Sam Jaywick was still muttering to himself as he walked around the first floor of the library. Chief Holt was the boss, yeah, but that didn't give him the right to banish Jaywick here. That was what it felt like, damn right, banishment. The library was the dullest place on campus.346Please respect copyright.PENANAhmtwerd9dO
A student walked past Jaywick on the way to the escalators. Jaywick looked in that direction but was only vaguely aware of the guy. His mind was full of resentment over the way the chief had treated him, and in front of a civilian, too! That only made it worse.
Jaywick had thought it over---he hadn't thought of much else since the incident---and he was still convinced that he'd done the right thing. That deliveryman had broken the law and deserved the ticket, and once he started arguing with a duly appointed representative of the law, he deserved what he got. Simple as that. Couldn't have people being defiant to law enforcement. That was an invitation to anarchy.
Except, of course, in cases where the law was just being used as stooges by a fascist government. Then it was a real patriot's duty to resist, be it by hashtags or other, more "direct" methods.
Earlier, when he was taking a turn through the lower level, Jaywick had spotted Calhoun Weaver siting at a table with a stunning redheaded woman, which was annoying enough to start with. Jaywick though the woman was one of the professors her, and that just made it worse. He didn't believe that students and teachers should be involved with one another that way, although there was a long history of things like that happening at campuses nationwide. It was against the Stonewall College conduct code, though, which meant, in a way, that Weaver and the woman were lawbreakers. Jaywick wished that there was such a thing as giving a ticket for illegal fucking. Had there been such, he would've slapped one down in front of Weaver and the woman in a heartbeat.
It just wasn't fair that a guy could be such a racist, sexist, homophobic bigot and still get a woman who looked like that!
Jawyick was brooding about that, as well as the deliveryman and Chief Holt, when the walkie-talkie clipped to his belt just in front of the stungun crackled to life. He unclipped it and lifted it in time to hear the strained tones of the chief's voice as he called for help at the groundskeeper's shed. Jaywick's fingers tightened on the walkie as he picked up on the pain in Holt's voice. Something was very wrong.
He whirled around and started for the main entrance doors at a fast trot. He hadn't reached them when two guys suddenly got in front of him.
"Get out of the way!" Jaywick yelled at them as he waved the hand holding the walkie-talkie. "Dammit, get out..."
Somewhere behind him, two shots blasted, so loud that they seemed to shake the whole big building. Jaywick stopped short, his feet skidding a little underneath him, and turned his head to stare in that direction. People were screaming down on the lower level, so it seemed pretty obvious that was where the shooting came from. Someone shouted, but Jaywick couldn't make out the words.
He heard a man behind him say, "Nobody's going anywhere, pig."
That made him twist back toward the entrance. He was just in time to see one of the men who'd blocked his path a few seconds earlier lunging at him. The man had a gun in his hand. Jaywick dropped the walkie-talkie and grabbed for his stungun, but he had no chance to pull the weapon from its holster. The man crashed the pistol against his head and knocked him backward off of his feet.
Jaywick had been hit hard enough to knock the wind out of him and slid a few feet on the polished floor. Horrible pain filled his head. He was disoriented and for a few heartbeats couldn't have said where he was or what was going on. All he knew was that he was hurt and stunned.
Then a kick thudded into his ribs, bringing him even more pain but jolting him back to a kind of clarity at the same time. As he began to curl up around the agony in his side, he felt someone jerk the stungun out of the holster. He was unarmed now, and in the shape he was in, utterly uselessly, too.
That knowledge left a bitter taste filling his mouth.
One of the men looming above him said, "Stay down, pig, if you wanna stay healthy."
Fury flooded through Jaywick, for a moment overwhelming the pain and confusion he felt. Nobody could talk to him that way, especially one of these smartass college kids. He was as good as any of them, if only they'd see that. Unarmed or not, he started trying to struggle to his feet.
"I warned you, you dumb son of a bitch!"
Jaywick saw a hand holding a gun slashing toward his head again. He dived at a pair of legs in front of him. Shoulders rammed against knees, and that knocked the guy off balance enough that the gun smashed down on Jaywick's back instead of his head. It still hurt like hell, but it didn't put him out. He grabbed hold of the legs and heaved.
With a startled yelp, the man went over backwards. Jaywick scrambled ahead and tried to get on top of him. He figured the other guy likely had a gun, too, but maybe he wouldn't risk using it for fear of hitting his friend. Jaywick was fighting mostly on instinct, but he was thinking clearly enough to realize that much, at least.
He got a hand on the gun and tried to tug it free. He didn't know what else might be going on in the library---trouble, no doubt about that----but he couldn't deal with anything else right now. He had his hands full wrestling with this one man, hoping to get the gun away so he'd have a chance to deal with the other one.
That clout on the head had weakened him, though, and left him not operating at peak capacity. The man he was fighting with lifted a knee into his belly, assuring that he couldn't get any air into his body to replace the air he'd lost when he hit the floor. Gasping, Jaywick desperately clung to the gun with one hand and the man's wrist with the other. He tried to wrench the weapon free, tried so hard that he sobbed with the effort.
Then another terrific impact struck the back of his head. He didn't have time to wonder if he had been shot or just pistol-whipped again. He didn't try to figure out what was going on here in the library or even venture a guess whether he was going to live or if he was already dead.
He just plummeted into darkness that seemed never-ending.346Please respect copyright.PENANA6E5qKB90MB
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Donald Montecristo bolted to his feet when he heard the shots. He was close enough to them that his ears rang from the thunderous reports. He jerked his head from side to side as he looked around, watching for the shooter.
He guessed that after all the horrible mass shootings of the past few years, anybody who spent time at a school or anywhere else big crowds gathered had to feel a little shiver of apprehension now and then. You couldn't help but wonder, at any time, if someone was drawing a bead on you. Would you even know what was going on, or would you just go on to---whatever was on the other side---without ever knowing what had happened?
Would everything just be over in less than the blink of an eye, like somebody turning off a switch?
Elsewhere on the library's lower level, people started screaming. A few ran here and there, aimlessly because they didn't know who they were running from or where they were running to. Most people hunkered down right where they were, though, hoping and praying that they wouldn't wind up as targets for the shooter, whoever he was.
Nancy was one of the screamers. Jerry lunged toward her, wrapped his arms around her, and cried, "I'll protect you!"
She screamed again, started hissing at him, and yelled, "Get off of me!"
Mary dived to the floor and tried to crawl under the table between the chairs and sofas. It wasn't big enough to hide all of her, but it would provide some cover, which was better than nothing, Donald supposed.
Taaj was on his feet, too, looking around frantically like Donald was. In the past, he had talked about how he wished he could strike back at the Great Satan, America, for the glory of Islam and the Prophet, but right now he just looked scared.
"Where is he?" Taaj asked.
Donald knew he was talking about the shooter.
"There!" he said, pointing as he suddenly caught sight of a man standing at the foot of the escalators with a pistol in his hand, pointing toward the ceiling. The gunman was white, fairly young, and average-looking. Nothing about him shouted "mass shooter." Donald was far enough away that he couldn't make out all the details, but this guy didn't seem to have the creepy vibe that a lot of spree killers put out.
No question but that he was the one doing the shooting, though. He proved that by sending another round into the ceiling and shouting, "Everybody grab the floor!"
Mary reached out from under the table and caught hold of Donald's ankle.
"You heard him!" she said. "He'll shoot anybody standing up! Get down here!"
Over on one of the sofas, Nancy and Jerry were still wrestling around. Nancy seemed to be panicking, but whether she was terrified of the shooter or of Jerry, Donald couldn't tell. They slipped off the sofa, landed on the floor with a thud, and sprawled next to the table. At least they were out of the line of fire, if Jerry could keep Nancy there.
Mary tugged at Donald's ankle and urged, "Come on!"
Donald looked over at Taaj, who glared defiantly and said, "I grovel before no Yankee!"
"Do want you want, man," Donald said. He dropped to his knees and then fell forward onto his belly. Instinctively, he raised his hands and clasped them over the back of his head----as if that would really protect him from a bullet.
"Shut up and get down on the floor!"
That was as different voice, coming from a different direction. Donald was curious enough that he lifted his head a little to look. He saw a tall, broad-shouldered black guy who also held a pistol. The man lashed out with it and hit a male student who trying to scurry away from him. The student cried out in pain and went down. The 2nd gunman grabbed another guy by the shirt collar and slung him down, then shoved a girl off her feet. He swung the pistol back and forth, menacing everybody around him as he ordered again, "On the floor!"
More shouts came from elsewhere in the library. There were several of the gunmen, Donald realized. They had just been waiting for the signal to start their attack. As scared as he was, it wasn't easy to think straight, but he forced his brain to work as he tried to figure out what was going on here.
Evidently, the gunmen's objective wasn't mass murder. If all they wanted to do was pile up bodies, they would have continued shooting once they started. That much seemed obvious to Donald.
They didn't mind killing, though, and that was demonstrated a moment later when a student rushed the man at the bottom of the escalator, yelling curses. The gunman leveled his pistol and pulled the trigger. The man charging at him stumbled, clapped a hand to his chest, and pitched forward. He didn't move again as Donald watched, horrified at what he'd just seen.
More people were screaming now. Several voices yelled for them to shut up. Donald couldn't tell if those voices belonged to the gunmen issuing orders or frightened people begging for calm so they wouldn't get shot. Could both be true?346Please respect copyright.PENANAuJ6KdyruJZ
The only thing Donald knew for sure as he looked down again at the floor just two inches from his eyes was that this day, no matter how it had started, now stood a good chance of being the last day of his life!
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