Acoustic Shadows. Patrick Kendrick

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СКАЧАТЬ the main office, Erica said hello to the school nurse, Nora, who cared for children with sniffles or scraped knees or tummy aches. And to Sally Ravich, the front office lady with the purple, horn-rimmed glasses, who commented on Erica’s blue, flowered dress and matching, oversized purse.

      ‘That blue matches your eyes,’ she said in her lyrical, southern drawl. Then, noting Erica’s running shoes, added, ‘I saw some nice flats that would match your purse at Payless yesterday.’

      ‘Thanks, Sally,’ said Erica. ‘I’ll stick to my running shoes.’

      When Sally asked what she kept in a purse that big, Erica replied with wide, exaggerated eyes, ‘Everything.’

      Lynn LaForge, the assistant principal, another excellent educator, who doubled as soccer mom and cheerleader coach for her daughter’s middle school team, also greeted Erica.

      ‘You have Mrs Miller’s class again, today, Erica,’ said Lynn. ‘Still has the flu. Did you perm your hair?’

      ‘No,’ said Erica, absently putting her hand in her shimmering, black hair. ‘I left the house with it damp, and it curls if I don’t blow it out.’

      ‘Is that your natural colour?’ asked the inquisitive administrator.

      Erica’s cheeks turned red. Her hair was as dark as a coal bucket and though she was a brunette, with natural sun-kissed highlights, she dyed her hair the lustrous black it was now. When she was a child, she’d been hit in the head by a swing and had to get sutures. It healed fine, but the hair over the scar turned white. Such an anomaly was too distinct, too memorable, and she couldn’t risk standing out.

      Lynn smiled. ‘I’m sorry, hon. I didn’t mean to embarrass you. You look great,’ she said, then cautiously added, ‘Still haven’t met any locals?’

      Erica turned the corners of her mouth down. ‘If you mean men…no. But, I can’t say I’ve really been looking.’

      ‘I’ve got a brother-in-law…’

      Erica smiled benignly and shook her head. ‘I’ll let you know.’ Changing the subject, she asked, ‘Do you know if Mrs Miller left me any new lesson plans?’

      ‘Sure,’ said Lynn. ‘She emailed them to me, and I ran off a hard copy for you.’

      ‘Thanks,’ said Erica.

      ‘I think she’ll be out the rest of the week,’ Lynn added. ‘She’s pretty sick.’

      ‘Oh, okay,’ said Erica, sorting through the plans Mrs Miller had sent her. ‘Thank you, Miss LaForge.’ First names were fine at this school, but Erica did not need, or want, people to know her that well, so maintained a friendly, but slightly aloof manner.

      The janitor, Mr Swan, was ambling down the hall, his gait slightly hitched from the prosthetic leg he’d earned in Vietnam. He was carrying some fluorescent replacement bulbs, wearing a worn leather tool belt around his waist, as he dodged children running for their classes.

      ‘Slow down,’ he admonished, ‘or someone’s gonna get hurt.’

      ‘Hey, Mr Swan,’ said Erica. ‘How are you today?’

      ‘Oh, hi, Erica,’ replied the old handyman, beaming. ‘Couldn’t be better. And how are you?’

      ‘I’m very well,’ she said.

      ‘Good, good, good. Well, have a great day, young lady,’ he said, grinning, a tooth missing from his smile.

      Erica continued to class. She had about eight minutes to prepare for the day – not nearly enough time – before the children started pouring in. Many of them were children of Guatemalan field workers, or welfare kids, their tattered second-hand clothes hanging from their thin frames like battle flags. She welcomed the third graders, and told them Mrs Miller was still sick. They were going to make jack-o’-lanterns today, with construction paper and paste. But, first, there was a reading lesson they needed to finish: The Legend of Sleepy Hollow.

      ‘You’ll like it,’ Erica promised. ‘It’s scary.’

      After a few moans and groans and shuffling of papers and books, pencils being sharpened and whispers hushed, the children fell silent and began reading to themselves.

      Erica was in the back of the room, looking for the orange construction paper that was supposed to be in the closet, when she heard the first popping sounds. Firecrackers? Inside the school, or from the nearby woods? It was 8:20 a.m.

      One of the little boys in the class asked, ‘is that fireworks?’

      More popping sounds.

      Erica knew, now, they weren’t firecrackers. Acoustic shadows, she thought. That’s what he had called them. She went to the window near her desk and looked out through the blinds, sweat breaking out on her neck. The school was in the shape of a giant ‘U’, so the view from any window yielded a view of the other side of the building. She caught a glimpse of a man dressed in black, suited up like a SWAT team member, carrying an assault rifle, bands of ammo wrapped around his torso, pistols on his belt. A late model van was parked in the pick-up lane in the parking lot, its doors left open, puffs of oily smoke coming from the tailpipe.

      ‘No,’ Erica said to no one, her heart now in her throat. ‘Not again.’

      ‘What do you see, Ms. Weisz?’ asked Rachel, a little girl with an almost comical mop of blonde curls.

      Suddenly, there was a sound of shattering glass, more popping sounds getting louder. And screams. Erica froze, considering her options; her training had never taught her how to protect anyone other than herself. Now, she wasn’t sure she could even do that.

      The PA system came on. The class stared at the old box speaker on the wall as it brought them terrifying noises. There was a humming, then the sounds of things banging and shuffling. A rough voice, indistinguishable, then Dr Montessi’s voice, pleading. ‘Please don’t hurt the children.’

      ‘We’re not going to hurt them,’ declared a high-pitched, male voice that ended with hysterical laughter. ‘We’re going to kill them!’

      ‘Just kill them,’ said another voice, calmer, in control, and the shooting resumed. Rapid and, loud, blam, blam, blam. The firecracker sounds replaced by unmistakable, up close, booming gun blasts.

      Then silence. A groan. The meaty sound of a body hitting the floor, hard. And the gun blasts started again. A door slammed. Steps growing fainter. Silence.

      They’re coming here, Erica thought, fear briefly immobilizing her. Inside her chest, her heart beat so fast she thought it might burst. The children stared at her, quietly expecting something, but Erica’s eyes locked on Rachel’s. The little girl’s lips began to quiver, and a tear sneaked down her cheek. More kids began to sob. ‘I’m scared,’ said one of them. One little girl urinated as she sat at her desk, crying silently, a puddle forming at her feet. None of the other children noticed.

      Gunshots echoed in the hall. Pa-tow, tow, tow. Pa-tow-tow-tow. ‘You sons of…’ came Mr Swan’s voice, then more gunshots, louder and closer.

      Erica couldn’t breathe СКАЧАТЬ