Vincie’s platoon (six total) would guard the fire alarm by the side-exit (three) and between the locker-room doors inside the gym (three). Ben-Wa’s (eight total) would establish three positions: one at the southern border of the B-Hall/Main-Hall junction (three), one across Main Hall along the northern border of the front entrance (three), and a third at the B-Hall fire-alarm near the B-Hall/2-Hall junction (two). Before entering the gym, we’d mug Jerry for his keys and lock all the classrooms in B-Hall. Combined with the efforts of the Ben-Wa platoon, the B-Hall lockdown would ensure that anyone who fled the rally couldn’t get to an alarm we didn’t have soldiers on — they’d either have to pipeline through one of the gym doorways along the northern wall and go out the front entrance of the school, or go straight outside through the side-exit (pushbar-door) of the gym on the western wall.
The third platoon, Nakamook’s (seven), would target the Indians.
My platoon, of indeterminate number (me + June + The Five + Eliyahu + Ally’n’Googy + Berman + all unknown armed Israelites in the gym), would take care of the rest, reinforcing where needed.
I described the plans fast.
Any questions? I said.
“I don’t want to sound like a pussy,” Mark Dingle said, “and I’m gonna do this anyway — but how we gonna all get away with it, like, after we take the school?”
I said, Hundreds of soldiers are coming here today. We hold the gym til they arrive. Then we turn ourselves in and I take responsibility. Simple as that.
“But we’ll be on camera, you said,” Forrest Kenilworth said. “They’ll have us on tape,” said Stevie Loop. And Ansul said, “That’s evidence against us.”
I said, If we start this off right — if you all do what I tell you — there’s gonna be a lot of kids in that gym bringing lots of damage — to us, to each other, to everyone. They’ll be on tape, too. It’ll look like a riot. Like no one’s in control. Like everyone’s guilty. And even if we do it wrong — even if no one else rises up — even if we get crushed—then, like I said: Hundreds of soldiers. On their way here. On their way to see me. They’re all ditching school, they’re all carrying weapons, and they’re coming all the way from Chicago. If I can get them to do all of that, I can get you to do this — that’s what people will say when they see the tapes. They’ll say I did this. That I did all of it. Do you understand?
“Yes,” they all said.
Are there any more questions?
There were no more questions.
You’ve got three minutes to get to know your weapons, I said. Vincie and Benji’ll show you how to use them. Shoot exactly how they show you or your thumbs’ll get damaged and you’ll never hit your targets.
Vincie and Benji stepped forward to demonstrate.
I entered the bathroom and howled wolf.
“Stevenson High School. Principal Barney’s office.”
Who’s this? I said.
“This is Ms. Sampsel.”
Good, I said. We hoped it would be you. You were always kind to us. We always liked you.
“Who is this?” she said.
What’s important, Ms. Sampsel, is you deliver our message.
“Who is this?” she said.
We’re your savior, Ms. Sampsel, we’re the enemy who’ll save you, the only one who can. Only the love in the heart of your enemy: only our love can save you.
“Who—”
This is our message, Ms. Sampsel. Don’t fuck it up with silly questions, now. It’s only the love in the heart of your enemy, not the cops who are busy elsewhere, not the firemen stuck on the other side of town trying to save those who need no saving — you’ll see, Ms. Sampsel, you’ll call them up and they’ll call you a liar, they’ll tell you you’re pranking, you’ll feel like we do, every fucking day, EVERY! FUCKING! DAY! MS. SAMPSEL! It is only our love, the love of your enemy — only your enemy can save you, Ms. Sampsel. Tell it to Barney, tell it to the jocks, tell it to your congressman and President. Today we blow up your school out of love. If things don’t change, if you don’t love us back, our love dies tomorrow, then you and your students. You’ve got twenty-one minutes til the first explosion. We love you, Ms. Sampsel, each and every one of you. We love each and every one of you and so you are warned and so you are saved. By us, Ms. Sampsel, not the authorities. As-salamu alaykum, shalom and om. Evacuate now or return to dust.
I hung up on Sampsel and dialed 911. Two more calls to finish hyperblinkering.
“Emergency Services.”
Please help, I whispered, Miles Nolan’s got a gun.
“Who is this?”
Matty Manx. Please help. Miles Nolan’s got a gun.
“Okay then, ‘Matty,’ where are you this time?”
I’m under the desk. Oh Jesus. Please.
“Under the—”
I hung up.
I counted to seven and dialed again.
This is Bobby Banks! Matty Manx just got shot! Mr. Abel said call you and I’m callin!
“Who is this?”
Bobby Banks! — hold on! Okay! — We’re at Twin Groves junior high. Bolan went toward the gym — Twin Groves Junior High I’m supposed to tell you. Niles Bolan! — Hold on! What? — Send everything you’ve got I’m supposed to tell you: Jiles Brolan’s crazy.
I hung up, left the bathroom, stood on a chair. The Side of Damage stopped shooting their guns.
You will, I told them, be asked about what happened, and when you’re asked — whether it’s by teachers or the cops, reporters or historians, your parents or your children, whether today, tomorrow, or years from now, whether the question’s why, how, or who — I want to make this clear — I want you to stay safe. I want you to tell the truth.
“It was Gurion.” “Gurion.” “Gurion did it.”
Good, I said.
10:29 AM: C2 (C1; C3; C4; C6;)
APTAKISIC SQUAW SQUAD
(DISMOUNT PYRAMID; BACKFLIP INTO TWO FACING LINES {“LEFT” AND “RIGHT”})
(ALL)
And one and two and three and
(LEFT)
Ready?
(RIGHT)
Yeah, go!
(ALL)
We’re Bamming!
We’re slamming!
B-A-M-M-I-N-G!
We’re Bamming!
We’re jamming!
B-A-M-M-I-N-G!
(LEFT)
Hey Bam.
(RIGHT)
Yeah Jen?
(LEFT)
Won’t you come and do the Bam
With me?
(RIGHT)
Sure Jen,
But first I must go put the Bam to him
(LEFT)
Who’s he?
(RIGHT)
Just some guy I’ll make my prop er ty!
(LEFT)
Go Bam
We all think that’s
H-O-T-T-T!
(RIGHT)
Yo Bam,
Bring that hot
D-A-M-A-G-E
(ALL)
We’re bamming!
B-A-M-M-I-N-G!
We’re jamming!
We’re Bamming!
B-A-M-M-I-N-G!
Bamming! Bamming!
Yay!
In C-Hall, winter thunder rumbled ceiling panels. It was helpful — heightening anticipation, jacking our chemicals up an extra tick — but I worried the weather it indicated would stall the scholars, if not discourage some of them entirely. Without a schoolbus to take them from the Metra station to Aptakisic, they had miles to walk. I knew a storm wouldn’t stop the likes of Emmanuel or Shai or Samuel Diamond, but the rest of them… What they would or wouldn’t do was no longer up to me, at least not for the moment, and I decided that was a blessing. It had to be. And if they didn’t show up, I could still protect the Side. They’d say I did it, and I’d say I did it, and most of the world would be happy to believe it. Fine, I thought. We’re fine, I thought.