The Competition by Marcia Clark

ASAP. With traumatized kids running all over the place and being treated at who knew how many hospitals, just figuring out who hadn’t been accounted for was going to be a daunting task.
    And that was only the beginning.

8
    Bailey had the cell phones brought to us in Principal Campbell’s office. The paramedics had ordered him to go home, and he’d generously offered us the space so we could work in private. I braced myself for what we were about to see. We’d only viewed the footage from a camera positioned outside the gym doors. These phones would show us the scene inside the gym.
    Though the images were shaky and out of focus, and the sound was tinny, this footage gave us our first real glimpse of the kind of monsters we were dealing with. The killers, looking like evil personified in their camouflage jackets, boots, and black balaclavas, stalked down through the bleachers and strafed the students with a bloodlust that was palpable even on these small screens. One of them laughed as he fired into the face of a young girl cowering on the floor, a high-pitched, almost manic-sounding giggle. I was sick with fury.
    “Which one is Chuckles?” I asked. “The short shithead or the taller one?”
    Bailey pointed to the shorter of the two. “Him, I think.” She held up the phone that had the most close-range footage. “See how his head tilts up when you hear the laugh?”
    I wanted to tilt his head up myself. Up and off. I picked up another cell. This one seemed to have been held by someone who was on the floor just inside the doors to the gym, behind the shooters. A brave soul who might already be dead. At first, the images were jumbled, a bouncy montage of students running, stumbling, and screaming. Then, the taller of the two shooters came into view. I recognized the motion he was making from the surveillance video. He was shaking the assault rifle. I now knew it was because the gun had jammed. He extended his arm and the skin of his wrist was exposed. I saw something on it—a dark spot. I hit “pause” and tried to enlarge the image. Something was definitely there. A bruise? A birthmark? A tattoo? It was too blurry to make out. I showed Bailey.
    “We’ll get the lab to work on this,” she said.
    “Is the kid who took this…?”
    “Alive?” I nodded. “Is there a name on the evidence bag?” she asked.
    “Yeah,” I said. “Hugh Filoma.”
    “I’ll check right now.”
    “Did you get any footage with a better shot of the shorter guy?” I asked.
    “No. But I think I know why. It looks to me like he was doing most of the shooting. The kids closest to him are either hiding, on the run, or already down. The only reason this Hugh kid could get a shot that close is because the shorter one was gone and the taller one was right in front of him. This is the best lead we’ve got so far.”
    It was also the only one. We packed up the cell phones and headed out to start our interviews. We’d just reached the main entrance when a small, slender man in a black parka waved us down from the front steps of the school.
    Bailey smiled. “Hey, Ed. Since when do they let you out in public?”
    “Since they lost the key to my cage.” He glanced at me. “That your partner?”
    “Sort of. Rachel Knight, Special Trials, DA’s office, meet Ed Berry, senior firearms examiner.”
    We shook hands. His was leathery. “You here to check out the weapons?” I asked.
    “And all the casings. Got more brass here than a shooting range.” He shook his head.
    “Can you tell us anything?” Bailey asked.
    “I can tell you that one of these assault rifles was fired a hell of a lot more than the other. They both had fifty-round magazines, but one rifle about emptied the clip in that gym. Only had a few left by the time he got out to the hallway. The other one only fired a few in the gym before it jammed.”
    That would’ve been the taller shooter’s gun. “And outside the gym, on the stairs and second floor?” I asked.
    “So