Red Rain

70

Pavano holstered his Glock and grabbed the window ledge with both hands. The granite ledge was shoulder high, and it didn’t take much effort to hoist himself up onto his belly, turn, and lower himself into the classroom.

He waited for his eyes to adjust to the dim light. Smoke from the fires had drifted in through the open window, and he had to squint, as if peering through a heavy fog. The classroom, obviously a room for little kids, judging by the drawings hung on the walls, was empty and appeared untouched, in perfect order.

Pavano heard voices out in the hall. Kids’ voices, he quickly determined. His legs suddenly felt heavy, his shoes rooted to the floor. He forced himself to move, stride silently to the door, where he stopped and listened for adult voices. For any clue as to who was giving the orders.

He realized he had grown used to his rapid heartbeats and the cold fear that prickled the back of his neck and made his hands so clammy and stiff.

Leaning against the doorframe, he peeked into the hall. No one in view, but the voices were nearby. Rectangles of light washed out from several classrooms. He stared down the row of gray metal lockers. Several of them had blue arrows painted on them, blue arrows facing up.

Pavano started to draw his weapon, then thought better of it.

I came in here to talk, not to shoot.

But it was impossible to force the ugly pictures of Franks’s last moments from his mind. And impossible not to keep asking how that kid possessed the powerful and deadly weapon that had burned Franks to a crisp and made all the houses in sight erupt in flames.

His eyes darted from side to side, trying to take everything in as he stepped into the hall. Trying to act like a real cop who knew what he was doing in an insane, dangerous situation like this.

Pinto’s country song flashed into his mind. God is great, beer is good, and people are crazy. No help. It might be Pinto’s Bible but it was no help to Pavano now.

His eyes scanned the large blue-and-white banner that had been hung over a row of lockers. WE RULE THE SCHOOL.

That stupid phrase the twins had spouted when they emerged to face everyone at the school entrance. Was this really all about taking over the school? The twins weren’t really the leaders, were they? Had they been hypnotized by their kidnappers? Had all the kids been victims of some kind of mass hypnotizing or mind control?

Pavano tried to force the questions from his mind as he moved slowly, step by step, toward the next room. After nearly tripping over a pair of white sneakers on the floor, he noticed a tall water bottle standing in front of an open locker. The locker was piled high with books and notebooks. Nothing unusual.

He kept his back against the tile wall, his hand poised over the holster. He edged up to the next room. A small sign on the wall read Library. He listened to the voices. Kids’ voices. They spoke in normal tones. A girl laughed. A boy angrily told her to get away from him.

Pavano peered behind him, then to the end of the hall. So far, no one had noticed he had entered the school. He was about to reveal himself to the kids in the library. Would it send off some kind of alarm?

Does anyone else in here have that weapon, that incredible fire-breather?

He could no longer ignore his pounding heart. His chest ached, and he could feel the blood pulsing down his left arm. He sucked in a deep breath and held it, but it didn’t help relieve the wave of panic swooping down on him.

He stepped into the rectangle of light at the library doorway.

“Hello. What are you kids doing?” His voice came out more shrill and menacing than he had planned.

He saw several kids sitting at low tables with books in their hands. Three girls were side by side in front of desktop computers. Bright games on the screens. A boy near the back of the room had his head down on the table, most likely napping.

All of the kids had blue arrows on their cheeks. Except for the napping guy, they all turned at the sound of Pavano’s voice. “What are you doing?” he repeated, a little more softly. He took a few tentative steps into the brightly lit room.

Posters for children’s books covered one wall. Four square columns that divided the room had book covers posted up and down them. One column had a long blue arrow pointing up on one side.

“Just doing library stuff,” a red-haired girl said with her hands still on her computer keyboard.

“But. . why are you here? Who brought you here? Are you being held against your will? Were you kidnapped? What’s happening here?”

They stared at him. Made no attempt to answer his volley of questions.

“We rule the school,” one of the boys said finally.

“Yes, we rule the school,” the red-haired girl repeated.

“But who brought you here? Have you been kidnapped?”

They stared at him blankly. “Why did you leave your homes?”

Again, no one answered.

Pavano decided he’d better move on. He knew the FBI agents outside wouldn’t give him much time. He wanted to solve this. He wanted to at least learn something before they came barging in. So little time, but he’d waited a lifetime to prove himself.

He edged back into the hall. Music echoed off the tile walls from a room somewhere in the distance. He could hear only the drums and the bass rhythm. Voices in the next room made him stop. Another locker stood open, this one with a photo of a white dog on the inside of the door. The locker was empty.

The small stenciled sign on the wall beside the next room read 7th Grade. Pavano heard voices inside. He edged to the open doorway and listened.

“We don’t need you anymore.”

“We want Mum to ourselves.”

“We need to say good-bye to you now.”

Pavano recognized the high, little-boy voice of one of the twins.

He took a breath and stepped into the room. The twins stood stiffly behind the teacher’s blond-wood desk. There were plates of food on the desk. On the wall behind them, a poster of the president with a blue arrow on one cheek.

He recognized Ira and Elena Sutter hunched in front of them, cowering together, hugging each other in terror.

“Remember me? Sergeant Pavano? I’m. . a policeman.” The words sounded wrong, as if he were speaking a foreign language. But he knew he had interrupted something.

Ira and Elena spun around, eyes pleading with him. “Help us. Don’t let them burn us.” They started to run up the aisle toward Pavano. But something. . some kind of unseen force. . stopped them halfway between him and the twins. Unable to move forward, they sank back against the chalkboard on the wall.

Daniel shook his head and stared at Pavano. “What a shame. What a shame. Don’t you agree, Sammy?”

“What a shame,” Samuel echoed.

Pavano felt a chill. “What do you mean? What’s going on here?” He avoided Samuel’s red eyes. Maybe if he ignored them. . “Listen. Your mom is waiting for you outside. I need you to come with me now. I need you to trust me. Will you come with me?”

No one budged. Daniel narrowed his eyes at Pavano. “I don’t think we can be trusting you, sir.”

“Why not?”

“We trust ourselves now. We rule the school.”

“I heard that. But it doesn’t explain what’s going on here.”

“We don’t have to explain.” Daniel nodded to his twin.

Samuel stood taller, then aimed his eyes at Pavano.

“Hey, what the hell. What the hell are you doing?”

Samuel aimed a glowing scarlet beam of light. And Pavano felt a burst of pain, just above his eyes, like a searing hot knife blade in the middle of his forehead. Then he heard a tearing sound-like fabric ripping-and felt hot blood spurt down his face.

With a cry of pain, he ducked his head, tried to elude the scorching beam from the kid’s eyes. He cried out again as another beam seared his hair.

Too dizzy to stand, he dropped to the floor and rolled between the desks. Ira and Elena, still pinned against the wall, cried out.

A red beam shot over Pavano, made a sizzling sound as it slanted over the floor behind him.

I’m not going to fail this time. I’m not going to die. I’m not going to fail.

Head reeling, blood trickling into his eyes, Pavano tightened his muscles, readied himself. With an animal roar, he leaped to his feet, tried to dodge the blast of light, but the roar turned into a scream of pain as his shoulder exploded.

The blast knocked him back to the floor. He writhed on his back, unable to shake away the scorching waves of pain, tasting the hot blood flowing from the gash that split his head.

With an agonized moan, he managed to pull himself onto his side. Through the wash of blood, he glimpsed the classroom doorway. Saw the figure move quickly into the room. And gasped: “What are you doing here?”