Lockdown by Diane Tullson Read Free Book Online Page B

are covered in blood. His face is sheet white.
    Collateral damage. I bet this part of his job never feels normal.
    The paramedics hoist Mr. Connor onto the gurney.
    On the floor, where Mr. Connor was hiding, something catches my eye. I step tothe spot and bend down. It’s a photograph, a wallet-size photo, the same as the one on his desk, of his wife and baby. I pick up the photo. In it, Mrs. Connor is smiling and the baby is asleep in her arms.
    I think about how Mr. Connor was sitting with his head down. Maybe he had the photo in his lap. Maybe, as he counted the moments of the lockdown, he kept his eyes on the photo. Maybe he wondered if he would see his family again.
    The paramedics have the gurney up on its wheels. Mr. Connor is strapped on the gurney. He’s covered with a blanket. One of his hands is out of the blanket while a paramedic adjusts an iv.
    I cross to the gurney. A paramedic tells me to get out of the way. I ignore him. I place the photo in Mr. Connor’s hand. Mr. Connor looks at me. His hand closes over the photo. Then, at a run, the paramedics push the gurney down the hall.
    I find Zoe crouched on the floor. Someone has draped a blanket over her shoulders. I sit on the floor beside her and put myarm around her. She leans her head on my shoulder.
    A cop kneels down beside us. He wants to ask us questions but I can’t talk right now. He says that it’s okay, to take all the time I need. But I’m not sure there’s going to be enough time, ever.
    All kinds of cops surround Josh’s body, snapping cameras, taking measurements. Someone bags the revolver.
    I wish they’d cover Josh.
    Two regular uniform cops stand together. I hear one say, “Eleven hundred people in this school, and only the principal gets hit. How lucky is that?”
    I look at Josh’s body. Eleven hundred minus one. Trust Josh. He never intended to kill anyone.

Chapter Seventeen
    The seawall is quiet at midmorning, just a few cyclists and runners on the path. “Okay, Adam, last interval. Running for one minute.” Mr. Connor snaps a stopwatch in his right hand. Beside him, I break into a run. One minute, and I feel every single second. Finally, the stopwatch beeps and I drop into a walk.
    One minute running, nine minutes walking. We do that six times. Next week we’ll work up to two minutes running, eightminutes walking. Slow steps, Mr. Connor says. He says that he learned to run this way the first time, that it will work for both of us now. In a couple of months, we’ll be running ten and walking one, the same pattern that marathoners use.
    Mr. Connor has been out of a cast for a few weeks but his leg still looks white. It’s smaller than the other leg—wasted from being in the cast. I take a swig from my water bottle. Mr. Connor could still outrun me. He could have outrun me even in the cast. But I like this kind of running. I like the way the air smells like the sea. And it beats Mr. Ellington’s gym class.
    That’s the deal. I run with Mr. Connor and I don’t have to attend gym.
    It’s a good deal.
    Mr. Connor and I walk back to the school. I say, “It looks almost normal, doesn’t it?”
    For days after the lockdown, media trucks crowded the school. News reporters clung to every doorway, looking for students with a story. Natalie got a lot of press, of course. She enjoyed it. She told everyone how Zoe and Itried to stop Josh. It’s weird, though. Some people think I was in on the shooting. They want to know how I knew where Josh would be. They think that’s why Josh didn’t shoot us in the washroom. That Josh and I were friends. That I knew about the shooting. They even say that I was the one with the gun. That I set up Josh. That I got him killed.
    Not a lot of people think that. Just some people.
    People look for an answer.
    After the lockdown, some of the students wanted to lower the flag to half-mast because of Josh, but parents