and screamed at them, the police were shouting back at the same time as they exchanged terse comments with the officers who’d joined them and were standing in shock or confusion as they saw what was being done.
“They’re just kids! What are you doing? Stop, stop, they’re sick, they need help!” The rescuers were shouting.
“Stand back! Back off! Keep back! They’re attacking people! Leg wounds will heal! We’re not shooting to kill! The tasers aren’t working! They’re hurting people!” was mostly what the police were shouting.
Jessica stood there, stroking Candice’s hair almost absently, feeling like she was in the headlights of an oncoming car, as the confrontation played out and the shooting continued. There were well over a dozen students down at the doors now, maybe closer to two dozen, but the police officers seemed to be partially correct.
Whatever was going on, the tasers were having no effect; she’d seen that herself back at the elementary school. And the students who’d been shot were not crying out in pain, or even stopping. They continued to try to leave the school, to close on the people gathered beyond the doors, reaching to drag themselves forward with slow, jerky action like they’d forgotten how to move properly.
As she watched, the two officers who’d been firing stopped. Then she realized they were out of ammunition, as she saw them removing the magazines from their pistols and reaching for replacements from their equipment belts. When the steady thump of bullets ceased, the crowd of students at the school doors seemed to suddenly surge forward.
None of the students moved any faster; those in the lead were just no longer being knocked down and becoming fresh obstacles for those behind. The depressed oval shape of students at the door bulged out as they cleared the doors and spread out, making their way past their classmates on the ground. Some of those on their feet fell or tripped over others who were already down, but as many more managed to get past and head for the nearest person they saw.
Jessica’s eyes swept through the confusion, as rescuers started darting forward and grabbing at students. The kids tended to respond by grabbing back, and, just as she’d seen at the elementary school, leaning in or pulling on whoever they got their hands on and trying to bite. A fresh wave of yelling started, as those who were bit reacted, though some of the rescuers had firefighter coats on, which were apparently too thick for the students to bite through.
The police were shouting for the EMS personnel to separate and get away, which was mostly being ignored. About as many fresh rescuers were coming forward to assist with trying to subdue and help the students as there were injured rescuers stumbling away with fresh injuries or trying to tug themselves free from a student who had latched onto them.
And the students who had grabbed someone were hanging on hard and tight. There didn’t seem to be any level of physical distress or discomfort that dissuaded them. She saw one boy who had the look of a book or computer nerd, pasty skin and slightly built, clinging to a male fireman’s arm. The fireman was shoving at the boy’s forehead with his free hand and landing knees to his attacker’s midsection to no avail.
Then she saw a familiar face appear at the doors of the high school, and her world seemed to stop. She stared in shocked, numb horror, as Sandra stumbled out of the doors with a blank look on her face, a laser like fixation in her gaze, and blood dripping from her mouth. Then she jerked and stumbled as a bullet hit her thigh, falling in slow motion without the slightest sign of pain or concern. Jessica screamed.
* * * * *
Peter
Gwinnett Medical Center was as chaotic a scene as any Peter had ever seen. Including warzones. Once the forward base he’d been stationed at in Afghanistan had been hit by a strong insurgent
“They’re just kids! What are you doing? Stop, stop, they’re sick, they need help!” The rescuers were shouting.
“Stand back! Back off! Keep back! They’re attacking people! Leg wounds will heal! We’re not shooting to kill! The tasers aren’t working! They’re hurting people!” was mostly what the police were shouting.
Jessica stood there, stroking Candice’s hair almost absently, feeling like she was in the headlights of an oncoming car, as the confrontation played out and the shooting continued. There were well over a dozen students down at the doors now, maybe closer to two dozen, but the police officers seemed to be partially correct.
Whatever was going on, the tasers were having no effect; she’d seen that herself back at the elementary school. And the students who’d been shot were not crying out in pain, or even stopping. They continued to try to leave the school, to close on the people gathered beyond the doors, reaching to drag themselves forward with slow, jerky action like they’d forgotten how to move properly.
As she watched, the two officers who’d been firing stopped. Then she realized they were out of ammunition, as she saw them removing the magazines from their pistols and reaching for replacements from their equipment belts. When the steady thump of bullets ceased, the crowd of students at the school doors seemed to suddenly surge forward.
None of the students moved any faster; those in the lead were just no longer being knocked down and becoming fresh obstacles for those behind. The depressed oval shape of students at the door bulged out as they cleared the doors and spread out, making their way past their classmates on the ground. Some of those on their feet fell or tripped over others who were already down, but as many more managed to get past and head for the nearest person they saw.
Jessica’s eyes swept through the confusion, as rescuers started darting forward and grabbing at students. The kids tended to respond by grabbing back, and, just as she’d seen at the elementary school, leaning in or pulling on whoever they got their hands on and trying to bite. A fresh wave of yelling started, as those who were bit reacted, though some of the rescuers had firefighter coats on, which were apparently too thick for the students to bite through.
The police were shouting for the EMS personnel to separate and get away, which was mostly being ignored. About as many fresh rescuers were coming forward to assist with trying to subdue and help the students as there were injured rescuers stumbling away with fresh injuries or trying to tug themselves free from a student who had latched onto them.
And the students who had grabbed someone were hanging on hard and tight. There didn’t seem to be any level of physical distress or discomfort that dissuaded them. She saw one boy who had the look of a book or computer nerd, pasty skin and slightly built, clinging to a male fireman’s arm. The fireman was shoving at the boy’s forehead with his free hand and landing knees to his attacker’s midsection to no avail.
Then she saw a familiar face appear at the doors of the high school, and her world seemed to stop. She stared in shocked, numb horror, as Sandra stumbled out of the doors with a blank look on her face, a laser like fixation in her gaze, and blood dripping from her mouth. Then she jerked and stumbled as a bullet hit her thigh, falling in slow motion without the slightest sign of pain or concern. Jessica screamed.
* * * * *
Peter
Gwinnett Medical Center was as chaotic a scene as any Peter had ever seen. Including warzones. Once the forward base he’d been stationed at in Afghanistan had been hit by a strong insurgent
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