SHOOTERS, SHOOTERS...STUDENTS DOWN

SHOOTERS, SHOOTERS,  STUDENTS DOWN!!!! 

The remark struck Gene as if he had been smashed by a ball bat.   His stomach churned, his head spun, and he staggered to the wall just barely keeping himself from falling.  

Transcript

CHAFF

By James von Feldt

All Rights Reserved

It all started innocently enough.  Becky Gleason was teasing Lucy as Eugene walked by in the crowded, school hallway.  Her remark, as best as she could remember was, “You could do better than that,” as she pointed to Eugene.  Lucy giggled.

The remark struck Gene as if he had been smashed by a ball bat.   His stomach churned, his head spun, and he staggered to the wall just barely keeping himself from falling.  His breathing was labored.  He thought he would pass out then a surge of terror hit.

The shrieking scream paralyzed everyone in the crowded hallway.  Then instant panic ensued though no one knew what was happening or why.  Books flew through the air.  Youngsters ran in all directions.

Larry Park was leaving the chemistry lab just two doors down the hall.  He was returning a smart-ass comment to Carlos who was right behind him when he heard the scream.  He tripped on his own feet and went down.  Carlos fell on top of him.  Students behind them laughed and yelled taunts, then they heard the noise, and sensed confusion.  They dragged Larry and Joe back into the room and slammed the door.

More screams and shrieks; “Students down,” was yelled, then repeated over and over.  Students immediately ran to safety wherever they could find it, just as they had been drilled.  A crescendo of noise arose.  Yelling, high-pitched crying, running, and doors crashing shut added to the panic.  

Those on the first floor thought it was a joke, but as excited students leaped and tumbled down the stairs yelling, they panicked too.  “Shooters, shooters,” the warnings were loud and echoed up and down, from hall to hall.

Gene had sunk to his knees and managed to crawl to the nearest classroom.  Students were streaming in the room crying and whaling as they went.  Deshawn and Freddie fell over Gene.  A huge pile of slithering, crying students followed on.  Gene was at the bottom of the pile.

Miss McClure, an overly thin, aging chemistry teacher ran to the pile and began pulling bodies off.  Simultaneously she yelled at students to take cover under the lab tables.   

Mr. Stanford, the principal was in the office giving Emery yet another lecture for smoking in the restrooms.  Miss Leader, the office secretary opened the door without knocking and whispered “Somethings happening, I think you should come…”  She didn’t finish her sentence as bespeckled Booker Jones ran into the office shouting “Shooter, shooter, students down.” 

Mr. Stanford just stood there in shock.  Miss Leader shouted at him, “Do something, you’ve got to do something.”  He didn’t seem to hear.  He didn’t move.  

Emery jumped up out of the chair pointing and yelled, “Push the Panic Button.”  

Across town, Police Chief and Sheriff were discussing business over coffee at Southfork diner.

At that very instance, the Police and Sheriff’s department phone lines lit up like a Christmas tree.  The 911 phone line was jammed with incoming calls from cell phones.  In another second the phones in front of Chief Armstrong and Sheriff Davis would light up and begin ringing.

The officers grabbed their phones, leaped to their feet, and began hushed conversations.  They looked at each other in alarm as each absorbed the information.

“Go,” Chief Armstrong said forcefully into the phone.  

 “Shooting reported at the High School,” Chief Armstrong said to Davis.  The Sheriff nodded in response as both turned to go.  They knew what to do.

The Police department had developed a plan for both the High School and the Elementary school after the Sandy Hook, then Stoneman, then Marshall County school shootings.  No one expected such a thing to happen in this small town.  

“Go,” was the command to activate the plan which had been rehearsed every fall school term.  Sargent Blake, who had just spoken with the Chief, fired off a list of commands of his own.  This would get the Police station, the Sheriff’s office, the Fire station, and the Hospital moving.  

Parents began receiving the message that there is a Shooting at the High School.  Many stopped working and immediately left for school.  

Parents arrived before the Police.  They were abandoning their cars and running into the school as Sargent Blake and the communication team showed up sirens blaring.

The Panic Button had been pushed.  Clanging bells and messages to take cover were being blared in every classroom and hall of the school.  The noise was intense.

Gene was on his stomach, the wind knocked out of him.  Miss McClure was yelling questions at him.  He couldn’t answer.  Then all of a sudden miss McClure straightened up, grabbed her arm, and slunk to the floor.  Gene got to his feet confused and backed away from Miss McClure.  He pushed the door shut and backed against it.  He could feel another surge coming.  He was out of control, flailing his arms and moving in strange jumps.  His face was bright red and contorted.  The screams and utterances were otherworldly.

About a dozen students had made it into the room.  They were in various stages of calling on the phone, crying, hugging each other, or sitting in a stupor.  When Gene screamed the students screamed as if to answer him.  The room was in chaos.

The principal’s office door was smashed open hitting the wall violently.  “Where is my daughter?” Brian Clooney demanded in an overpowering voice.  Before anyone could answer three more distraught parents careened into the room falling over each other.

Chief Armstrong arrived right behind Sargent Blake.  Blakes team sprinted to the outside exits of the school and awaited instruction.  Sheriff’s deputies began arriving.  They all had assignments.  More parents in cars, the EMS truck from the hospital, and a Firetruck followed.  The outside scene seemed as chaotic as inside.  

“Secure outside doors.” “Crowd control.”  “Close off entry streets.” “Respond when ready to enter.” Chief Armstrong’s commands resonated through a loudspeaker.  Crackling noise and static followed.  The support teams from the Sheriff’s office and the Fire department had arrived and went to work with crowd control.

Booker and Emory were behind the office counter with three cell phones working.  They were contacting as many friends as possible.  Who was shot? They asked.  Where are you?  How many down?  Did you see the shooter?  Start calling your friends.  Find out who’s missing.

The answers started coming in.  

Pairs of armed policemen in bulletproof jackets entered the school doors at the same time.  They were in contact with each other as they cautiously walked down the hallway looking for a shooter.  The plan called for identifying and isolating the shooter then emptying each classroom into the schoolyard.  No one knew where the shooter was.

The emergency alarm had been turned off.  The halls were deserted.  A strange quiet fell over the school.  After a tense wait, no shooter had been identified.  

“Begin Evacuation.”  Came the command. 

More deputies entered to assist the evacuation.

“Teacher down on the second floor.  Chemistry Lab.  Miss McClure.  Possible heart attack.”  The information came to Chief Armstrong from the 911 team at headquarters.  Booker had called it in.  Chief Armstrong dispatched the EMS team and two armed policemen to the second floor.

The school was eventually evacuated and a full search for a shooter was conducted.  None were found.  Distraught parents were soon embracing their children.  The school day was terminated – busses lined up to take kids home.

Information teams asked their questions.  People had their say.  Data was gathered to be sorted out and made sense of.  Reports were formulated.

That evening Chief Anderson and Sherriff Davis reviewed a preliminary report.  

Anderson began, “Seems like the young man had a seizure.  Fought with his father the night before.  Didn’t take his meds this morning.  Has a history.  The school is aware of his problem.”

He looked over his report at Sheriff Davis.  “It’s hard to believe all this was caused by a seizure.  Why would they all react like that, you suppose?”

They just looked at each other for a moment.

“Chaff.”   Sheriff Davis said slowly.

What?

“Chaff.  Like Chaff driven by the wind,” he said, as he turned to go.  “It’s from the first Psalm.”  Something to think about.

So that’s it for now.

From where the corn grows tall and pigs fly.

Take care.

All my love.

Grampa Jim.