Story code: ST-001803
Part 1: The Fall
The scaffolding vanished beneath Mateo’s boots with the shriek of tearing aluminum. Gravity claimed him instantly, dragging him down twenty feet through the humid air of the gymnasium expansion. He hit the concrete floor with a sickening, wet crack that echoed off the cinderblock walls. Fire erupted below his right knee. His tibia had sheared entirely, the leg folding at an impossible, grotesque angle. A strangled gasp tore from his throat as the shockwave of agony hit his brain. Before he could suck in enough air to scream, the school’s public address system erupted.
A mechanical siren blared three times in rapid succession, followed by an automated, deadpan voice repeating the active lockdown sequence.
Rick was there a second later. The foreman’s heavy boots slammed onto the concrete, his face pale beneath his hardhat. Mateo reached out, his hand smearing blood on his own denim thigh, grasping at the air. He tried to tell Rick to call an ambulance, to look at the bone tenting his jeans, but his breath hitched in a series of shallow, agonizing pants.
Instead of pulling out his radio or his cell phone, Rick grabbed Mateo by the shoulders of his high-visibility vest. He hauled backward.
The movement dragged Mateo’s shattered leg across the rough concrete. The friction sent a blinding spike of pure white heat straight up Mateo’s spine. He clamped his jaw shut to keep from vomiting, choking on the metallic taste of copper. He clawed frantically at Rick’s wrists, his thick work gloves sliding off the foreman’s forearms, silently begging him to stop. Rick ignored the resistance, backing up and dragging Mateo toward the heavy double doors that led into the main, occupied wing of the middle school.
The alarm continued to pulse overhead, the strobe lights flashing blinding white against the walls. Rick yanked Mateo through the threshold, the heavy doors swinging shut behind them and cutting off the worst of the siren’s volume. The academic hallway was a chaotic blur of motion. Teachers were frantically pulling students into classrooms, slamming doors, and turning deadbolts. The overhead lights snapped off in synchronized waves.
Rick dragged Mateo relentlessly down the vinyl tile. A thick, dark smear of blood trailed behind them, painting a grim path from the expansion wing. Mateo’s vision tunneled. He could feel the hot wetness pooling in his boot, a steady, rhythmic pulse that meant an artery was compromised. He managed to choke out a single, wet syllable, demanding a hospital.
Rick dropped him. Mateo’s head bounced once against the tile, the jolt sending another wave of nausea through him. The foreman leaned down, his face inches from Mateo’s ear, his breath smelling of stale coffee and chewing tobacco. He ordered Mateo to shut his mouth. He hissed that a shooter was in the building, that noise meant death.
A door opened to their left. A terrified teacher, clutching a heavy textbook to her chest, stared at the two construction workers. Rick grabbed Mateo by the belt and the collar, hoisting him up and throwing him unceremoniously into the dark classroom. The impact rolled Mateo onto his broken leg. The world went entirely black as he clamped both hands over his mouth to muffle his own scream, tears of pure agony streaming down his dust-caked face.
The classroom door slammed shut. The deadbolt clicked. The window blind snapped down.
Total darkness swallowed them. As Mateo’s eyes slowly adjusted, he saw the shapes of twenty children huddled under rows of metal desks. They were silent, their eyes wide and terrified in the gloom, reflecting the faint sliver of light bleeding under the door. The teacher pressed herself against the wall, trembling violently, a finger pressed to her lips.
Mateo lay on his back, his chest heaving. The pain in his leg was a living, breathing entity, gnawing at his nerves. He could feel his heart rate dropping, the cold, clammy sweat of shock breaking out across his forehead. The puddle under his calf was expanding, soaking the back of his shirt. He needed to apply a tourniquet. He needed a paramedic. The school was locked down, but emergency services would be swarming the perimeter. If he could just dial for help, a tactical medic could bypass the lockdown with police escort.
His blood-slicked fingers found the hard rectangle of his phone. He pulled it free from his pocket. The screen illuminated his face, casting a harsh, blue glow across the darkened room. It lit up the faces of the hiding children and the sharp, calculating angles of Rick’s face hovering right above him.
Before Mateo could unlock the screen, a heavy, calloused hand clamped over his wrist. Rick’s grip was iron, grinding the bones of Mateo’s arm together. The foreman leaned in again, his massive frame blocking out the rest of the room. He whispered into the dark that a lit screen was a target, citing strict lockdown protocols.
Rick pried the phone from Mateo’s weakened, trembling fingers. He clicked the power button, plunging the room back into absolute darkness, and slid the device deep into his own pocket.
The scaffolding vanished beneath Mateo’s boots with the shriek of tearing aluminum. Gravity claimed him instantly, dragging him down twenty feet through the humid air of the gymnasium expansion. He hit the concrete floor with a sickening, wet crack that echoed off the cinderblock walls. Fire erupted below his right knee. His tibia had sheared entirely, the leg folding at an impossible, grotesque angle. A strangled gasp tore from his throat as the shockwave of agony hit his brain. Before he could suck in enough air to scream, the school’s public address system erupted.
A mechanical siren blared three times in rapid succession, followed by an automated, deadpan voice repeating the active lockdown sequence.
Rick was there a second later. The foreman’s heavy boots slammed onto the concrete, his face pale beneath his hardhat. Mateo reached out, his hand smearing blood on his own denim thigh, grasping at the air. He tried to tell Rick to call an ambulance, to look at the bone tenting his jeans, but his breath hitched in a series of shallow, agonizing pants.
Instead of pulling out his radio or his cell phone, Rick grabbed Mateo by the shoulders of his high-visibility vest. He hauled backward.
The movement dragged Mateo’s shattered leg across the rough concrete. The friction sent a blinding spike of pure white heat straight up Mateo’s spine. He clamped his jaw shut to keep from vomiting, choking on the metallic taste of copper. He clawed frantically at Rick’s wrists, his thick work gloves sliding off the foreman’s forearms, silently begging him to stop. Rick ignored the resistance, backing up and dragging Mateo toward the heavy double doors that led into the main, occupied wing of the middle school.
The alarm continued to pulse overhead, the strobe lights flashing blinding white against the walls. Rick yanked Mateo through the threshold, the heavy doors swinging shut behind them and cutting off the worst of the siren’s volume. The academic hallway was a chaotic blur of motion. Teachers were frantically pulling students into classrooms, slamming doors, and turning deadbolts. The overhead lights snapped off in synchronized waves.
Rick dragged Mateo relentlessly down the vinyl tile. A thick, dark smear of blood trailed behind them, painting a grim path from the expansion wing. Mateo’s vision tunneled. He could feel the hot wetness pooling in his boot, a steady, rhythmic pulse that meant an artery was compromised. He managed to choke out a single, wet syllable, demanding a hospital.
Rick dropped him. Mateo’s head bounced once against the tile, the jolt sending another wave of nausea through him. The foreman leaned down, his face inches from Mateo’s ear, his breath smelling of stale coffee and chewing tobacco. He ordered Mateo to shut his mouth. He hissed that a shooter was in the building, that noise meant death.
A door opened to their left. A terrified teacher, clutching a heavy textbook to her chest, stared at the two construction workers. Rick grabbed Mateo by the belt and the collar, hoisting him up and throwing him unceremoniously into the dark classroom. The impact rolled Mateo onto his broken leg. The world went entirely black as he clamped both hands over his mouth to muffle his own scream, tears of pure agony streaming down his dust-caked face.
The classroom door slammed shut. The deadbolt clicked. The window blind snapped down.
Total darkness swallowed them. As Mateo’s eyes slowly adjusted, he saw the shapes of twenty children huddled under rows of metal desks. They were silent, their eyes wide and terrified in the gloom, reflecting the faint sliver of light bleeding under the door. The teacher pressed herself against the wall, trembling violently, a finger pressed to her lips.
Mateo lay on his back, his chest heaving. The pain in his leg was a living, breathing entity, gnawing at his nerves. He could feel his heart rate dropping, the cold, clammy sweat of shock breaking out across his forehead. The puddle under his calf was expanding, soaking the back of his shirt. He needed to apply a tourniquet. He needed a paramedic. The school was locked down, but emergency services would be swarming the perimeter. If he could just dial for help, a tactical medic could bypass the lockdown with police escort.
His blood-slicked fingers found the hard rectangle of his phone. He pulled it free from his pocket. The screen illuminated his face, casting a harsh, blue glow across the darkened room. It lit up the faces of the hiding children and the sharp, calculating angles of Rick’s face hovering right above him.
Before Mateo could unlock the screen, a heavy, calloused hand clamped over his wrist. Rick’s grip was iron, grinding the bones of Mateo’s arm together. The foreman leaned in again, his massive frame blocking out the rest of the room. He whispered into the dark that a lit screen was a target, citing strict lockdown protocols.
Rick pried the phone from Mateo’s weakened, trembling fingers. He clicked the power button, plunging the room back into absolute darkness, and slid the device deep into his own pocket.