Bang Bang You're Dead (11 page)

Monday 10 March, 10.10 a.m.

I have put my plan into action a little earlier than I expected.

As screams echo in the classroom next door, I blunder and stumble through the darkness of the cupboard, back towards the other door. Books go flying as I bump into the shelves, trying to feel my way out.

I reach the door and grab the handle and it sticks again. Gulping for air, sobbing, gasping, I push down on it – hard – and the door flies open.

As I hurtle out of the cupboard, I hear the unmistakable sound of someone fumbling to unlock the classroom door. The screams and shouts are suddenly silenced.

'Oh, God! Oh,
God
!'

I run faster than I've ever run before. I am literally running for my life. My nose is running, my eyes are wet, my breath is rasping in my chest. I dare not look back to see what is happening behind me.
I have to get to the corner before I'm seen, before I become a target, a sitting duck
. . .

My muscles burn as, legs and arms pumping, I finally round the corner. As I do so, I hear the classroom door being flung open. There's a short delay, and then I hear the sound of heavy footsteps running in my direction.

Someone is coming for me.

I guess it has to be the person with the gun. But surely he wouldn't have left his hostages unguarded? He must have some other method of keeping them under control.

It
cannot
be anyone else.

This is him, and he's coming after me.

He is only a few metres away, round the corner.

Curiously, the prospect of imminent danger – maybe even death – calms me. It's as if a switch has been flipped in my brain and, robot-like, I am immediately thrown into ice-cool mode.

This is my chance to find out if it's Jamie or not.

I have to be somewhere, hidden, where I can
see.
And before I put myself in any more danger, if that is at all possible.

The footsteps come closer. I run silently, balancing on my toes like a dancer, into a nearby classroom and duck behind the door, leaving it ajar. I press myself into the shadows and put my eye to the narrow gap next to the door hinges. The classroom is dim, and so is the corridor outside, but I am sure I will recognize Jamie, whatever happens.

I will
know.
I will
feel
that he is here.

Someone comes round the corner. He has slowed down now and is moving cautiously, making hardly a sound except for soft, calculated footsteps. But the angle of his approach is such that, frustratingly, I cannot see who it is through the very small space between door and frame.

I hear the door of the classroom next to mine open. A moment later, the one opposite.

He is checking all the classrooms.

Suddenly the door I am hiding behind is pushed open a little further. I almost collapse onto my knees, but somehow I find the backbone to stay upright and as still and as silent as I can. Only the door, one thin piece of wood, separates us now, and on the other side I can hear someone breathing, shallow and panicky, in time with me.

Jamie, it's me,
I say silently inside my head, willing the telepathy we had to come to my aid now, when I need it most.

Jamie is here, I'm sure of it. I feel it so strongly that the hair on the back of my neck stands up and makes me shiver.

It
must
be him on the other side of this door.

But my overwhelming fear keeps me wary, and I stay hidden. I had to leave the hammer behind in the dark cupboard in my rush to escape, and so I am now unarmed. I can't take the ultimate risk of trusting my instincts and my senses. I have to see for myself.

He's leaving
. . .

I hear him creep along the corridor. He is going further away from the classroom, into the rest of the first floor of the annexe.

He is searching for me.

Quickly I put my eye to the gap again, twisting my head, trying to get a look at the mystery person. As he pushed the door open further, so the narrow space widened.

I catch a glimpse of someone dressed in black just before he edges his way round the corner of the corridor. I see he is carrying a blue rucksack on his back.

I also see the black gun in his hand. It is not Grandpa's gun.

My God.

It is not Jamie.

Monday 10 March, 10.17 a.m.

Outside the sun drifts out from behind the clouds and peers round the edges of the blinds, lighting up the corridors and classrooms a little. I stay where I am behind the door because my legs will not move. I am shaking uncontrollably. Nausea threatens to overcome me and I clap my hand silently over my mouth, willing myself not to retch.

The gunman is not Jamie.

And now, for the very first time, I realize exactly how much danger I am in.

The figure in black is a little shorter and much stockier than Jamie. He is not my brother, I'm certain of that.

And yet I'm also certain that Jamie is in the annexe. He's close by, he is here
somewhere.

So what has happened to him?

Where
is
he?

A sob rises in my throat and I press the back of my hand against my mouth to stifle it.

Now I'm faced with a different, but no less difficult decision. Do I go back and attempt to help the hostages, or do I try to get the hell out of here?

I remember that at least two sets of doors on the ground floor of the annexe are locked. Could they
all
be locked?

If so, I can't get out anyway.

And besides, I don't
want
to leave until I find out what has happened to Jamie.

I rest my head against the door, my mind a maelstrom of confusing, racing thoughts:
Jamie, Class 9D, Mrs Lucas, the police watching and waiting outside
. . .

What is the best way for me to help them all, and to help myself too?

I make a decision.

I step out of the classroom and glide silently after the figure in black.

Am I crazy?

Possibly.

I have no thought in my head except the vague idea that I might somehow trap him somewhere.

Don't ask me how.

When I reach the next corner, I stop abruptly, pressing myself against the wall, wondering if I dare look. I hope he cannot hear my heart thudding and pounding against my chest.

Imagine if he's waiting for me on the other side of this corner, I think, my skin crawling. Imagine if I look and he's standing there, pointing the gun at me.

I wait a few more seconds, but I know I have to take a chance. I have no choice.

So I go for it and stick my head round the wall like a nervous tortoise.

Relief.

There is no one there.

But as I am about to step out and move on, I see a shadow in the doorway of the science lab, spotlit by the sunbeams dancing their way past the sides of the blinds.

That is
his
shadow.

He's still searching for me.

Instantly I pull myself back out of sight before the shadow becomes reality and he steps out into the corridor again. But as I do so, I notice a sudden, quicksilver flash of bright light.

The sunbeams are glinting on the shiny metal of the gun, reflecting off it.

I wait.

I wait and I calculate how much time it will take him to search the rooms on this stretch of corridor.

I wonder if he will give up and return to the classroom. If he does, the shortest way is back round this corner where I am standing.

And what then?

If he doesn't come back this way, if he goes on and continues to search for me, then he will come to the very centre of the annexe. There the corridor widens out into a large square landing with an ironwork balcony that overlooks the main entrance, down on the ground floor.

The landing is huge and wood-panelled; it is open and exposed and there is nowhere to hide. There is only one door leading off it, and that leads into the school's careers centre.

I hear another door open. I calculate that this is the last room he will be checking before he turns another corner and reaches the wide, open space of the landing.

If I'm going to follow him, and it looks as if that is exactly what I am going to do despite my common sense telling me otherwise, I have to give him enough time to search the careers centre and then move on into the other part of the annexe. I can't risk being caught on the landing. There I will be trapped like a rabbit in headlights, with nowhere to run to.

I bite my lip hard enough to draw blood, and the pain spurs me on. Running lightly and quietly, I clear the last length of corridor in a few seconds. Then I wait at the next corner.

Even now he must be crossing the landing, and there is nowhere to search except the careers centre where dowdy, bespectacled and terminally gloomy Miss Walters sits day after day, trying to persuade pupils that they really
don't
want to be the next David Beckham, Lewis Hamilton or Lindsay Lohan. She urges them to become teachers or doctors or nurses or to get a job in IT or the civil service. Bree always used to say that Miss Walters couldn't possibly have any influence on anyone, since she herself had obviously been dumb enough to choose a career she thoroughly disliked.

Poor Bree.

She must be wondering what the hell is happening to me, especially if Ms Powell has informed the police that I am still inside. And she
must
have done. Everyone knows by now, I'm sure.

I wonder if someone has told Mum.

Everything that has happened, like seeing the TV report and Ms Kennedy's accident, seems a thousand years ago, and I am shocked when I glance at my watch to see that only a little over an hour has passed since the school was evacuated.

I peer round the corner.

I can see the landing where the corridor widens out and becomes square. Sunshine is still sneaking in around the blinds, lighting up the open space, and dust motes float lazily in the air.

On the left-hand side of the landing I can see the door of the careers centre. It is closed.

On the right side I can see the long, curving metal balcony above the ground floor.

Once I am out on the landing, I am naked, unarmed and vulnerable.

My fear is intense. It makes me gasp and gulp for air as if I am having a panic attack, and desperately I try to calm myself as I pull back out of sight again.

Once more I wait, pressed against the wall, my whole body one mass of intense, quivering nerves. Surely he can't
still
be searching the careers centre. There are hardly any hiding places among Miss Walters' obsessively neat shelves of university handbooks and careers leaflets.

But I wait three more long, stomach-churning minutes, just to be certain.

And still he does not come out.

I now know that he has gone on into the other part of the annexe and I am safe to go after him.

Well, I am safe as long as he doesn't suddenly decide to come back this way again.

I don't want to think about that.

I step out round the corner and run for it. As I cross the landing, past the door of the careers centre, I glance over the balcony at the ground floor below. I wonder if the police are waiting somewhere near the entrance, waiting and watching for their chance to burst in.

Somewhere in the maze of corridors on the other side of the annexe, I will trap him, and then I will return to 9D's classroom.

Because I am not leaving without finding out what has happened to Jamie.

A sudden quicksilver glint of light flashes in my eyeline. It pulls me up short, my heart jumping, my guts turning to water. I see that the door of the careers centre is opening, very, very slowly.

He can't have been searching the careers centre all this time. He has been lying in wait for me. He has been playing with me like a cat plays with a mouse. He has heard my footsteps and now he's closing in for the kill.

There is nowhere to hide.

Wait.

There
is
one way I can go.

Swiftly, silently, I climb up onto the metal handrail of the balcony. I do not allow myself even a second to look down at the ground floor so far below me.

Instead I swing myself over the rail and into space.

Monday 10 March, 10.23 a.m.

I hang off the balcony, my body suspended in midair. I am gripping two of the iron railings right at the bottom, one in each hand, like grim death. The metal is ice-cold and smooth to the touch. Too smooth. I am worried that my fingers will simply slide off, however tightly I hold on. My hands are the only things keeping me up, the only supports preventing me from falling to the ground floor and breaking bones.

The sunlight has vanished again and grey dimness surrounds me. I hear soft footfalls as he comes stealthily out of the careers centre. He thought he had trapped me and now
he's
wondering where
I
have gone. My arms are already feeling the strain of bearing my whole weight, and muscles and sinews are stretching too far and beginning to ache and burn.

I have to fight my natural instinct, which is to allow my legs to flail back and forth in the air around me. Instead, I hang perfectly straight and still, metres above the ground floor, not moving – as far as I am able. I am reminded of a movie Jamie and I watched together in which someone was hanged for a crime he did not commit. I imagine hanging, dead, and make all my limbs go limp.

The only parts of me that are still at all visible are my hands, gripping the railings. I can only hope that he doesn't glance down and see them. I cannot see him at all. I won't be able to see him unless he comes to the balcony and peers over the edge. The gloom that has now descended on the annexe again gives me courage.

He stops in the middle of the landing.

I hang there in suspense, literally.

Then, after what seems like an hour or two, he leaves. I close my eyes briefly, not even daring to breathe a sigh of relief.

I can tell from the sound of his steps that he is slowly going back in the direction of 9D's classroom.

By this time my arms have almost dislocated themselves from their sockets. Giving silent thanks that I am skinny and underweight, I silently begin to swing and flail and thrash about until, panting, I manage to lift one leg and get a tenuous toe-hold on the edge of the balcony. I make an enormous effort, hook my foot between the railings and then haul myself up, falling clumsily over the handrail. I am shaking, not with relief, but with the adrenalin that is now screaming through my veins.

'Now it's my turn,' I say to myself.

I am exhilarated because he thought he had outwitted me, but instead I have fooled him.

We're still playing the cat-and-mouse game. But this time, I'm the cat.

Call me crazy, but I go charging after him.

And as I run, I do two things.

First, I set the alarm on my watch to go off in one minute. Second, I pull my tie from my pocket and make a noose at one end of it.

Then I speed up. I can only be a few seconds behind him now. He must be just round the next corner, on his way back to 9D's form room.

Twenty seconds before my watch alarm goes off.

I laid my plans and chose the site for my trap carefully, while I was hanging off the balcony in midair moments earlier. I race into one of the Year Eight classrooms and there I place my watch on the teacher's desk. Then I dash out again and across the corridor into the science lab opposite. I duck behind the door out of sight.

'Five – four – three – two – one,' I whisper.

My alarm begins to beep. It sounds eerily loud and tinny in the silent building.

He comes running back almost immediately.

Christ, I never realized I was so close behind him!

He was literally a metre away, just round the corner.

This time there is no attempt at silence because he thinks he has me.

The truth is that I now have
him.

I hear him hurtle into the classroom. Instantly I am out of the science lab, tie in hand.

I whip the classroom door shut, loop the noose over the door handle and tighten it with shaking fingers. Dropping to my knees, I begin to wind the other end of the tie around the valve of the radiator that sits conveniently close to the classroom door.

Suddenly there is a blood-curdling scream of rage. Then someone is pulling violently at the door from inside the room, almost tugging the remaining length of my tie from my grasp. My insides are turning to water; I sob and pant with fear as I knot the tie firmly in place.

The door is now tethered tightly shut.
I hope.

Slowly, fearfully, I stand up. I let out an ear-splitting scream myself as I see a face pressed against the glass in the top of the door.

Christ. It is Lee Curtis.

Lee Curtis, Year Ten student, drug dealer and Kat Randall's ex-boyfriend.

Lee is banging on the glass with the gun and yelling, his eyeballs bulging, his face red and contorted with unbelievable fury. He catches sight of me then, and he stops shouting momentarily. Even though I want to, I can't move and I can't drag my eyes away from him.

Lee looks stupefied, utterly dumbfounded. It seems to take him a few seconds to realize that it's me, Mia Jackson, who has got the better of him.

'Let me out, you stupid bitch!' he snarls.

'I have some bad news for you, Lee!' I yell, suddenly exhilarated beyond measure, even though tears are pouring down my cheeks. 'I'm not going to be bullied by you or anyone else ever again!'

Lee lets out another animal roar of fury. I can see him through the glass, struggling to throw off his rucksack as he kicks savagely at the door handle.

A thrill of horror runs through me.
I have to get help right now before Lee shoots his way out and comes after me.

'Jamie!' I shriek, my voice hoarse as I spin round and race off down the corridor. My intention is to get down to the ground floor, smash a window and alert the police. 'I know you're here, Jamie.
Where are you?
'

Then there is a white-hot flash and it's accompanied by the loudest bang I have ever heard. The classroom door blows off its hinges and there is a sound of breaking glass and the force of the blast sends me flying head-first down the corridor. There is smoke, people are screaming, my ears are ringing and I have no idea what is happening.

I crash heavily to the ground.

I see stars and then I black out.