then
I heard the screaming before the gunshots. It sounded just as Mr. Burke was addressing the entire second hour on procedural cleansing of equipment.
"Always wipe the counters with distilled water after every lab," he said, holding up a gallon of clear fluid. "And for the love of God, Jameson, turn off the gas nozzle when you unhook the Bunsen burner." Jameson's cheeks erupted into hues of pink. The class broke out into a variety of not so quiet chuckles at Jameson's reaction. No one called him 'Redneck' for nothing.
"As for the rest of you," Burke continued. "I will begin deducting ten points from each assignment if you do not include sources, starting as soon as you come back from break."
There was a mutual collection of groans and grumbles as notebooks were thrown into book bags.
"You are all high school seniors," he added pointedly. "Start acting like it."
Then, it happened. Shouting was heard as a mob of students sprinted down the hallway. Mr. Burke had left the door ajar, claiming that a little circulation would do as all a favor. Nineteen heads turned simultaneously towards the clatter. Burke gave us a puzzling look, before striding towards the doorway and peering out.
"What is going on-"
He did not finish the rest of his sentence. An explosion of sparks lit up the entire room before pitching us into blackness. I screamed a high, nervous note, as did the majority of my peers. There were no windows to replace the fluorescent absence. Burke had always complained that working with chemicals called for some fresh air every now and then. The school administration never approved of his protests.
As my eyes adjusted to the dimness, I looked towards the entryway. Burke stood, a ghostly expression on his face, hands clutching his abdomen. Thick, red goo ran from between his fingers and fell in small puddles on the tile.
"Get under the desks," he spat, crumpling to the ground.
