The Gunman

Chapter Twenty-Two

Gunshots sounded from above me, the second floor. He was done with the first, which meant I had to go up. My pace quickened, as did my breathing. I was going to catch up with him, needed to catch up with him.

Then I stopped, there was a noise. More footsteps followed mine. Not really close, but close enough that I could hear the soft thuds of feet. It couldn't have been the gunman, he was upstairs. I had heard the gunshots less than two minutes before. So that was someone else. But who would be running around the halls?

So my feet led me to a space between a drinking fountain and the wall, and I waited. The thuds of feet slowly drew nearer, and soon there was a boy running past my hiding spot. He looked familiar from the back. His sandy blonde hair and his muscled back. My eyes squinted, it was Peter. But Peter had left the building, with his group. He couldn't be back. Could he?

I watched him run for another few seconds after, then stepped out of my spot and whispered his name. He hadn't heard me, so I said his name louder, and he stopped. His back tensed, and he turned slowly.

It was only when he saw me that he relaxed slightly. His lips formed a thin smile as he hurriedly walked back to me, and then hugged me. My hands stayed by my side as he tightly embraced me, and I looked around in confusion.

When he pulled away I finally asked, "What are you doing here? Where's your group? Are they ok?" My hands flew up in the air, with terror for his group.

He looked at me for a long while before saying, "I'm here to help you, you couldn't face him alone. You would die. The group is out, they are safe and nothing happened. Before you ask, that includes Ellie. She is in the back of an ambulance outside." He looked back the way he had come from.

I nodded, happy with his answers. Ellie was safe, and now it was up to me to kill the gunman. And right then, apparently Peter as well. I motioned for him to follow me, and we walked down the hall in silence for quite a while.

Shots fired a couple more times before Peter said something, "Why do you feel the need to kill the gunman? I mean, don't get me wrong, I wish him dead myself. But why do you need to be the one to kill him?"

I sighed, and then answered, "He killed my brother, and nobody else can kill the shooter because I need revenge, I need to kill him."

Peter looked at me, unsatisfactory gleamed in his eyes. But he said no more as we walked down the quiet hallways. I was being calm, probably too calm, considering what I was trying to do. Maybe it was shock? Or maybe just adrenaline. All I could think of as I walked down the stretching tile, was that I now had help. The shooter would go down, and Peter would help me.