Anna

1.
The child sobbed softly in her arms as she tried to reassure him everything would be alright. The shattered glass crunched loudly under her feet as she and the boy moved slowly through the otherwise silent building. Noticing a slightly opened door at the end of the corridor, she made her way towards it.

Pushing it gently with her shoulder the door opened to reveal an empty classroom. Bright, colourful drawings of dinosaurs, jet planes and other fragments of children’s imaginations adorned the walls of the room.

The seats and desks were scattered and disorganised, books and pens still on those that remained upright. Large chalked numbers revealed the days unfinished math lesson on the board behind the teacher’s desk, which was cluttered with text books and notes.

The boy began weeping uncontrollably as she tried to get him seated on one of the chairs. “It’s okay, it’s okay”, she repeated as he as he hid his head in his hands, tears now streaming down his dirty face.

Going to the nearest window she peered out into the grey, rain soaked morning. The schoolyard below seemed abandoned as the driving rainfall danced and glistened on the solitary swing set in its centre.

She glanced briefly back toward the boy who remained in the same seated position as before. Only now, his sobbing had subsided slightly, until it had turned into a quiet moan as he drew circles on the desk with a newly acquired marker.

Out of the corner of her eye she spotted three men with guns at their side slowly enter the schoolyard below. Using their hands to signal the men fanned out, each moving in a different direction.

Panic now engulfed her as she grabbed the boy and left the classroom, retracing her steps back along the dimly lit corridor.

Passing the shattered glass she thought she could hear voices behind her so quickened her pace.

Turning left past more classrooms, she saw that one of the doorways was blocked by a woman's body lying protectively over a child's in a pool of blood. Further ahead lay two more children their faces etched in pain from the gunshots that ended their short life.

“Don’t look”, she whispered to the boy she carried, “it will be over soon.”

Reaching a stairwell she moved hastily down the first flight the boy rocking in her arms with each step. Pausing on the landing she listened for any more voices and when she heard nothing descended the next set of steps.

On the ground floor she noticed the neon green exit sign that illuminated the top of the door at the end of the corridor. She glanced over her shoulder before setting off in the direction of the exit.

Another woman lay lifeless in a foetal position by the water cooler her white blouse stained heavily red from a gunshot wound to the neck, as she and the boy passed.

She gripped the metal bar on the door and pulled down but nothing happened, the exit was locked. She tried it again but nothing happened.
“Shit, shit, shit”, she muttered under her breath as she looked for an alternative way out.

The men she had seen from the window were entering the school from the front so that was not an option. She moved toward the back of the building, the weight of the boy now beginning to drain the strength in her arms.

The door of the school canteen lay open in front of her. The smell of freshly cooked food lingered in the air.

Moving through the rows of tables and chairs she tried to open a window on the far side of the canteen. The window opened slightly as a rush of cold wet air rushed in before jamming on its lock. She tried another window but it was the same and then a third. Realising all the windows were similar she carried the child through the hall and into the kitchen behind.

Pots of steaming food sat on top of the cookers in the kitchen with utensils strewn on the surfaces beside them. Shards of smashed plates littered the ground some still decorated with the meals they once carried. She was tiring fast as she searched for a way out.

Next to the large silver industrial refrigerator behind the ovens she spotted another exit. Once again, she pressed down the metal bar that ran across it and this time with a slight groan the door swung open.

The rain soaked her and the boy as she ran across the almost empty car park behind the kitchen. Trying to remember where she had left her car that morning she stood momentarily to get her bearings.

“Ma’am, stop right there”, a booming voice commanded behind her.

Turning slowly she faced the police officer who had his weapon pointed at her. He edged toward her not leaving the gun off her.

“I’m a teacher and I am trying to get this boy out of here”, she lied, fear tinged in her voice as she held the child close.

”Okay ma’am, just put the boy down and we can get you both to safety”, the officer replied gradually putting his weapon back in its holster.

She placed the boy on the wet concrete his hands still wiping tears from his face.

As the policeman moved toward them she swiftly removed the Glock 19 from the band of her jeans and fired off two quick rounds both hitting the man one in the stomach and the other in his eye. His body folded underneath him as his face cracked off the wet surface. The boy screamed as the loud bang of the gun exploded in his ears. Grabbing him up in her arms again Anna ran in search of her vehicle.

2.
The dimly lit bar was quiet with only a handful of regulars scattered on stools within. A television on the wall, barely audible, flashed colourful advertisements to an uninterested audience.

“Hey Horace, can you turn that up”, a voice from one of the stools suddenly interjected shattering the morose silence.

“You are welcome back to Channel 2”, the well groomed newscaster informed as Horace, the bar owner, turned up the volume on the screen.

“We now return to today’s top story of the shooting at the small isolated primary school just outside of Billingham. Reports brought to us earlier confirmed that five people had died in the incident and these included two pupils and three teachers. The names of the victims have not yet been released but we at Channel 2 believe that one of these is the headmistress of the school Moira Hayden but we have to stress that this has yet to be confirm by authorities.”

“Jesus that’s awful”, said another of the men seated at the bar before taking a long drink from his beer.

“Keep it down, I’m trying to hear this”, Horace butted in before turning up the volume further.

“We now go over to our reporter Will Stedman who is at the scene”, the newscaster continued as the camera switched to an image of a fresh faced reporter standing in the rain with the school predominant in the background.

“Thanks Alan”, the reporter began, “quite horrendous scenes here at this small school about four miles outside the town of Billingham. What we know so far is that at about 9.20 this morning shots were heard from inside the building. Staff at the school responded quickly in evacuating the thirty of so pupils but unfortunately two were killed along with three teachers. They got the pupils out through a side entrance and to safety about a mile down the narrow laneway that leads up to the school, before calling the police. However, criticism has been levelled at the slow response of the police who according to some eyewitnesses took more than forty minutes to get out to the incident. A spokesperson for the police has stated that this was down to flooding on some roads due to the large amount of rainfall in the past few days”.

“And Will do we know anything about the shooter of a motive behind the attack”, the newscaster queried as the camera stayed on the reporter outside the school.

“Reports coming into us at present confirm that a woman entered the school just before the first shots were heard and some eyewitnesses are saying that she was seen going in the direction of the head mistresses office which is located on the ground floor of the building, this has not yet been confirmed by the police though. We have just heard from another eyewitness who claims that shortly after they heard the first gunshots they saw a woman walk past their classroom in the direction of the stairwell to the second floor, this again has not been confirmed.”

“Thanks Will, sorry to cut in on you but we are now crossing live to Detective Harry Collins, from the Billingham Police Department who is in charge of the investigation.”

The image now filled the screen of Harry Collins, a middle aged slightly overweight police detective with a large amount of microphones and Dictaphones perched underneath him.

“At this time we are only going to make a brief statement about where we are with our investigation”, explained Collins “as we stated earlier a shooting at St Ediths Primary School occurred at approximately 9.30am,that has left five people dead. I can now confirm that a sixth victim, a police officer is also among the deceased. His body was discovered by another officer who was part of a team that arrived first at the scene. The deceased officer who was also with the first team, was found in a small car park at the back of the school with gunshot wounds to his head and body. For the moment we are not at liberty to divulge any further information as the investigation is on-going. Thank You.”

A barrage of questions was launched at Detective Collins from the journalists gathered at the press conference.

“Has the shooter been apprehended”, asked one of the journalists.

“I’m sorry, we are still investigating out buildings at the back of the school, so I can make no further comment”, replied Collins the toll of the day’s events clearly evident in his face.

Back on the screen in the bar the advertisements returned and conversations began about what the patrons had just seen on Channel 2 news.

As the minutes and hours passed, Horace and the remaining customers watched and re-watched the recycled news package on the shooting at St Ediths. With little new information Channel 2 broadcast the same pictures and reports from the school to the captivated audience in the bar.

Suddenly and in large red writing the words breaking news flashed up on the screen. Speedily Horace grabbed the remote and turned up the volume.

The portly image of Detective Collins once again filled the screen. Looking more rain soaked than at his previous press conference he began to speak.

“We have just received new information in connection to the incident at St Ediths. After speaking to numerous witnesses who work here at the school we can now confirm that the name of the assailant is Anna Mecham, a twenty five year old native of Billingham who has ties with the school. Following our searches of the school and out buildings we have been unable to locate Ms. Mecham. Further to this information we can now also confirm that a five year old boy who was in attendance at the school this morning is also missing. It is not believed that the boy is in any way related to Ms. Mecham. I repeat it is not believed that the boy is in any way related to Ms. Mecham who we now have to consider armed and extremely dangerous. I’m sorry but I will take no further questions at this time.”

3.
Soaked branches whipped and nicked her face and hands as she ran through the heavy undergrowth that obstructed the entrance to the forest. The soil underneath was slippery as she fought to maintain her footing.

Once through, the forest opened up and Anna made her way along an old dirt path that snaked through the dense woodland. The child was quiet in her arms, still overrode with the shock of what he had seen and heard, his blond hair bobbing as she negotiated the unsteady terrain.

The forest ran parallel with the school over a vast area and Anna knew the clearing would be the best place to leave her vehicle. She remembered briefly how Seth had frowned when she tried to explain this to him.

In the distance she could hear the sirens. Still faint but growing with every step she took. Her clothes fused to her slim frame with a mixture of perspiration and rain.

Disorientation now began to creep in, so she stopped briefly to gauge her whereabouts. Knowing the woods since childhood, she was quickly back moving along the path.

The rain seemed to cease slightly as she spotted the clearing up ahead, her beat up old Cherokee jeep still where she had left it. Upping her pace, the boy groaned slightly before opening his eyes and staring a glazed stare in her direction.

“We are nearly there”, she told him returning his gaze.

Her keys were already out of her jacket pocket and in her hand when they got to the jeep. She opened the trunk and sat the boy on the torn mat that lay across the otherwise empty interior.

“Don’t move”, she commanded as she went to the front of the vehicle and grabbed a small rucksack from the passenger seat.

When Anna returned to the boy was sitting, trembling with cold and fear, his knees defensively brought up to his chest.

She pulled him toward her and retrieved a roll of grey duct tape from the rucksack.

“This won’t hurt I promise”, she said before placing a section over his mouth. Tears now rolled from his eyes.

Anna clasped his small hands together and bound them tight with black industrial tie wraps. She proceeded to do the same to his feet, all of which meet with no resistance from the blond boy.

Finally she placed a cloth sack punctured with two small air holes over his head. Laying him on the mat she placed a blanket over him as she whispered “This is for your own good.”

Clambering into the jeep, exhaustion now seeped into Anna’s being as she sat in the driver’s seat of her beaten up old jeep. She noticed for the first time how quiet everything had become with only a slight rustle of the trees disturbing this.

Turning the key and igniting the engine, the Cherokee pulled out of the clearing onto the road that would take them out of the forest.

About a half mile from the clearing, the jeep took a sharp left onto a larger road which was busier than where they had just been.

Anna reduced her speed to under the limit as to avoid any unwelcome attention. She turned on the radio and a tune from a by-gone era filled the Cherokee with its harmony. Hating the song, she hastily turned the dial and was greeted with the end of a news broadcast about the shooting.
“…at present the location of the suspected shooter and a five year old pupil at the school are unknown”, the broadcast announced before Anna shut off the radio.

She glanced back at where the boy was hidden but he did not stir. Focusing back on the road she pushed the gas pedal down nervously.

Up ahead a red light forced the jeep to a stop. Anna saw a police cruiser was also stopped in the small line of traffic two cars ahead. She reached across and opened the glove compartment. The black metallic Glock 19 sat inside hidden by a stained white handkerchief. Leaving the compartment open she waited anxiously for the light to turn.

Never taking her eyes off the car two in front, after a couple of minutes the light changed to green and the police cruiser took off at speed.

After a mile the police car veered right down toward a small town as the Cherokee kept a steady pace behind. When the car was out of sight Anna closed the glove compartment, overtook the car in front of her and increased the speed.

An hour passed and the rain returned as Anna drove through the town of Kensington, a pretty little place full of brightly coloured houses and shops.

She was hungry now and knew that she should probably get some food for her and the boy. After the radio broadcast and the police car earlier she did not feel comfortable pulling up in such a built up area so decided to press on.

Shortly after she had passed the town the red gas light on the dashboard started to flash. “Damn it”, she muttered, hoping she would see a gas station in the next few miles.

A sign for Coyne’s Gas & Food came into view a couple of miles down the road and Anna pulled up at the antiquated pumps that stood out in front of the run down looking gas station. Observing her surrounding she noticed that her jeep was the only one parked there but still hid the Glock 19 in her waistband as a precaution.

She filled the tank as quickly as the pump would let her, keeping a close eye on the outline of the boy hidden by the blanket in the back. When it was full she put back on the cap and went to pay.

The young attendant seemed more interested in the magazine that he had badly concealed under the counter than he did with her.

“That will be 22.80”, he informed her.

She put three crumbled ten notes on the counter and told him to keep the change before leaving to return to the jeep.

Noticing everything in the Cherokee was as she had left it, Anna pulled back onto the road and continued her journey which she knew would be soon at an end.

The light was fading out of the day when the battered jeep turned left at the crossroad and down the small lane. Thick hedge grow lined either side and the jeep bounced and bumped on the uneven surface.

The cabin now came into view with the light on in one of the front windows.

The front door swung open and a tall, thin bearded man stepped out onto the porch, a shotgun draped down by his leg. He waved at the approaching vehicle as it came to a stop.

Anna stepped out of the jeep and smiled at the man. “I got him Seth, I got him”, was all she said.