The Gunman

Chapter 11: Elise

The gunman said nothing more as he left the room. There was the dead body of Andrew, in the middle of the dark classroom. I couldn't breathe; I choked on any oxygen that tried to enter my body. I was having an asthma attack.

            My hands reached up to my throat as I fell onto my knees. Everyone stared at me as the seconds ticked slowly by. Nobody knew what to do. There was a body of one of our peers in the middle of the room, shot in the forehead. And then there was me, trying to breathe.

            The gagging sounds that escaped my throat filled the quiet room. Then, chaos erupted, filling my ears. "He's dead! He got shot! Oh my gosh, we're all going to die aren't we?" "Someone! She's not breathing what do we do?" "He had a gun, and he was in out room! Why did he come in our room?" "Quiet!" One of the students yelled, "Calm down!"

            It was Peter, he played football. I thought he was a running back, but I wasn't so sure. He stood there, taking charge of everyone in the chaos, "Everyone, get over there." He pointed towards the front of the room, and the class followed. Nobody knew where our teacher was, she had left to make copies and never came back. Maybe she had been adopted into another classroom, but that left us without an adult.

            I stayed where I was, gasping frantically for air to relieve my lungs, "Elise, do you have your inhaler with you?" I nodded and pointed to my bag, across the room. My body tilted to one side, and I found myself lying on the floor. I tried to put my head between my knees, but I was too shaky to do so.

            Peter ran over to my bag and nearly tore it apart searching for my inhaler. He started in the front pocket, but it wasn't there. I could have told him where it was, but I couldn't breathe, so I couldn't talk. He threw everything out that wasn't my inhaler until he found it.

            His hand held the white tube tightly as he raced over to me, and stuck it to my lips. He pressed the grey button on the top as I breathed inwards. The instant calm washed over me that I got whenever I could breathe again. My tense body relaxed and I sighed with happiness.

            The class just stood there, eyes open like scared little children. Which, I guess we all were. The class was just a class of three sophomores and twelve juniors. None of us were that old, the oldest person there was Peter, who was seventeen.

            The whole class stayed silent for a while, and I stayed on the cool ground, breathing greedily. Then, one person asked, very sheepishly, "What do we do?" The one question everyone needed answered.

            Peter shook his head, and his sandy blonde hair flopped around, "No freaking clue." He mumbled, and glanced at everyone in the class, then at the dead body of Andrew Matthews. A student's sobs could be heard and felt. It broke your heart, just hearing them.

            As my breathing became regular, I stood up and sighed. Nobody paid any attention to me when I cleared my throat; they just stayed in their own land. So I said, "Everyone listen to me!" All heads turned to look at me and I immediately regretted it. I had never been a public speaker, it made me nervous to let other people hear what I thought. The situation didn't change a thing. But I forced myself to say, "The gunman moved down the hall opposite the way of the front of the building, right?" Everyone thought about it then mumbled their agreement, "Well, I say we get out of here." I said, and then coughed, "Who agrees?" Everyone nodded in fear. There was no huge yell of happiness or sigh of relief. It was just a bunch of kids knowing that they still had to walk the many open hallways at risk of the shooter seeing us.

            It was a risk they knew they had to take, though. If they wanted out of the school sooner rather than later.