Page 86 of Because of Logan

His wife is in one of those rooms he’s closest to.

“It’s not a trick, Joe. Think of your kid. How scared would he be if something happened to his mom or you? He needs his parents. Don’t do something you’ll regret.”

“It’s too late, too late, too late,” he screams.

We watch the video on the iPad. He’s walking our way, his voice getting louder with each step, the rifle raised. We’ve run out of time and options.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

The shoutsoutside get louder and louder and then lower as the man in the hallway seems to pass the door to our classroom. We’re all huddled in the back, some of us inside a closet, but it can’t fit all of us in. Tables and chairs offer a weak barricade against the crazy man outside these walls. I think of River and whether she knows what’s happening or not. And of Logan. He must know. I’m sure the police got dozens of calls, if not hundreds. My phone is in my bag, in the front of the classroom. I can’t call Logan or my sister. But even if I had my phone, we’re all too afraid to make a sound. We stay as quiet as we can, but muted whimpers and low cries mingle between our tightly compressed bodies. Safety in numbers feels like a lie. I don’t feel safe in the least. I feel like a fish in a barrel, waiting to be shot.

Bruno squeezes my hand. I know he’s as scared as I am, but he’s putting a brave face on. He offers me his phone and I shake my head. If River doesn’t know what’s happening—and she might not know yet, since she’s on the other side of campus—I don’t want to worry her.

Mrs. Orcher, our teacher, wanted to go out there and talk to him. We stopped her. We convinced her if he knew where she was, he might kill us all. She cried and apologized over and over again—she mouths the words soundlessly—but her pain and regret hit me with the force of a sonic boom. It explodes in my chest and washes over me until her pain is my pain and I feel the weight of it, so heavy I don’t think I could have moved if I tried.

Shots.

Pop-pop-pop

On repeat.

Pop-pop-pop

Again and again.

Screams.

Shouts.

Voices, heavy steps on tiled floors.

Silence.

I clamp both hands over my mouth.

I want to scream.

I am screaming inside my head.

Screaming so loudly, my throat burns.

Burns with silence.

Burns with unshed tears.

Burns because I know.

I know Logan is outside the locked door, and I have no idea what I’ll find when we get out.

If we get out.

The other students move around me, our faces reflecting each other’s fears and unanswered questions.

Is this it?

Is it over?

Are we safe now?

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