her head, covered her face, and started to sob. “They’re clawing and biting people! I … I hid in the closet … I hid in the closet!” She removed her hand from her eyes and she started shaking. “We’ve got to get out of---”
“Alaia,” Phoenix said. “Take her out and keep her safe. I’ve got this.”
Phoenix, Alaia, and the frightened girl turned when more gunfire broke out. The door at the end of the hall swung open, slamming against the wall, and another student, this one splattered with blood, ran inside, looking frantically at the lock. He didn’t scream, but he struggled to catch his breath.
Phoenix called out. “Nashville Police!”
The student turned around. “We’ve got to lock the door!”
Phoenix hurried over to the student and stopped. He looked out through the glass in the door. Bodies lay everywhere, some missing arms, others missing legs, all probably the result of heavy shotgun blasts. Three or four police officers remained still on the ground. Other students, walking erratically, with their heads lolling and bobbling, reminded him of June Buckner, his wife Tracy, and Dr. Demachi.
He could see Chief Cobb forming a small perimeter in a light cloud of smoke. Six or so officers stood with him, side by side; and students, students covered with blood, struggled to break through Cobb’s defensive position. Some crawled like wounded rats, others ran like savage dogs; but they came on relentlessly, oblivious to the shouts of the officers who called for them to stop.
Phoenix called for Alaia. When she came up, he asked her to keep the two students safe. He ran up the stairs with his thirty-eight pointed forward and his eyes and ears open, listening for what, he did not know.
As he neared the second floor, Phoenix heard the sound of scuffling and moaning, and he could barely contain the fear ripping through his nervous system. He’d heard those sounds before, dreading what would come next. But he heard no cries for help, he heard no screams.
In a flash, Phoenix flew up the last few steps and turned towards the sickening sound he’d just heard. A person on the floor, lying in his own blood, squirmed and tried to pull himself towards Phoenix, growling and shaking his head like a dog with its head over a glass-covered dish full of Alpo.
Phoenix walked slowly towards the student, careful to keep watch on the surroundings through his peripheral vision. All around him, except for the student at his feet, he could hear nothing except silence. He got within a few feet of the student, noticed a leg dangling by tendons, quivering and bloody, and he raised his weapon and fired. The bullet impacted the student’s skull, and the body fell still.
Phoenix turned towards Dr. Marcus Cain’s office, hurrying, and found the door partly opened. He called for Dr. Cain and received no answer. He pushed the door open slowly, cringing with the creaking of the old hinges.
“Is somebody there?” a voice called out.
“Dr. Cain?” Phoenix shouted. “You’re safe – I think. You can come out.”
Phoenix pushed the door back and saw the closet door being opened, and then he saw a face peering out. “It’s me, Dr. Cain. You can come out now.”
Dr. Cain emerged from his hiding place. “I have the test results back, if you’re still interested. But we really don’t have any more questions, do we?”
Chapter 11
The horror stood out against the green grass, and Phoenix was struck motionless and faintly ill by the site of the dead. He stared silently across the campus between the Lutrell building and the student center, carefully cradling his small revolver in the sweaty palm of his right hand. The smell of death – he’d smelled it before, something he could ever quite describe in any meaningful and coherent way – seemed to hit him square in the center of his forehead as well as in the middle of his
“Alaia,” Phoenix said. “Take her out and keep her safe. I’ve got this.”
Phoenix, Alaia, and the frightened girl turned when more gunfire broke out. The door at the end of the hall swung open, slamming against the wall, and another student, this one splattered with blood, ran inside, looking frantically at the lock. He didn’t scream, but he struggled to catch his breath.
Phoenix called out. “Nashville Police!”
The student turned around. “We’ve got to lock the door!”
Phoenix hurried over to the student and stopped. He looked out through the glass in the door. Bodies lay everywhere, some missing arms, others missing legs, all probably the result of heavy shotgun blasts. Three or four police officers remained still on the ground. Other students, walking erratically, with their heads lolling and bobbling, reminded him of June Buckner, his wife Tracy, and Dr. Demachi.
He could see Chief Cobb forming a small perimeter in a light cloud of smoke. Six or so officers stood with him, side by side; and students, students covered with blood, struggled to break through Cobb’s defensive position. Some crawled like wounded rats, others ran like savage dogs; but they came on relentlessly, oblivious to the shouts of the officers who called for them to stop.
Phoenix called for Alaia. When she came up, he asked her to keep the two students safe. He ran up the stairs with his thirty-eight pointed forward and his eyes and ears open, listening for what, he did not know.
As he neared the second floor, Phoenix heard the sound of scuffling and moaning, and he could barely contain the fear ripping through his nervous system. He’d heard those sounds before, dreading what would come next. But he heard no cries for help, he heard no screams.
In a flash, Phoenix flew up the last few steps and turned towards the sickening sound he’d just heard. A person on the floor, lying in his own blood, squirmed and tried to pull himself towards Phoenix, growling and shaking his head like a dog with its head over a glass-covered dish full of Alpo.
Phoenix walked slowly towards the student, careful to keep watch on the surroundings through his peripheral vision. All around him, except for the student at his feet, he could hear nothing except silence. He got within a few feet of the student, noticed a leg dangling by tendons, quivering and bloody, and he raised his weapon and fired. The bullet impacted the student’s skull, and the body fell still.
Phoenix turned towards Dr. Marcus Cain’s office, hurrying, and found the door partly opened. He called for Dr. Cain and received no answer. He pushed the door open slowly, cringing with the creaking of the old hinges.
“Is somebody there?” a voice called out.
“Dr. Cain?” Phoenix shouted. “You’re safe – I think. You can come out.”
Phoenix pushed the door back and saw the closet door being opened, and then he saw a face peering out. “It’s me, Dr. Cain. You can come out now.”
Dr. Cain emerged from his hiding place. “I have the test results back, if you’re still interested. But we really don’t have any more questions, do we?”
Chapter 11
The horror stood out against the green grass, and Phoenix was struck motionless and faintly ill by the site of the dead. He stared silently across the campus between the Lutrell building and the student center, carefully cradling his small revolver in the sweaty palm of his right hand. The smell of death – he’d smelled it before, something he could ever quite describe in any meaningful and coherent way – seemed to hit him square in the center of his forehead as well as in the middle of his
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