She hears the cry of many sirens outside.
Hang on, Cara. Hang on, girl. I’m right here with you. You’re going to be fine.
“Oh, I don’t think so,” comes the voice of Darrell Gallagher at her back.
His voice was ice on her fevered thinking. She felt as if she was waking from a bad dream, only to discover a worse reality. She turned her head and looked over her shoulder, keeping her hands on the compress against Cara’s wound. Gallagher stood in the hallway in his long black coat. Visible beneath it was a vest full of ammunition clips. He held a handgun pointed loosely in her direction. He looked oddly calm. On the floor of the hallway where he’d just walked, his boots had left red prints. Streaks ran down his black coat, like dark red veins. Blood, Annie realized, though not his own. She thought for an instant of pleading with him, but she understood clearly that it would be useless. She understood, too, that her own death was upon her, and in that moment, she received a blessing she could never have guessed. Serenity descended and a wonderful, peaceful acceptance filled her. She looked into Gallagher’s eyes, where there was no hint of pity, and she said, “God forgive you, Darrell.”
His reply was a lazy smile as he raised the gun and aimed at her head.
“Darrell!”
Uly’s shout came from down the hallway.
Gallagher kept his gun trained on Annie while he looked behind him. The smile became a short laugh as he watched Uly Kingbird approach. “Son of a bitch. You decided to join in the fun after all.”
Uly carried a rifle. The one he’d picked up at Gallagher’s the night before, Annie figured. He stopped a dozen yards from where Gallagher stood.
“Put the gun down, Darrell,” he said.
“But I just got started,” Darrell replied amiably. “Still a lot of people on the target list.”
“It stops now.”
“I did you a big favor, Uly. Took care of that asshole Allan Richards. You should’ve seen him. He tried to hide in the girls’ bathroom. Cried like a baby before I shot him.”
“Darrell, put the gun down.”
“We can make history together, bro. Go out with our names in lights. It’s what we planned.”
“Not my plan.”
“Come on, Uly. Don’t punk out on me now.”
“I’m not with you, Darrell.”
“Maybe not yet. But, hell, I’ll give you a choice.”
Gallagher swung his arm away from Annie and brought his gun to bear on Uly.
“I pull the trigger and you go down and I waste O’Connor anyway. Or you join me and they put our names in the history books,” Gallagher said. “With a bang or a whimper, dude. The choice is yours.”
From outside came the scream of more sirens. Annie could hear a commotion at the main entrance, the sound of the doors being battered.
“You got three seconds, bro. Decide.”
“All right,” Uly said. He sounded sad and defeated. “I’m sorry, Annie.” He looked past Gallagher and into her eyes and his own dark eyes seemed tired beyond measure. “If I don’t do it, he will.” He lifted the rifle and fit the butt to his shoulder. He jerked his head to the right. “Move, Darrell. You’re in the way.”
Gallagher grinned, opened his arms wide in welcome, and said, “My man.” He stepped to the side.
At the same moment, Uly adjusted his line of fire, following Gallagher. He squeezed the trigger and a round exploded from his rifle. The bullet struck Gallagher in the chest, bore right through him, and tore a hole in the back of his black leather coat as it exited. The round dug into one of the stairs a couple of feet from Annie’s left shoulder. Gallagher dropped in a heap where he stood. His head hit the floor with a resounding crack and his gun clattered across the tiles.
Uly lowered his rifle. He said to Annie in a stone voice, “I had to get him to move. I was afraid I might hit you.” Then he laid his rifle down, put his back against the nearest wall, and slid to the floor. He covered his face with his hands and began to cry.
Annie stared down at Cara. The white cotton sock she’d used as a compress was soaked red, but blood no longer welled up under it. Cara’s chest no longer rose, not even faintly. Her lips didn’t move, nor did her closed eyelids tremble. She was gone, Annie knew, gone without a sound, without a final sigh or gasp or rattle, simply gone. Beneath Annie’s hands, she’d slipped away.
“Annie?”
She felt a light touch on her shoulder. Lifting her eyes, she found her father bending low beside her.
“Dad.”
“Are you okay?”
“No.”
“Are you hurt?”
“No.” She looked again at her friend. “She’s dead.”
Her father knelt and put his fingers to Cara’s neck. “Yes,” he said. He cupped his hand gently under Annie’s arm and eased her up. “Come on, sweetheart. Come with me.”
“No.” She pulled away, stepped past the body of Darrell Gallagher, and went to Uly Kingbird, who sat hunched over, sobbing. She settled beside him, put her arm around his shoulders, and with her bloody hands gathered him in. He laid his head against her breast and she held him. And while he wept she prayed for them both and for them all.
FORTY-SEVEN
Killing Spree a Mystery
by Erica Cortez
Star Tribune Staff Writer Authorities in the isolated northern Minnesota town of Aurora are struggling to find a motive for the killing spree at the local high school that left 9 people dead and 5 injured. Among the dead were 7 students, a teacher, and a security guard. Before leaving home for school that fateful Monday morning, 16-year-old Darrell Gallagher also shot and killed his grandfather, Vernon (Skip) Gallagher, a retired state patrolman. Local law enforcement officials, with the aid of the FBI, are still trying to understand what drove the troubled teenager to cold-blooded murder. “He was a loner, real quiet. He got picked on some, but he never really fought back,” said Gary Amundsen, one of Gallagher’s classmates. “I don’t think anybody knew him very well. But nobody expected this.” No one saw the bloodbath coming. Relatives and friends of the family say that Darrell Gallagher was a troubled young man, but not violent. His father abandoned the family shortly after Gallagher was born. Gallagher’s mother died of leukemia when the boy was ten years old. He was being raised by his grandfather. Those who knew the family well say there was sometimes conflict between Gallagher and his grandfather but never any physical violence. According to school officials, Gallagher was a bright student who didn’t perform to expectations. He was part of a special program designed to help low-motivated students, but in Gallagher’s case the program seemed to have failed. “We worked with Darrell to identify areas of interest that might engage him in the curriculum,” said school principal Lindsay Munoz. “He liked to write and draw, but he didn’t have any desire to apply these abilities. We were still looking for ways to engage him.” Juanita Sherburne, psychologist at Aurora Area High School, commented, “It’s not uncommon for teenagers to feel a sense of isolation and disaffection. It’s also not uncommon for students to be picked on by classmates. But no one anticipates that a student will react like Darrell did. I don’t know how anyone could have predicted it.” So what went wrong with Darrell Gallagher? What drove a troubled teenager over the brink to commit unbelievable violence? As law enforcement, school authorities, and the people of Aurora, Minnesota, continue to ask this question, maybe an answer will be found. For the moment, as with so many school shootings, the ultimate reason remains a mystery.
The state girls’ softball sectional playoff was delayed a week while the people of Tamarack County tried to deal with the aftermath of the shootings. The Aurora Blue Jays, when they finally played, lost badly, nine to one. The heart had been knocked out of them.
The town of Aurora was besieged by the media, most of whom had all the sensitivity of a ripsaw. The flood of
