“Sorry, LT, didn’t see you come up. We were checking the gun registrations for Merritt Senior. He had a rifle registered, a Browning X-Bolt, and a couple of .22 handguns, a Smith & Wesson and a Bersa Thunder Conceal Carry, and a Smith & Wesson M&P 9-mil”
“That’s enough to get the job done.”
“Right. The weapons seemed to be for home protection. He wasn’t a hunter or else we’d have seen shotguns and semiautos on the list.”
“He seem like the type to register everything?”
“Definitely. The paperwork was all in order, he bought them all legally. Four guns listed on the inventory, the rifle, the two .22s and a 9. Got receipts for the ammo too-three boxes of .22 cartridges and a box of 9s.”
“So relatively limited shooting abilities, say, one hundred shots between all four guns?” They looked at her bleakly. “Enough to take out everyone left in that building, that’s for sure.”
“Okay, I’ll let Keller know. Keep tracking stuff down. We don’t know what’s going to be relevant. Where’s Me Ken zie?”
Marcus rubbed his eyes. ‘They were transferring Juri Edvin this morning, so he came to take over for me. I was there all night. Not a peep.”
“Thanks, man, I appreciate it. Lincoln, anything on the video?”
“The file-sharing sites have it down permanently. They built a block against the video’s signature. So we’re good there. But The Tennessean ran the letter this morning.”
“Son of a bitch, you’re kidding? I asked Dave Greenleaf not to.”
“He gave you more than a day’s grace-that’s a lot to ask for a reporter.”
“It’s going to end up as the kid’s manifesto at this point.” She waved a hand at the grounds of the school, bristling with cops and guns. “We’ve got Cluster’s last stand here. Excellent work, guys.”
She went back to Keller, filled him in on what they thought the kid had in the way of weapons and ammunition. He told her there was still no word from the suspect, so they were going in. They’d be ready in thirty minutes. She went back to her car to retrieve her vest-damn if she was going to let them have all the fun. She’d make entry with SWAT. Behind them, obviously, but with them nonetheless. Maybe there was a chance of talking this kid off the ledge.
Though as she fastened her Kevlar, she knew that would never be the case. She pulled her hair up high on her head and anchored the mass with a black ponytail holder. She checked her weapons, loaded herself a few extra magazines for the Glock and a speed loader for the pistol she carried around her ankle. It fit perfectly within her boot and was designed for moments of sheer duress. She’d never had to use it, hoped today wouldn’t be the first time.
Keller hadn’t had any luck breaking through to the boy. He wasn’t answering, but at least the shooting had stopped.
She walked up to Keller, loaded for bear. He took one look at her and said, “Whoa. What do you think you’re doing?”
“Tin making entry with you.”
“Lieutenant, you know I can’t let you do that. We’ve got our assigned roles, our designated fields of fire, all of our contingency plans have been rehearsed over and over. You don’t fit into those plans.”
“I trained for SWAT, Keller, you know that. I know what to do. I’ll stay in the back, but I am going in,”
Happily, she outranked him, so she was going to get her way whether he wanted her to go in or not.
“Suit yourself,” he said finally- She smiled and walked off to join the column of heavily armed men getting ready to enter the building.
It was time. She felt her focus pinpoint, shuffled into her place behind the initial entry team. Her earwig was itching; she reached up and adjusted it. The sun broke out, creating a glare on the cement, but that was okay, they were moving now. ‘*Go, go, go!” rang in her ear, and she hustled behind them, weapon drawn in a two-handed grip.
The first body was the safety officer, life’s blood glistening on the linoleum. He’d been taken in the throat, a ragged wound, and was dead. The human body carried over five and one half liters of blood in its veins and arteries. Taylor felt sure at least seventy percent of his was spreading across the floor under his inert form.
She felt the pressure building in her chest.
There was chatter in her ear, a sniper was in pi ace, ready to take the shot if necessary. They drew closer to the classroom, listening for sounds. There was nothing. Taylor heard the crashing glass of the windows, the flash grenades were in. The door to the room was open now, there were screams and shouts, the rush of bodies stank with the cold, tangy scent of fear.
There was no shooting, no screaming. She watched as the team cleared the room, saw no one with weapons pointing at them in threatening ways.
Merritt wasn’t in the room.
There were a few moments of controlled chaos as the SWAT team took advantage of the situation, brought the hostages out of the room, hustling them down the hall and out into the bright fall morning. She recognized a few faces in the panic, Theo Howell, wild-eyed, and a couple others from his party, all herded together for safety and comfort. Thank God no more were hurt.
The room was clear now. Taylor leaned back against the wall, out of the way. He was here, somewhere. This was his school. He’d knowr places to hide. She grabbed the two closest SWAT boys that she knew and said, “Follow me.”
They stalked along the halls, one foot in front of the other in perfect unison, silent, careful. Each darkened corner held the promise of the afterlife, and Taylor wasn’t in the mood to get herself or any of these boys killed. They crept through the school, finding nothing. Taylor started to relax, though how could the boy have gotten away? The school was surrounded.
She heard shouting from the parking lot, panicked screams, and it hit her. She felt the horror well up in her chest.
“He’s outside,” she yelled, tearing off down the hall, the clanging SWAT members hot on her heels. They flew out the doors and toward the group of evacuated hostages. They had their backs to her, were moving away as quickly as possible.
There. There he was.
She hadn’t seen him inside because he was wearing an ill-fitting baseball cap. He must have walked right past her. Goddamn it.
The dyed black hair peeked out from under the edge of the ball cap, she knew this was him. She drew closer, careful not to alert him. The boy had several people cowering in front of him. He had his arms outstretched, a gun in each hand, pointed at the crowd.
She yelled, “Stop right there, Schuyler!”
People scattered, running, crying, but she held her ground, and so did the boy. Sensing this was their moment, the people around him cleared in an instant, and he was alone.
‘Turn around! Get on the ground. Put your hands on the top of your head and get down on the fucking ground now!”
He put his hands up and turned, slowly, pirouetting on his right foot. Face to face with him, Taylor was shocked at just how young he really was. She could hear noises in the distance, weapons being readied, knew they were in fact right beside her, but she felt captivated, drawn in by the boy’s stare, a mongoose faced with a cobra.
“It’s finished, Schuyler,” she said. “Drop the weapon and get on the ground.” He continued to look at her, his coal-black eyes flashing.
Their eyes locked together in a battle of wills. He finally blinked.
“My name is Raven!” he screamed at her.
She felt the movement before she saw it. His hand was coming up, the glint of steel, the sunlight flashing off the gun. She didn’t think, didn’t hesitate, pulled the trigger three times in quick succession. Blood bloomed on the boy’s chest and forehead-three kill shots, clean, perfect. Time stopped.
He looked vaguely surprised for a moment, then crumpled in a bloody heap.
“Get the paramedics,” she screamed, advancing on him. She kicked the guns out of the way, quickly ran her hands over the rest of his body. He was clean. He looked her right in the eye and she felt a cold slithering down her spine. Blood bubbled over his lip as he died.