The Next

Chapter 3

The man sees us all staring and lowers his gun. He turns so he is facing us. He stares back. Soon we are engaged in a sort of staring contest, like the class is the mouse and the man is the snake (andthe snake wants to eat.) I am hyperaware of the slight sound of everyone's breathing, despite the fact that I am certain no one is breathing at all. The cold breeze on my back adds to the shivers and goosebumps taking over my body- most of goosebumps are not from the cold. I feel the coppery taste of fear on my tounge. My nose is picking up on the scent of rain from above, but I ignore it. Then, quiet and swift as a cat, the man turns back to gaze at where his gun was pointed before. I notice he never uncocked the gun, but I wasn't going to ask him to do it. That would be a great way to get my self shot. We were in danger. All of us knew it.

My teacher, the one who no one ever paid any attention to before, is now being looked at for direction. She looks surprisingly calm, but I can feel the storm underneath it. That saying never really made sense to me before, but I realize the meaning now. She is scared, even more so than us students, because if one (or all) of us die, she will know it was because her directions made the man angry. She knows one meager mistake will determine whether or not she has the deaths of up to 37 teenagers on her conscience.

Slowly, anxiously even, she begins to talk. "Everybody walk with their back to the wall until we get to the door. I'll hold it open and as soon as you get into the hallway, sprint to the classroom. Wait in the corner, preferably behind my big desk, until I get there. Got it?" Even though her voice is as quiet as humanly possible, nearly to the point of breaking, every student heard her. No one is brave enough to speak, so we all shake our heads instead.

Moving silently across the cement, the class is stiff with horror. I can feel my palms starting to go clammy. Perperastion is threatening to roll down my brow, even though I am doing nothing strenuous. The copper taste of fear has grown in my mouth, and it continues intensifying. I am scared. So scared. I want to go back to the moment I had, not even two hours ago, when I was being held safe in the arms of my love. Being kissed. The thing I long for the most right now is the feeling of being safe.

I felt so good then, and I want to feel that way now, but I can't. I am terrified. Beyond terrified. I manage to keep moving, but only because I know it is my only shot at being able to feel that good again. Something in my gut tells me if we stay here much longer, we'll be killed, so I try to pick up the stelthy (read: slow) pace we are holding. I've always been one to follow my gut and let fate take me where it may. And right now, the universe seems to be screaming at me, move faster or you'll be killed! You'll die a horrible death with lots of pain and bleeding-

I cut my thoughts off there. I am already mortified. No, the way I feel is worse than that. What I feel is beyond words. What I feel is the eqiuvalent of someone who is afraid of enclosed spaces, glass, heights, spiders, snakes, and lightning being stuck in a tiny glass room full of spiders and snakes thousands of feet in the air during the middle of a lighting storm. This is not an exageration. If anyting, it is an under statement.

I wish the man would come closer, because being a third degree black belt in two styles of fighting, I might have a chance with hand to hand combat. (I will swear to anything you want me to that I have never once, nor will be, for that matter, so glad I was a try-hard in my martial arts class.)  I won't have a chance if he decides to let me see the bottom of his barrel. Because if he decides the bottom of his barrel, it will be the last thing I ever see.

My class has finally reached the door. I know the man knows we're here, but for some reason, he doesn't react. It's like he's an automaton that has been instructed to do the things he has/is/will. Only the rise and fall of his muscular chest tells me otherwise. We are all paralyzed, rooted to the ground by the carnal nature of fear that seems to be over-ruling all of us.

All of us except for one girl. A girl I never really talked to, with gray eyes framed by black glasses and a sweet a-line bob haircut, walks to the front door, strutting like she is the most popular girl on campus. (Which, let me tell you, she's not.) She's walking with serious confidence, as if death weren't staring her in the face right now. For a brief second, I wish I could be brave like that.

Then I realize it might not be bravery. It might be insanity.

This realization comes to me because at that moment, the man turns around. He takes in the one brave girl, raises his eyebrow. He smirks, but then it drops. He turns to the majority of the classroom, taking in all of our petrified faces. All of us are looking at him like we're a whole bunch of deer caught in a headlight. He smiles -a real smile- for a second time.

And turns back around. I let out a tiny breath, one I didn't even realize I was holding. We have gathered by not that the man isn't going to kill, so in an as orderly fashion as the situation could allow, we get into the hallway and sprint. We run like hell is chasing us.

We lock ourselves in the classroom after going out the backdoor to tell the Expiramental Science, an outdoors class (Connor's class) that is right outside of mine, to get into the classroom because there is an intruder.

They comply, as if they were putty in our hands. Fear does that to people. The teacher calls the office to tell them of the intruder so they can put it over the intercom, and the science teacher prepares the room for lockdown. The calm off my teacher has ended, and now the storm has come in a whirlwind of silent sobbing, barely contained hiccups, and fresh tears. The teacher breaking down must have set off a chain reaction because nearly everyone breaks down then.

I don't cry, even though I want to.  When I was a mere 5 years old, I swore to myself that I would never cry again; my mother and father had yelled at me for being a cry baby, and I did not get lunch or dinner that day. Instead, I find my way into the comfort of Connor's arms.

Then we wait.

Author's note:  An early update this week! Maybe, if you guys are lucky, you'll get two updates this week! ;) Anyway, 1211 words this chapter. Running total of 3,518 words. As usual, what do you guys think? Bueno, malo? Love, hate? Thanks and love!