Trent Reedy - Divided We Fall

“I went to school with him through third and fourth grades when I was living with my dad in Freedom Lake. I’d say he was a good guy for the most part. We all used to get together to play Army with toy guns.”

“I see. Were you close to Wright?”

“It was a long time ago. I remember we got into some kind of argument over toys or something, and he was kind of mean to me after that, but I wouldn’t—”

“So he bullied you? He was a bully?”

“He wasn’t a bully. We were kids. I probably did something mean to him too.”

“I know this is tough, Bill. Lots of times victims of bullying blame themselves—”

“I’m not a victim. I just meant—”

“Thank you for telling us about this, Bill. So there you have it. Daniel Wright playing warlike games at a young age, possibly making him more prone toward violence, and we now know that he has a history of bullying. The question remains, how did that history cause him to bully the people that fateful night in Boise? More, when Adam Coleman Twenty-four Seven continues.” •—

The mob of press waiting for us back at the high school was so big, it made the group at Bonners Ferry look like chicken change. The bus could hardly get into the parking lot with the sea of news vans, photographers, and reporters in the way. Plenty of parents were wedged in with their cars running, probably terrified after the shooting attempt, waiting to pick up their children and get them out of there. The sheriff and a bunch of other police started clearing an area between the bus and the school so that we could get in the building to put our stuff away.

“Okay, everybody, we’re going to get off the bus and run inside,” Coach said. “If your parents are here, we’ll have them drive their cars up one at a time between the bus and the school. Just let me talk to them on your comm and I’ll fix it with the police.” He flashed a weak smile. “We’ll get you out of this. I promise.”

An endless strobe of camera flashes nearly blinded us as we ran from the bus to the boys’ locker room. It was weird, all of us, including the cheerleaders plus JoBell and Becca, being packed in there, but Coach wanted us to stay together for safety. We all stowed our gear and then everybody started making comm calls.

JoBell slipped her arm around me and rested her head on my shoulder. “It stinks in here,” she said.

“Beautiful young people are accidents of nature, but beautiful old people are works of art,” said Digi-Eleanor. “Speaking of beautiful old people, JoBell, your father is trying to reach you for a voice call. When you’re done with that, there are many updates on the Battle of Boise story you’ve been following.”

“Dad already sent me half a dozen texts asking if I was okay,” JoBell said. “He’s probably out there waiting to drive me home, but I want to go with you.” She squeezed my hand. “Eleanor, go ahead with the call.” She spoke into her comm. “Hi, Dad. No, I’m fine. He’s fine too. We’re all okay. Yeah… yeah. Well, I was hoping to get a ride home from… What?” JoBell was getting upset. “It can’t be that bad. That was just one crazy guy.” I put my hand on her arm. “Hang on a sec,” she said to her dad. She looked up at me. “Yeah?”

I leaned close to JoBell and spoke quietly. “Hey, just go with your dad tonight.”

“But I—”

“I’m going to go on my own, try to draw away some of the media. Once I’m gone, the crowd will die down here, and everybody else will be able to get home.” I looked around. Coach was busy trying to sort out what to do next. Becca had gone to her locker to get some books, Cal was messing with his gear, and Sweeney was chatting up the cheerleaders. This was my only chance to make a move like this. Lucky for me, senior football players always got the best parking spots by the outside door to the locker room.

“Danny, you can’t,” said JoBell. “You’ll never make it out of the parking lot.”

“The Beast can make it through anything.” I kissed her. “You like watching the news? Watch this.” I took my keys out of my pocket and ran for the door. Coach and Sweeney called from behind me, but I didn’t stop.

As soon as I came out of the locker room, a million cameras flashed again. “That’s him!” “Daniel Wright, can you answer a few questions for us?” “Is football an outlet for the same aggressive tendencies that made you fire on the protestors?” “Can you tell us the names of other soldiers who were in Boise that night?” “Did the announcement in the media about your involvement in the Boise massacre affect your performance in tonight’s game?”

“No comment!” I shouted, elbowing one reporter to the side and pushing two ahead of me like I was stuck in a mad stupid football game. Finally I reached the door to my truck. When I was behind the wheel, I tried to close the door, but one guy stood in the way. I put my foot on his chest and shoved him back enough so I could close and lock myself in. Firing up the engine and shutting off the muffler, I revved her up about as loud as she’d go. A few of the vultures actually backed off. I pulled ahead, driving over the little cement tire barrier and onto the grass in the area the police had cleared.

Then I turned toward the street, slowing down when I reached the crowd of reporters. I let the Beast idle-drive ahead, creeping forward to force them to move or be run over. Quite a few looked like they were going to try to stand their ground, but when they figured out I wasn’t stopping, when the Beast was physically pushing them back like a bulldozer, they moved out of the way. At least three-quarters of the media people rushed to their vehicles as soon as they realized I was making my escape.

When the Beast bumped down off the curb onto the street, I hammered the gas, turning my muffler back on now that I wanted to be quieter and ditch the press. I’d have to do more than that to escape, though. At least a dozen news vans and cars were chasing me.

“Hey, partner, you got yerself a video… call coming in… from JoBell. Do you want—”

“Hank, shut up and put it on-screen!” I shouted at my comm on the passenger seat.

JoBell appeared on-screen. “Danny, you cleared out most of the media at the school. It will still be a pain to get out of here, but we can all manage it now. The only problem is you’re never going to ditch those reporters. Check this out.”

An insert image popped up in the lower right corner. It was a live feed from CNN, an aerial shot of the Beast rolling down the street. I tapped my brakes to slow-and-go at a stop sign. Two seconds later, the brake lights on the Blazer in the video lit up.

“You’ve got a drone tailing you. You might be able to lose it if you turn right onto West Street and then cut through Harper’s Field. There are a ton of evergreen trees there that might hide you. And shut your lights off! You know the town!”

“That’s my girl,” I said, doing as she said. She was right. The drone lost me when it was forced to go above the trees. The CNN feed switched to a street view from one of the vans behind me, but when I jumped the curb and cut through the vacant lot JoBell had mentioned, I started to put some distance between me and the camera.

“That did it!” JoBell said.

At the back of the lot, a rocky slope covered in scrub brush stood between me and Third Street at the top of the hill. I stopped just long enough to shift into four-wheel drive. About four vans had driven into the field after me, their reporters and cameras already dismounting.