have enough brain cells to rub together, yet who were actually some of the most intelligent people he'd ever met. However, his instincts told him this man was no dummy---and that made him even more dangerous in the long run.
"It's really very simple. The only way anyone leaves this campus today without more bloodshed is if one hundred million dollars is transferred to an offshore bank account, the number of which I'll provide to the authorities in due time. That's one with eight zeroes after it, for those of you who believe math is racist." The man chuckled, of all things. "And I know there are some of you in here right now who believe that. Trust me, I can see your point. Racism really is systemic in this country.
"Which brings me to my next point. We're not demanding that the government pay that hundred million dollars. No. It needs to come from the families of students here at Stonewall College. There are approximately three thousand students enrolled here. That means---and again, I'll help out the math-challenged among you---that each of their families would have to come up with less than thirty-five thousand dollars."
He smirked, waved his free hand, and the gun in his other hand never wavered as he went on. "Most of the families you come from are one-percenters. Old money. Dirty money. Money made on the backs of the common people, wrung out of them along with their sweat and blood!" He didn't sound quite so self-controlled now as he heated up. "Seriously, are you going to try to tell me that your parents can't just sit down and write a check for that much and never miss it? You know I'm right!"
Yeah, the guy might be a killer, but what he said was true, Calhoun thought. A semester's tuition, housing, and other expenses could easily add up to that much or more. A lot of parents paid it, again and again, so their darling little snowflakes could get degrees in intersectional feminism or gender studies. Although today, it would have to be gender-fluid studies.
"Now, I know what you're thinking," the gunman went on. "Some of your families can't afford that much. They really can't. You're here on scholarships or have managed some other way. And I believe you. I know there are students here at Stonewall who don't fit in, who don't come from stereotypical filthy rich families. You've probably felt oppressed because of it, too."
In that moment, Calhoun had a ray of insight into the gunman's personality. He had to come from that kind of background. He was speaking from experience. Calhoun could hear it in his voice.
"So I'm not asking your families to pay. I don't want to ruin anybody."
It was I now, not we. That told Calhoun this guy really was the brains of the operation, not just a mouthpiece.
"And I'm sure there are some students who don't happen to be on campus right now. They'll know to stay away, because, hell, there have to be at least a dozen phones in here sending all this out to the rest of the world, right? It's breaking news across the nation. That's fine. Nobody's going to shoot you 'cause you're using a phone. We want the rest of the country, the rest of the world, to know what's going on here today!"
He had to pace back and forth a little. His emotions were high, his nerves taut. Calhoun could tell that.
"Now, we all know that if somebody's kid was lucky enough to be somewhere else today, they're not going to come up with the money to save somebody else's kid, am I right? They don't give a shit that some of you might die. They don't give a shit about anybody but themselves and their families. They've proven that over and over again by supporting cuts in taxes and social programs that have ripped the safety net out from under countless people and let thousands die, just so they can pack a few extra bucks into their bank accounts! They're heartless bastards!" He jabbed the index finger of his free hand against the air in front of him, several times. "You know it's true! You know it!"
With a visible effort, he controlled himself and went on in a calmer tone. "So I'm not even going to ask these people to help save you. It wouldn't do any good. Just wasted effort to ask them to have a heart and help out those less fortunate than them. So what does that leave us?
"Well, if you subtract the families who really can't afford it and the ones who are too uncaring to pitch in---because they never pitched in to pay their fair share of taxes, did they?----and the families who might have more than one kid attending here, can't forget them---I figure that leaves us with about two thousand families that need to come up with some cash. They only have to average fifty grand apiece, and I know there are a lot of them who can do more than that!
"So here's how it's gonna work: the government will set up a special bank account---I don't care where, that doesn't matter---and your parents or guardians or what-have-you are going to transfer money into that account. And I want documentation of where every penny comes from, that's very important. No tax dollars ripped off from the middle class are going into this account. Only money from the oligarchs who have taken over this country. When the account reaches one hundred million dollars, which it has until 5:00 this afternoon to do, no later, that money will be transferred into the account I specify and the documentation showing where all the money came from will be delivered to my representatives as well. If everything checks out and nobody tries any tricks, we'll leave, and a short time later you'll all be free to go about your business.
"How are we going to get away, you ask?"
Nobody had, but Callhoun was more than a little interested in that question himself.362Please respect copyright.PENANAjirufpfVQ5
"Nobody's gonna try stoppin' us," the gunman went on. "We'll be taken to the airport in Austin where a jet'll be waiting to fly us out of the country. When we've landed where we're going---and the flight shouldn't take much more than about three hours---it'll be all over and you'll be safe. But until then....." He cocked his head a little to the side, grinning. "Well, until then, we're all going to be in a little bit of danger. Because, folks, my friends and I have planted bombs all over this campus, and all it'll take is one signal from a detonator to blow Stonewall College---and all of you---right off the fuckin' map!"362Please respect copyright.PENANAJTT6u8qVAA