Rabbit Hole

The ten of them were organized, that much was certain. This wasn’t just some random “I’m angry at the world so I’m going to just wake up one morning and attack my classmates” move. This was calculated. Prepared. Planned. It was perfectly executed in a wonderful bloodbath, made complete by a soundtrack of screams and gunfire. The occasional sound of explosions comes later in the preview.

It was the sound of machine gunfire that alerted those in the school to the danger. I do believe the principal didn’t even have to make an announcement other than a single “code red” repeated once over the PA system. The teachers and other staff members at Oakland Regional simply responded to the immediate threat with surprising swiftness and professionalism. All doors were locked. The shades on the windows were shut tight. Everyone in the classrooms hid in the corners farthest from the doors, crouched down behind desks and chairs and even backpacks.

And the waiting began.

Except, for five students, the waiting became surviving.

Among the unlucky ones to get stuck in the hallway were Emma Coleridge and Megan Foster.

Emma was in the girls’ bathroom on the second floor, smoking a cigarette with one of the windows wide open. She had locked herself in the far stall (handicapped, of course, because they were roomier and really, there were no handicapped students at Oakland Regional as far as Emma knew) and was sitting on the closed toilet seat lid when the first gunshots sounded. Emma didn’t recognize the sound and thought it was only a couple of freshman setting off sparklers as a prank, and so she remained rooted to the toilet, taking long drags from her cigarette and dreading having to return to world history once she was done.

Megan was in the same bathroom, standing in front of the mirror and fixing her hair into a low ponytail. She had a test in algebra this period and she found that putting her hair away from her face helped her concentrate. She, however, recognized the gunshots for what they were and jumped at the sound, banging her hip hard against the sink. She cried out on pain and then bit her lip, thinking in a moment of sheer paranoia that whoever was firing those guns might be able to hear her. She listened, but nobody came bursting through the bathroom door. Silly of her to think otherwise, really, now that she thought about it.

Emma’s voice from the handicapped stall startled her again. “You all right out there?”

“I-I’m fine,” Megan stammered, rubbing her now-sore hip. She brushed a few pieces of loose strands away from her face and turned in the direction of the row of stalls. “Did you hear that?”

“Firecrackers? Probably just a prank.”

“Those weren’t firecrackers. Those were gunshots.”

Emma snorted and nearly choked on her own cigarette smoke. “Gunshots? How do you know that?”

“I used to go hunting with my uncle. Small game.” Megan took a few steps closer to the stalls. “I’d recognize that sound anywhere.”

She heard the sound of a lock being undone and then Emma Coleridge stepped out from the handicapped stall. Her brown hair was wild and untamed, as per usual, but today her black clothes were looking limper than normal. Her scuffed black boots clicked across the floor as she exited the stall with a carefree air, the cigarette still dangling from her lips.

“So you think someone is shooting up the school.” Emma clarified without removing the cigarette.

Megan shrugged one shoulder.

Emma smirked. “I dare you to go check.”

Megan blanched. “I’m not...are you crazy? If someone is shooting people I’m not poking my head out of the bathroom to look! I could get shot!”

“Minor technicalities.”

“Minor...you’re such a - ”

“Please, if you’re going to curse and call me a bad word, I’d rather you didn’t. You’ll damage my poor little virgin ears.”

Megan rolled her eyes. Though she and Emma were separated by a year, she knew enough about Emma Coleridge to understand that there probably wasn’t a word her “virgin” ears hadn’t heard by now. In fact, as far as the rumor mill led Megan to believe, nothing about Emma was so virgin anymore.

Before she could come up with a response, however, another gunshot cracked, this time farther away from the bathroom than before, but still audible. Emma’s cocky little smirk slipped away a little.

“We should lock the bathroom door,” she suggested, spitting her cigarette carelessly onto the floor and stubbing out the flame with the toe of her boot.

“Good idea.”

Megan’s palms had become sweaty and clammy with anxiety but she wasn’t about to show any signs of fear. Instead, she tried to walk as calmly as possible towards the door, which crashed open within seconds and nearly knocked Megan off her feet. She screamed and stumbled backwards, falling onto her rear as she tripped over her own two feet. Behind her, she heard Emma curse loudly and throw herself into the nearest stall to hide.

It wasn’t a gunman. It was an Asian boy that Megan couldn’t name, though she’d seen his face everywhere. He was on the debate team, on the quiz team, on the math league team, and just about every other academic-related team there was at Oakland Regional. He was a smart kid. Word was that he had even skipped a grade.

The boy had fallen onto the ground after bursting madly through the door, but he picked himself up now, his face shiny with sweat and a manic look in his eyes. There was a red stain on the hem of his white shirt but Megan averted her eyes, not daring to guess what it was.

“He’s hurt!” the boy panted. “Please! We need to hide him!”

“Where are the gunmen?” Megan demanded as she got up from the floor. “Answer me that first.”

“Second floor of the lunchroom. Please.”

The lunchroom was all the way on the other side of the school. If anything, now was the only time they’d be able to leave the door open for a few minutes.

“Bring him in,” Megan said.

As the boy jumped over to the doorway to beckon somebody inside the bathroom, Emma demanded, “Who is it?”

“Uh, a guy named Logan. Your grade, I think,” the boy said, looking at Megan.

She knew who he was talking about. Logan Lewis was the only kid with that first name in her grade, and probably the whole school.

“Wait.” Emma held her hands up. “Why are we bringing him into the bathroom? Let’s go to a classroom - we’ll be safer there.”

The Asian boy shook his head. “No. We’ve tried that already. All the classroom doors are locked.”

A heavy silence fell over the two girls as they absorbed this information.

“Locked?” Megan felt as though a bucket of water had been thrown over her.

“But we’re students,” Emma added.

“So are the shooters. They’re not taking any chances.”

“No. No, they can’t do this, they can’t - ”

Without warning, Emma charged from the bathroom and sprinted across the hall to the classroom there. She grabbed the doorknob and tried to open it, but the boy was right: it wouldn’t budge.

“LET US IN!” Emma shrieked. “WE’RE NOT THE GUNMEN, PLEASE. YOU HAVE TO LET US IN. WE’LL DIE OUT HERE.”

“EMMA.” A familiar male voice - not the Asian boy’s - roared into her ear as she continued to pound away at the door. “Emma, stop it. Stop it. They’re gonna hear you and you’re gonna bring them right to us.”

A pair of strong arms wrapped themselves around Emma’s waist and lifted her into the air, carrying her backwards away from the classroom. She kicked and flailed but it was no use; her captor was stronger. She watched helplessly as she was dragged from the door back across the hall to the bathroom. She looked down at the streak of blood on the floor before the bathroom - no doubt from the injured Logan - and whimpered at the sight.

Emma’s captor dumped her on the floor next to a brown-haired boy whose left arm was bits of flesh and ruin and blood: Logan. Megan was behind him, cradling his head in her lap, and the nameless Asian boy was sitting up against one of the sinks, crying soundlessly.

“We’re fucked,” he managed to croak, speaking to no one in particular. “We’re fucked, we’re fucked, we’re fucked.”

Behind her, Emma heard her captor shut the bathroom door.

The lock clicked with finality.