Page 110 of Lesson Learned

There’s blood everywhere.

I scream and kick at the doors again in panicked frustration. The shutters finally click home and stare dumbly at the scene in front of me, brain unable to process everything it’s seeing.

The doors aren’t opening. I kick at them, heart pounding until it feels like it’ll burst straight from my chest, but they remain firmly shut. The students are trapped inside their fishbowl, me stuck outside. It’s like the worst nightmare of my life.

Then my brain clicks back into gear.

I swipe my card, then don’t need it as the head moves towards the double doors, pressing the after-hours release button. The moment they part, she gestures at the ambulance officers still cowering behind their van.

But I don’t wait to see if they respond. I push past her, heading straight for the two injured people collapsed on the floor.

Paisley is on her knees, covered in blood. I’m gripped by déjà vu so strong I find it hard to process.

Then I see her hands pressed against her friend’s chest. A man lies farther inside the lobby, flat on his back, the hole in his forehead releasing a single trickle of blood. His heels judder against the hard floor but it’s not life, it’s the final drumbeat of death.

She turns to me, eyes locking with mine, and relief knocks me sideways. I’m still trying to recover as I drop to my knees next to her, one arm around her shoulders, the other moving to press against Marnie’s chest wound, feeling the strong pulse as blood pumps through the gap.

We’re rudely shoved aside by the paramedics, and I find my footing first, hauling her into my arms. I whisper breathlessly into her ear, “Are you all right? Did you get hit? Are you okay?”

I’d continue asking a thousand questions, but my lung seize. I can’t breathe. Every worst fear I’ve ever held culminates in this moment.

“I’m fine,” she says, then bursts into a horrendous crying fit, the sobs tearing out of her with unspeakable force. “Marnie’s shot.”

I turn to see her being carried out on a stretcher. One ambulance crew loads her into the back, then pulls out of the drive.

“Okay.” I spring to my feet, helping her upright. “Let’s go. We can follow them to the hospital.”

She leans into me, grabbing at my shirt with both hands like she can barely stand on her own. “Will they let us?”

“I don’t care what they will or won’t do. We need to be with your friend so that’s what we’re doing.” I glance around the shocked faces of the assembled students, and gesture to the two other girls I know are her friends. “My car’s got room if you want to come.”

“Yes,” Brooke immediately says, grabbing for Floss’s hand. “We’d love to.”

The head steps in front of me again, visibly distressed. This is a distinct elevation from her usual worries of cheating students, pregnancy scares, aggressive parents, drinking, and drugs. “You can’t leave. The police need to talk to everyone.”

Floss steps forward, instantly aggressive. “Mr Malloch shot Marnie, and she shot him back. Not exactly rocket science.”

“But the gun—”

“Whose gun?” I ask, cupping Paisley’s head against my chest, dropping a kiss on her brow.

The head’s face turns purple.

“Mr Bradley, this is inexcusable—"

“Marnie’s gun,” Paisley states firmly, catching Floss’s eye and waiting until she nods. “I tried to stop her shooting him, but she was in shock. He was about to shoot her again. It was clearly self-defence.”

“She should never have brought a weapon—”

“Wait!” I hold up my hand. “Who shot her?”

“James’ dad,” Brooke says between chattering teeth. A boy breaks free of his mates to come over, giving her a hug that visibly calms her. “He shot her in the chest.”

“What was he doing here?” I demand, putting the head on the back foot. “I thought this place was in lockdown.”

“Rigor Malloch was here for his son. We locked the school on his instructions, then let him in on arrival.”

“James is dead,” Paisley says like she’s imparting the news for the first time. I could give her a medal for remaining so calm.

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