The Purge: School Time.

13

Kyla woke up lying on a mattress. It was dark, with a shaft of light shining down on a small spot of the... basement?

"Where are we?", she coughed. She remembered falling, but how was there light?

"WE'RE COMING FOR YOU!"

There was a man holding a baseball bat, standing over the ledge of the hole. He ran off.

"Shit." Where's JM, she thought? 

There he was, lying facedown, machete having skittered across the floor.

She picked up her rifle and got the machete, poking him with it.

"Let's go!"

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"................................................"

"................................................"

".........................Hello?............"

"Hello, can anyone pick up?"

The ringing of a phone on the lobby.

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Frank was dead. 

The woman had blown his face off with double-aught 12 gauge buckshot from a modified lupara shotgun.

She was off to wreak more havoc.

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"You know, I'm fucking sick of this shit." The man gestured wildly.

The people were listening

"No one ever fucking listens to me. My wife doesn't, my boss doesn't, my friends ignore me all the time."

"I bet not even y'all are listening."

He gestured wildly.

"And you know what? In the end, it all doesn't matter."

"FUCKING HELL! LISTEN TO ME WHEN I TALK, YOU BITCH!"

He drew his handgun to the head of one Franco, and pulled the trigger.

"So, anyone else?"
The sound of a grenade from the upper floor.
He smiled.

"Will you look at that! Looks likes we've got company. Stay here."
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Iya woke up covered in dust.

"How did we get down here?"

"Shh." Jerald put his finger to his mouth.

"Yco!" This was Paris this time. She left her shotgun in the dirt and ran over to him.

"You gotta stay alive, man. Please, I'm begging you."

Iya looked around her surroundings. They were in a corridor, with multiple rooms scattered. There were some cleaning materials, a bucket and a mop.

"How the fuck did we get here? An hour ago I was just worrying about class and was chatting with Talia. I don't even know if she's alive. I don't know if anyone else is!"

"Shut up!" This was from Paris.

"Look. I'm sure others are still alive. We made it, so why not others?" Jerald tried to go for a smile, but his body ached and it looked more like a grimace.

"Guys! Help me!" Paris was with Yco. "He's bleeding more?"

"Shit. Shit. Oh shit. No no no no."

Jerald and Iya gathered around Yco. His bandage was soaked so crimson, that Iya's first thought was that it looked like BBQ sauce.
He was groaning and crying.

"We need a new bandage, I think.
Or better yet, stitches."

Paris asked, "Where the fuck are we getting stitches?"

"Uh, guys?" Iya. "Aren't we, like, suppose to dig the bullets out?"

"Yes, but we don't have a fucking clue what to do! That's why we're trying to get to the nurse's office!" This was Paris.

"Try using a scalpel or a knife ot something!"

"We're probably gonna end up cutting up important stuff!"

Jerald said, "It's his arm! He can live without it!"

"No!" From Iya.

"Fuck it!" Jerald pulled out a pocketknife.

"Where'd you get that?"

"I keep it. I have a steady hand, so I'm gonna try to dig out one of the pellets."

"What?!"

"Paris, use your flashlight and shine it. Iya, take off the bandage when I say so." Paris rummaged in her bag and pulled out a pen light.

"By the way, I have no clue what I'm doing. Remove it in 3...2.....1!

He dug in with the thin blade.

Yco was already screaming.

Paris shouted, "Holy shit!"

"Fuck, fuck!"

"This is a bad idea!"

"Wait, wait! He flicked something  the size of a small pebble. "This is one of the BBs. Fuck it, we need something to stop the bleeding. A bandage won't do it. We need stitches."

Iya asked, "Would superglue do it? I watched a show in NatGeo where they did it."

"Yeah! Wait, how do you even have superglue?"

"Nothing. Just, do it!"

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They sat with their backs to the wall.

Yco was still alive. Breathing and not bleeding.

"Holy fuck."

"Guys, I might be able to see my next birthday. Ha, ha." This was from Yco. Iya was steadying him.

"How old are you now, anyway?", asked Paris.

"14."

"Wow."

"Yep.".

"Well, guys." This was Jerald. "At least he didn't... kick the bucket." He gestured to the cleaning supplies.

............

"Fuck you."

"No thanks."

Paris stood up and picked up her gun.

"Stop right there."

They all looked to see a man holding a handgun pointed at them. The man from the classroom.

The looked at each other.

"Well, fuck."