This Is Not a Drill by Beck McDowell Page A

for permission to answer, but he ignores her. “We’re okay,” she says.
    “Is anyone hurt?” the tense voice asks.
    “No, no one’s hurt.” She pauses. “Not in the room.”
    Poor security guy. He was definitely hurt, but we don’t know how badly.
    She continues, “Mr. Stutts will not harm the children.” Good move, Mrs. C. She let them know his name and used her self-fulfilling prophecy trick at the same time.
    “Quiet!” Stutts cuts her off. “I’ll do the talking here.”
    “Mr. Stutts, please do not hurt anyone,” the intercom continues. “We’ll do whatever we can to resolve this situation peacefully. Just give us a chance to talk to you about what you want.”
    I try to remember the principal’s name; Mrs. Campbell always refers to him as “the Big Cheese.” If she has to go down to the office, she winks at the children and tells them the Big Cheese needs to see her. I haven’t figured out if she likes him or not.
    “What I
want
is to take my son out of here,” Stutts yells, jabbing his finger at the intercom as if the principal can see him.
    “Mr. Stutts, let me come down there, and I’ll bring you back here to the office where we can talk.”
    “I’m
done
with talking. You’ve been talking to my wife. You’re all on
her
side. You just want to keep me from my son.”
    “Mr. Stutts, why don’t we—”
    “That’s enough,” he yells. “Turn that thing off.”
    I hold my breath and, thankfully, the intercom clicks off.
    Mrs. Campbell’s face is chalky and I notice sweat beading her upper lip, but she manages to swing into teacher mode.
    “Class, everyone needs to move to the reading carpet in the back. We can finish the coloring puzzles we started yesterday,” she says. “I’ll put the crayon boxes on the floor.”
    A couple of
yay
s and several relieved smiles. They liked the coloring puzzle.
    “But we can’t color on the carpet,” Kimberly says.
    “We’ll pass out books for you to hold in your laps,” Mrs. Campbell tells them, and I realize she’s moving them to the floor to keep their heads low. “Quickly, now.” Mrs. Campbell claps her hands at them as they scatter. She reaches for the puzzles from the tray on her desk, and I notice her hand shaking as she holds them out to Jake.
    “I’ll get out the crayon boxes,” I tell her.
    Jake hands out the puzzles, and Mrs. Campbell passes out books from the bookcase.
    Stutts stands in the doorway, gripping Patrick’s arm. As soon as we’ve passed everything out, the kids start coloring. Jake and I sit on the floor with them. Mrs. Campbell walks back up to her desk. She seems exhausted; I watch her hold on to the desktop to lower herself into her chair.
    The big clock in the front of the room makes a noise. It’s only 9:45—a little over an hour has passed since Jake and I got here. We should be leaving now to get back to school. Guess they’ll figure out we’re not there at some point. My mom will never let me leave the house again after this—if I ever make it home. Oh God, will I make it home?
    All of a sudden, Mason yells out Mrs. Campbell’s name, and I look up just in time to see her slump from her chair to the floor.

CHAPTER 8
    JAKE
    I watch in total shock as Willa Campbell’s body goes completely limp and she slides from her chair to the floor.
What the hell is happening?
She lands facedown with her arm bent under her head, almost like she’s just curled up for a nap. Emery jumps up and runs to her, spilling crayons everywhere, and I race to help—not even thinking about that maniac Stutts for once.
    Emery kneels beside her; she reaches down and shakes her shoulder. “Mrs. Campbell. Mrs. Campbell, are you okay?” The teacher’s head’s twisted at a weird angle to the side. Her hair’s covering her face, but it’s obvious she’s out cold.
    “We need to roll her over to see if she’s hurt,” Emery says, looking up at me.
    I reach down and move her as easy as I can. Her face is pale and sweaty,