Fred found himself panicking. On one hand, Suzanne was passed out on the cement floor of the roof. On the other, someone else had definitely screamed just a second ago.

He was kneeling next to Suzanne, trying to figure out what to do. He didn't know CPR, and he figured it would be unwise to attempt it. What was it people like to say? "Don't try this at home, kids"? That sounded right.

In movies they usually checked for a pulse. That much was self-explanatory. So Fred pressed the first two fingers of his hand to the inside of Suzanne's wrist, he held his breath. Her pulse was strong, steady. Which was good... So... What had happened?

He licked his lips, nervously pulling the lower one into his mouth and biting down on it. He held one hand over her mouth, warm breath fanned his palm rhythmically. She seemed to be breathing fine.

What else could he do?

He patted her cheek gently. "Hey Suze," he said, speaking a little louder than what his mother called an "inside voice."

Suzanne bolted upright, headbutting his arm and startling him enough that he almost fell over backwards.

Her eyes were wide and wild, the cool grey darting about everywhere. Her breathing — which before had been smooth and regular — was now erratic and ragged. She looked... terrified.

Her eyes soon latched onto him. He started to say something, he had no idea what, but she interrupted him. "Tru is dead."

{ { o } }

Suzanne's head felt a few dozen sizes too big for her shoulders, the sudden extra weight having been stuffed full of wool. Some demolition workers had also set up shop in there, and they seemed not at all concerned with how much pain they caused her.

She whimpered in spite of herself, curling her knees up toward her chest and burying her face between them and her arms. She squeezed her eyes shut, but that only sharpened the vision she'd just seen in her mind.

Tru's last words still echoed in her mind...

Why are you doing this?

Don't hurt me...

Please don't hurt—

Suze?

"Suzanne? You still with me?"

She looked up, only realizing that her eyes were full of tears when Fred appeared to her as little more than a blur.

"Why did you say that?"

"What?"

"That — y'know — about Tru."

Oh. Had she said that aloud? Well, it's not like she could keep it a secret. Besides. It was true. She choked on a laugh. "It's true, what I said about Tru." Though it wasn't really all that funny.

She could feel the frown on his face, even if she couldn't see it through the tears. "That's not funny. And how do you know?"

"She screamed," Suzanne said, a poor attempt at deflection.

"How do you know? That could've just as easily been Didi or May. Hell, it could've been Eddie for all we know."

At first she refused to answer. She couldn't think if a good excuse, couldn't simply distract him or anything like that.

"Suze," Fred warned. "Tell me."

She almost did.

But the door to the roof slammed open an instant later, and a pale Cliff came to a panting abrupt halt just outside it. "Someone," he paused, trying to regain his breath. "Someone's been killed!"

{ { o } }

"Where are the fucking teachers!" Daniel snapped.

Eddie shrugged, and others traded anxious glances. Tom sat shuddering in a corner, pale, and sickly. Eddie didn't blame him.

He'd found a dead body before.

Granted, his had been mostly buried.

The entire room was somber, silent. After Tom had come stumbling down from the top floor, he'd tracked down everyone and told them what had happened.

He just hadn't found Fred and Suzie, said he figured they were still on the roof or something. Cliff — who'd always seemed like a pretty chill guy — offered to go look for them. He also said he wanted to see the room for himself, to which of course, Tom objected.

When Cliff returned — shaken Fred and Suzie in tow — it was quite obvious from his expression that he had ignored Tom's warning.

And from the look on Suzie's face, she'd gone and taken a peek herself.

Under normal circumstances, Eddie would resort to clowning around and tomfoolery to lighten the mood. But — for obvious reasons — he decided it would be best if, for once in his life, he remained silent.

Being an idiot was all fun and games when it didn't matter.

Now it mattered, and he needed to keep a level head.

Suddenly, his dad's whole 'you don't take things as seriously as you should' speech was starting to make sense.

"So we can't find the teachers," Eddie mused aloud. "So we find a phone and call the cops."

Daniel stopped his pacing and turned to stare at him. Actually...

Eddie blinked. Everyone had stopped to stare at him. "What?"

"Nothing," Didi said. "It's just that that was actually a really good idea."

Eddie flashed a false smile. "I've got a million of 'em." This earned him a few eye rolls, a couple snorts, and some 'ah, there he is' sighs. "But seriously," he added, "we need to find a phone."

They all exchanged looks. This meant going out into the halls. This meant going outside their little safe haven of a locked classroom, where a killer was wandering about, fresh blood on his hands.

This meant that they all had to trust each other.

"I used to think my old school sucked," May muttered.

{ { o } }

Syd felt jittery, and she didn't like feeling jittery. She found herself staying as close to Alan as she could without actually touching him. She'd found out the hard way that she wasn't his type. He had devoted himself to some goodie-two-shoes at his old school. Good girl, bad boy. It was John Travolta and Olivia Newton John all over again, only Syd knew that that kinda thing was meant only for what it was: fiction. Reality was much harsher, and far more predictably disappointing. Still, Alan was a good friend, even if he wouldn't make out with her. And that, she'd realized, was far better than nothing.

They were all making their way steadily down the hallway, keeping their eyes and ears peeled.

Still, no one had voiced the elephant in the room.

Which was who the killer might be.

It could've been one of the teachers, since none of them could be found.

It could've been someone outside the school.

Or it could've been one of the people walking next to her.

How was she supposed to know? She'd known these people for all of five months. No one talked about why they were here. Not that she could expect them to, but how was she supposed to know whether it had been some petty trouble-making, or something more serious?

How could she trust any of them?

Syd kept her thoughts to herself for the time being, however. She would wait until after they'd called the cops. Just to be safe.

{ { o } }

Tom couldn't stop shaking.

And he hated that.

It wasn't helped by the silence and the dimness of the hallways. Or did they only seem dim to him? The lights were still on, it was barely past eight in the morning, so the sun was shining brightly through the windows...

Was the darkness a figment of his imagination? A symptom of shock? Was he going to have a mental breakdown? God, but he could really use a drink right now. Except his stash was on the upper floor in an empty classroom. And he didn't feel like possibly running into a homicidal maniac on the way to get to it.

May was the one who opened the door to Mr. Hougan's room.

Her eyes widened, and she screamed.

The others rushed past him to see what had drawn such a reaction from her, but Tom knew. And he stayed rooted to the spot.

He shuddered, a million and one questions racing through his head faster than he could really comprehend.

How did the killer get down here so fast? Or did he kill Mr. Hougan first? Will we find the same thing in the other classrooms? Are all the teachers dead?

{ { o } }

Fred had always prided himself on his strong stomach. Especially in Biology when it came to dissecting frogs and fetal pigs. He was among the few that didn't have to head to the bathroom to throw up.

He'd even been able to get a part time job at the dump because of it. As bad as things smelled, as disgusting as they looked, he'd never felt sick.

Now he did.

The only other time he'd seen this much blood was after a hunting trip with a friend when he was younger. They'd slit the deer's throat and hung it by its hind legs to bleed out.

And that had been neat, clean, and simple.

But this was... He swallowed.

There was blood everywhere he looked. On the floor, the walls, the desks, the black board, and even a little on the ceiling. Bits of human flesh littered the room.

As did plastic bits of telephone flesh.

The phone that had been sitting innocently on Mr. Hougan's desk had seemingly been thrown all over the room, with broken pieces of plastic and buttons and wires all along the edges of the room.

Like the killer had picked it up, thrown it at a wall, and picked it up, thrown it at another wall, and rinse and repeat.

The majority of what remained of Mr. Hougan had been left on top of the desk, his severed head sitting where the phone had been. The killer had pushed his face into a wide-eyed smile, pinning the cheeks in place with bent paper clips. Fred could only assume based on the lines of blood that had spilled from the holes that smile had been pinned in place while his head was still attached, and while his heart was still beating.

Fred didn't think corpses bled.

There was also what looked to be a fountain pen stabbed into the wooden surface of the desk. Funny place for an old thing like that...   

But what bothered him more than the gruesome scene before him, more than the stench — which had hit him as soon as May swung the door open — was the fact that the blood was mostly dry.

He didn't know how long it took for blood to dry, but it did tell him one thing: Mr. Hougan had died before Tru had. Hell, maybe he'd died before the rest of them even got to school. He glanced up at the clock.

He blinked. Was it really only 8:06?

Fred took a deep breath, then coughed, instantly regretting his decision. That was another thing he knew for sure. Dead things — or people, as the case may be — didn't smell half as nice as specimens that had been soaking in formaldehyde. Well, those didn't smell all that great either, but they at least didn't smell so... coppery.

Fred realized he was the only person in the room, and glanced over his shoulder at his classmates. If they'd entered the room, he hadn't noticed, and they certainly hadn't stayed, even if they had. They all stood in the hallway behind him.

He swallowed, joining them in the hallway and carefully shutting the door of the late-Mr.Hougan's classroom behind him.

"I've got a really bad feeling about the other phones," he said.

"I say fuck the phones," Daniel said.

Didi nodded. "Yeah, let's just get outta here."

The other nodded as well, murmurs of agreement coming from all around.

Except for one person.

"We won't be able to."

They all turned to Suzanne, who stood apart from them, her arms folded tightly across her chest. She was staring at the floor, or maybe her feet, not that it mattered really. "Why not?" Fred demanded.

Suzanne looked up at him, her typically cool grey eyes catching him off guard with their haunted cast. At first she didn't say anything.

Her eyes wandered from him, to everyone else. Focusing on one person at a time.

Finally she said, "She won't let us."