Story code: ST-001285
Part 1: The Glass Wall
Sarah’s knuckles turned white against the aluminum tray of the whiteboard as another wave of tearing heat ripped through her lower abdomen. The heavy, district-mandated Glock 19 resting on her right hip dragged against her leather belt, pulling her off balance as she bent forward to gasp for air. The classroom was blessedly empty for the lunch hour, but the silence offered absolutely no relief from the searing pressure radiating through her core.
She paced away from the board, a frantic, erratic shuffle across the speckled linoleum. Sweat broke across her forehead in cold beads, stinging her eyes and plastering her dark bangs to her damp skin. Every time she put her right foot down, a sharp spike of agony shot upward, forcing her to clutch her side right above the holstered weapon. She desperately needed to sit, but the intense swelling in her side made sitting a physical impossibility. Walking was the only action that kept the agonizing sensation from paralyzing her completely. She marched back and forth across the front of the room, her breathing shallow and ragged, her free hand yanking at the collar of her blouse to get some air.
Her pacing brought her directly in front of the bank of windows facing the street. Out on the public sidewalk, just beyond the chain-link perimeter fence, stood Linda Vance. The woman had her smartphone pressed tight to her chest, the camera lenses pointed squarely through the glass at Sarah. Linda’s mouth was set in a hard, grim line, her eyes narrowed in deep suspicion.
Sarah tried to straighten up, to offer a reassuring wave or at least a professional nod, but the sudden movement triggered a vicious, blinding spasm. Sarah collapsed forward against the glass, her right hand instinctively flying to her hip to stabilize her falling weight. Her fingers wrapped heavily over the black polymer grip of her firearm just to keep herself from sliding all the way down to the floor.
Through the thick glass, Sarah saw Linda flinch violently backward. The woman tapped her screen frantically, her eyes going wide with undisguised panic. Linda was shouting something, the harsh syllables completely muffled by the double-paned window, but her rigid, fearful posture screamed absolute alarm. She pointed an accusing finger at Sarah, then jabbed a finger down at the weapon, then spoke rapidly into her screen.
Sarah pushed herself off the window pane, leaving a greasy smear of condensation and forehead sweat on the glass. She stumbled backward toward her teacher’s desk, her chest heaving. She checked the wall clock above the door. Fifteen minutes until the fifth-period bell rang. The district had required the sidearm for all faculty, a highly publicized new policy meant to make the community feel safer following a string of national tragedies. Right now, it just felt like a three-pound block of lead dragging her straight down into the floorboards.
She leaned heavily against her wooden desk, panting, wiping her brow with a violently shaking forearm. Outside, Linda had moved away from the fence and was now holding her phone pressed tightly to her ear. The woman kept glancing back at the classroom window, pacing as erratically on the concrete sidewalk as Sarah had been pacing on the classroom linoleum.
Sarah knew exactly what this looked like from the outside. A sweaty, pale teacher pacing an empty room, aggressively clutching a loaded weapon, her face twisted into a snarl of pure distress. She needed to get to the wall-mounted intercom, to call the nurse’s office, to explain her physical state and ask for coverage.
She took a shaky step toward the intercom button. Her right knee simply gave out.
She hit the floor hard, her shoulder slamming into the metal leg of a student desk. The holster clattered against the chair, the heavy thud ringing out loud in the empty room. She stayed on her hands and knees, staring at the dust motes dancing in the shaft of sunlight pooling on the floor. The pain was entirely blinding now, a thick, suffocating blanket making it nearly impossible to form a coherent thought.
She had to get up. The hallway outside remained quiet, the muffled sounds of the cafeteria a distant, steady hum. Sarah gripped the edge of the student desk, hoisting herself upward with a pained grunt. The stiff Kydex holster dug sharply into her thigh. She swayed on her feet, her vision blurring at the edges with dark gray spots.
She looked back at the window. Linda was gone. The sidewalk was entirely empty.
A strange, heavy silence suddenly settled over the entire school building. The distant, comforting hum of the cafeteria seemed to vanish entirely. The ambient noise of teenagers shouting and distant locker doors slamming abruptly ceased, replaced by a suffocating, unnatural stillness. Sarah dragged herself toward the classroom door, desperate to throw the deadbolt herself, to turn off the overhead fluorescent lights and just lie down in the dark for five minutes until the medication she took earlier finally kicked in.
Heavy, synchronized footsteps echoed loudly in the corridor. They were fast. Urgent. Tactical boots squeaked sharply against the polished floor wax.
Sarah reached out for the door handle.
Before her fingers could make contact with the metal, the heavy brass deadbolt violently turned from the outside with a deafening metallic clack.
Sarah’s knuckles turned white against the aluminum tray of the whiteboard as another wave of tearing heat ripped through her lower abdomen. The heavy, district-mandated Glock 19 resting on her right hip dragged against her leather belt, pulling her off balance as she bent forward to gasp for air. The classroom was blessedly empty for the lunch hour, but the silence offered absolutely no relief from the searing pressure radiating through her core.
She paced away from the board, a frantic, erratic shuffle across the speckled linoleum. Sweat broke across her forehead in cold beads, stinging her eyes and plastering her dark bangs to her damp skin. Every time she put her right foot down, a sharp spike of agony shot upward, forcing her to clutch her side right above the holstered weapon. She desperately needed to sit, but the intense swelling in her side made sitting a physical impossibility. Walking was the only action that kept the agonizing sensation from paralyzing her completely. She marched back and forth across the front of the room, her breathing shallow and ragged, her free hand yanking at the collar of her blouse to get some air.
Her pacing brought her directly in front of the bank of windows facing the street. Out on the public sidewalk, just beyond the chain-link perimeter fence, stood Linda Vance. The woman had her smartphone pressed tight to her chest, the camera lenses pointed squarely through the glass at Sarah. Linda’s mouth was set in a hard, grim line, her eyes narrowed in deep suspicion.
Sarah tried to straighten up, to offer a reassuring wave or at least a professional nod, but the sudden movement triggered a vicious, blinding spasm. Sarah collapsed forward against the glass, her right hand instinctively flying to her hip to stabilize her falling weight. Her fingers wrapped heavily over the black polymer grip of her firearm just to keep herself from sliding all the way down to the floor.
Through the thick glass, Sarah saw Linda flinch violently backward. The woman tapped her screen frantically, her eyes going wide with undisguised panic. Linda was shouting something, the harsh syllables completely muffled by the double-paned window, but her rigid, fearful posture screamed absolute alarm. She pointed an accusing finger at Sarah, then jabbed a finger down at the weapon, then spoke rapidly into her screen.
Sarah pushed herself off the window pane, leaving a greasy smear of condensation and forehead sweat on the glass. She stumbled backward toward her teacher’s desk, her chest heaving. She checked the wall clock above the door. Fifteen minutes until the fifth-period bell rang. The district had required the sidearm for all faculty, a highly publicized new policy meant to make the community feel safer following a string of national tragedies. Right now, it just felt like a three-pound block of lead dragging her straight down into the floorboards.
She leaned heavily against her wooden desk, panting, wiping her brow with a violently shaking forearm. Outside, Linda had moved away from the fence and was now holding her phone pressed tightly to her ear. The woman kept glancing back at the classroom window, pacing as erratically on the concrete sidewalk as Sarah had been pacing on the classroom linoleum.
Sarah knew exactly what this looked like from the outside. A sweaty, pale teacher pacing an empty room, aggressively clutching a loaded weapon, her face twisted into a snarl of pure distress. She needed to get to the wall-mounted intercom, to call the nurse’s office, to explain her physical state and ask for coverage.
She took a shaky step toward the intercom button. Her right knee simply gave out.
She hit the floor hard, her shoulder slamming into the metal leg of a student desk. The holster clattered against the chair, the heavy thud ringing out loud in the empty room. She stayed on her hands and knees, staring at the dust motes dancing in the shaft of sunlight pooling on the floor. The pain was entirely blinding now, a thick, suffocating blanket making it nearly impossible to form a coherent thought.
She had to get up. The hallway outside remained quiet, the muffled sounds of the cafeteria a distant, steady hum. Sarah gripped the edge of the student desk, hoisting herself upward with a pained grunt. The stiff Kydex holster dug sharply into her thigh. She swayed on her feet, her vision blurring at the edges with dark gray spots.
She looked back at the window. Linda was gone. The sidewalk was entirely empty.
A strange, heavy silence suddenly settled over the entire school building. The distant, comforting hum of the cafeteria seemed to vanish entirely. The ambient noise of teenagers shouting and distant locker doors slamming abruptly ceased, replaced by a suffocating, unnatural stillness. Sarah dragged herself toward the classroom door, desperate to throw the deadbolt herself, to turn off the overhead fluorescent lights and just lie down in the dark for five minutes until the medication she took earlier finally kicked in.
Heavy, synchronized footsteps echoed loudly in the corridor. They were fast. Urgent. Tactical boots squeaked sharply against the polished floor wax.
Sarah reached out for the door handle.
Before her fingers could make contact with the metal, the heavy brass deadbolt violently turned from the outside with a deafening metallic clack.