Page 4 of Engulfing Emma

“Uh … uh …” I’m trying to think clearly, but all I see are the faces of Evelyn and Mom.

“Answer me, lady!” he shouts. “Is there anyone in the fucking building?”

I don’t know what to say. If I tell him it’s almost empty, will I be endangering the lives of the few people still inside? If I lie and say there are a lot of people in there, will he hurt me?

“Maybe a few,” I say. “The school year is over.”

“Hold the door open!” he screams. “Do it now!”

My legs almost fail me as I climb the last steps to the front door and attempt to nudge my cart aside and hold the door open like he told me. The whole time I’m thanking God that school is out and there are no kids inside.

I can’t get the cart fully out of the way, and the gunman isn’t happy about it. “Are you completely useless?” he asks, violently pushing it inside.

Then the loudest noise I’ve ever heard echoes off the walls, hurting my ears. A young man—a hostage—drops to the floor, yelling in agony.

The gunman looks stunned that his weapon went off. “Shit,” he says, looking nervously out at the street. Then he tries to open the door that leads behind the front counter, but it’s locked. He kicks it in, breaking the doorframe. He points to me and the guy standing next to me. “You two, pull the kid over behind that counter.”

I look down at the injured man, who is barely more than a boy. He can’t be over eighteen. His hands are covered in blood, and I cringe.

“My leg,” he cries.

As we drag him behind the front desk, we leave a trail of bright-red blood. It runs all the way from the front door, around the corner, and over the threshold of the admin door. We settle him against the wall, and blood pools under his leg. The kid’s face is going ashen, and I’m not sure if it’s from blood loss or because he’s terrified.

My eyes dart to the door that leads back into the classroom hallways and I wonder if Becca and Kelly are still here. If so, did they hear the gunshot? Will they come investigate?

The gunman paces around as if trying to figure out what to do. I take a moment to study him, wondering if I’ll need to describe him to the police if he escapes. His complexion is dark, Hispanic perhaps, though he doesn’t speak with an accent. He’s young, maybe the same age as the kid he shot, and he’s got black hair. He’s tall and lanky. He doesn’t seem high, just mad. And a little scared.

While he’s distracted, I pull out my phone to text my friends and warn them to stay put or exit out the back, but the phone is slapped out of my hand. It cracks as it hits the floor ten feet away.

“Everyone gimmie your phones,” our captor says.

The three other people in the room—a woman and two men—show varying degrees of compliance.

The thin man looks like he wants to jump the guy with the gun. The black-haired woman puts a hand on his arm. “Do what he says. He’s already shot one of us.”

The gunman runs his hands through his hair, pounding the weapon repeatedly against his head. “I didn’t do it on purpose.”

“Doesn’t matter,” the thin man says, handing over his cell phone. “You’re going to get charged with a lot more than robbing that store.”

“What store?” I ask.

“Shettleman’s Grocery.”

My hand covers my mouth, stifling my gasp as I picture the nice old couple who run the small corner store next to the school. “Oh my gosh, are they okay?”

“Will the two of you shut up?” the gunman says. He looks down at the man he shot, who is screaming in pain. “And shut him up too. I need to think.” He points to me. “You were coming out of the school. How many ways in and out of here are there?”

I gesture to the door at the rear of the administration office. “There are several emergency exits beyond that door, but they are locked from the outside.”

Red and blue lights flash in front of the building. We are corralled into the back corner of the office, out of sight of the windows.

The gun is pointed at the thin man. “You, go around the counter and barricade the front doors with that couch and chairs. Try anything, and I’ll shoot you too.”

The man pales and does what he’s told.

The kid with the gunshot wound is still screaming.

“I told you to shut him the fuck up,” the gunman says to no one in particular.

---