Three days ago you could have
called them safe. Yesterday, you might’ve referred to them as refugees.
Today however,
it was dawning on those in the school that they were nothing more than
captives.
At the start
there had been roughly three dozen. Wes had felt responsible for keeping watch,
after all he was the principal and this was his staff. Not to mention the valuable doctors, nurses and military personnel that had been placed within the school as well. His natural ability to
lead and manage had simply carried over, bleeding into this grim situation from
his daily work routine. He had been telling himself for days that things had
gotten out of hand, that no one could’ve planned or predicted what would
happen, just how bad things would go when they went south.
Wes never asked
to be in charge, but he understood that these people needed someone to corral
them. Work was one thing, this situation, this was something completely
different. In the end, he knew if he didn’t step up to take control, the group
would’ve deteriorated into chaos. He likened it to an extreme version of him
returning from a sick day, and the school itself being in shambles after
assistant principal Vickers had let order ever so gradually slip from his
hands.
Due to the sheer
level of what they had faced 36 people had been reduced to single digits. Now, including
himself, there were 9 of them; Jason Marling (5th grade), Amy Harold (Cafeteria
staffer), Nancy Caracas (1st grade), Sam McKinley (counselor),
Bernadette Faulkner (3rd grade), Warren Allen (4th grade
earth science), Van Bourne (nurse), Jackie Benata (physical education). Wes
eyed them all, just as if they were standing outside around the perimeter of
the building following a school-wide fire drill and he was checking them off as
present.
Together they
were a dirty, sweaty lot hunkered in the lounge with only inane conversation to
pass the time. Wes noted the consistency of their chatter. One person (usually
Warren) would boast about how if it was up to him, they would bust into room 124
and take care of their problem, before their problem could take care of them.
That led to a conversation about the
right thing to do (even though no one really knew what that was when
applied to this situation). Inevitably, the talk would circle back to how safe
they were, with Wes himself affirming that those in room 124 could conceivably
get outside through the glass
windows, they wouldn’t be able to get into
the school’s hallways through the solid oak door. The group would then hem and
haw about what they should do next, what their plan is, was and should be. Wes
would again gently remind them they were waiting on the authorities to come to
them, rather than venture out into the unknown. This whole process was as repetitive
as the waves crashing into the beach, and then receding.
Lunch time had
arrived once more, and Amy began to motion everyone into the cafeteria. It was
the only time they were actually eager anymore. Wes wondered how things would
be in 2 weeks, when their food stores depleted. In three weeks when there were
scraps, in four weeks when there were crumbs….and thereafter. If they even held
out that long. He had reason to believe McKinley was sneaking trips to the
kitchen and cleaning out whatever saccharin treats he could. Wes had decided
that should he catch McKinley doing this, an example would be made. Idly, he
ran his fingers along the sea green brick wall. It was cool in the semi
darkness of the hallway. Wes stood perspiring in spite of that fact.
Behind him he
heard Mr. Allen bark something about having a sodden, barely cooked square
pizza slice yet again. A part of Wes buried deep inside nearly wrenched free
and turned to verbally, if not physically, assault the man. Luckily before he
could, Jason eked out a response of, “You should be thankful for even that.”
Wes sighed and
kept on towards the cafeteria.
Eventually Wes
slowed, letting the others pass ahead of him into the café. He hung back, staring at nothing, thinking
about too much.
“Skipping the
midday meal Mr. Keller?” Amy asked of him while standing by the swinging door.
“Please don’t
call me Mr. Keller anymore. But yes, ya I am, I guess.” He shook his head and
smiled. “I think I’m going to go outside and have a stroll.”
“Wes? Certainly
you’re kidding, that’s not a good idea!”
Wes labored to
smile this time, “Yes of course Amy. I was kidding. I’ll be there in just a
moment. Trying to gather my thoughts. Feel free to have them begin without me.”
Wes said that last line, already knowing full well, that Warren had already
begun to gnaw through his chunk of slightly re-heated pizza. Wes hoped he
choked on it for two reasons: there’d be one less person to watch out for, and
no one would really miss Warren anyway.
Wes waited for
Amy to turn away and see to the group’s needs as they ate. He could hear her
tell them it was alright to get started. When no one was looking he stepped
lively. Sharp steps, face thrust forward, he was a man on a mission.
Occasionally, Wes peered behind him. At times, he was certain he saw the shape
of one of the group, fuzzy, trying in vain to hide from him down the length of
the hall, by ducking down an adjoining passage.
When Wes
happened passed room 124 he paused. When his footfalls faded, he listened.
There was no need to press his ear to the door, for coming from inside he could
hear things. They shuffled and whispered low growls. A few detected him
somehow, maybe by sound or by smell and they dragged themselves nearer the
door. It clattered against its hinges but stood firm. Wes made haste to his end
goal.
He turned
another corner, marched ahead through a small waiting room surrounded by glass
walls and his secretary’s empty desk. He tried hard to ignore the splotches of
red that coated its top. It was easy to tell there had been a matching glass
door, but it had been shattered; only the metal frame remained.
Wes’s confident
stride was halted when he saw the door to his office was already open.
