R. Stine - Red Rain

One of the cops leaned forward and said something in Franks’s ear. “Are the teachers always the first to arrive?” Franks asked.

“No,” the woman answered. “The cafeteria workers get here first. They have to make breakfast for the meal-plan kids. They arrive before seven-thirty.”

“Where are the cafeteria workers?” Franks demanded, shouting as if at a rally. He raised the megaphone. “Are you here? Please step forward.”

“Their cars are here. But they’re not out here,” the teacher Munroe called out.

“They must be inside,” Seltzer suggested.

Pavano thought about it. The food workers arrive and are ushered in. Then the doors are locked. Are they hostages? Were they let in to cook for the kidnappers? For the kids?

Franks had to silence the chatter of the crowd again. Pavano turned to the building and gazed along the row of windows. The morning sun, yellow now and slowly rising over the trees, reflected in the glass. He couldn’t see anyone inside the classrooms. The third window from the right was open, but no sound came out.

“My son has a cell phone but he’s not picking up,” a man in a dark blue running suit said.

“I found my daughter’s phone in her room. She would never leave the house without it.”

“I’ve been trying to call my daughter all morning. No answer. I don’t understand it.”

“My son is new in this school. Why did they take him?”

“Are you going to get them out or are you going to stand there asking questions?”

That shout made Franks’s face twitch. He was a big, imposing man. He radiated strength, athletic prowess, and power. But his stance wasn’t impressing this crowd of frightened parents.

They wanted action. Why weren’t the police storming the building? Or at least trying to make contact with whoever was inside? It was obvious they thought Franks was stalling, that he had no clue what to do here.

And they were right.

Pavano’s eyes surveyed the crowd. He stopped at Lea Sutter, still standing near the back, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. She hadn’t moved.

Did she know where her husband was hiding? Sutter had eluded all three police departments for two days now.

A man in a white T-shirt and khaki shorts came along the sidewalk, walking his French bulldog on a leash. He stopped in surprise and stumbled over the fat dog when he saw the crowd. “Is this a school event?”

Some parents turned to set him straight on what was happening.

“Has anyone received a ransom demand?” Franks boomed, sweeping the megaphone from one side of the crowd to the other. “Has anyone received a communication from anyone inside the school building?”

The answer was a definite no.

One of the state cops said something to Franks, pointing to the school. Franks let the megaphone slide to the ground. He motioned Pavano, Pinto, and the other cops forward.

“Can’t wait to hear his brilliant plan,” Pinto muttered. “He probably wants to blow the fucking school up.”

“That would get us home in time for lunch,” Pavano replied, eyes straight ahead on Franks.

Pinto stopped him. “Whoa, partner. You’re not developing a sense of humor, are you? Did you forget? I’m the sarcastic one?”

“Sorry,” Pavano murmured. “The strategy just seems kind of obvious to me. I mean, there’s an open window, right? So. . we fucking go in and see what we find in there.”

“And if the kidnappers start shooting?”

“Pinto, do you really think there are kidnappers? Kidnappers who grab a hundred kids, take them all to school, and make no demands?”

Pinto shrugged. “What else could it be, shitbrain?”

“We’re going in,” Franks announced. “Weapons in hand.”

The weapons order drew loud howls of protest from the crowd. Franks motioned toward the open classroom window. “Ignore the crowd. If you see someone holding the children, shoot first. Just don’t hit any kids. Shoot anything else that moves.”

What movie did he get that line from?

Guns drawn, the feds in the FBI flak jackets strode to the open window. Pavano had to squint. The windows all gleamed as if the sunlight was coming from inside.

Pavano, Pinto, and three other local cops followed, almost as an afterthought. Pavano glanced back at the street and saw Big Pavano in his blue-black captain’s uniform standing by himself. His cap was tilted over his head. His gun was holstered. He was shaking his head as if he disapproved of the whole thing.

“Where the hell has he been?” Pavano asked.

Pinto spit on the grass. “The captain likes a big breakfast.”

“Franks probably hasn’t kept him in the loop,” Pavano suggested. “It’s a miracle the feds are letting Franks run with this.”

“Waiting for him to hang himself,” Pinto muttered.

They were approaching the open window. Pavano still couldn’t see any sign of life inside. He felt his chest tighten. Each step made him feel a little more tense and a little more alert.

What kind of madman kidnaps one hundred kids? What is he doing to them in there?

He pictured the boy with his head burned off.

Oh, God. What are we going to find?

“Here we go,” he muttered without realizing it.

Pinto leaned close. “I’ve been in some tough situations,” he said softly. “I always think of a line from a country song I heard.” He poked Pavano. “You’re a country music guy. You probably know it.”

Pavano didn’t reply. He waited for Pinto to tell him what song.

“‘God is great, beer is good, and people are crazy.’”

Pavano grinned. “Yeah. I know that song, Pinto.”

“It ain’t a song, Andy. It’s my Bible.”

Pavano heard the French bulldog start to bark, as if warning them away from the window. Franks stepped up beside the feds. Cautiously, he raised his head to the window and shouted inside. “Can anyone hear me? We’re coming in!”

Pavano and Pinto tensed their weapons.

“We’re coming in!” Franks shouted again. “Police! We’re coming in! Police!”

Pavano could see only the back of Franks’s head. From his vantage point, the classroom was a sunlit blur. Was anyone in the room? Or even nearby?

Weapon in hand, Franks motioned for the feds to let him go in first. He started to raise himself over the window ledge.

Something caught Pavano’s eye. He turned in time to see the front doors of the school building swing open. He heard parents gasp and shout in surprise.

“They’re coming out! The kids are coming out!”

Lea leaned close to Roz, her hair brushing her sister-in-law’s cheek. “It’s all my fault,” she whispered.

Axl let out a cry and tried to break free from Roz’s grasp. But she had him securely by the shoulders, and he only succeeded in pitching himself off the grass, his tiny sneakers kicking air.

“Lea, what? I can’t hear you.” She lowered her arms around the little boy’s waist and held him tight. “Take it easy, Axl. Be a good boy and I’ll buy you some candy.”

Lea wiped a tear from her eye. “I said it’s my fault. All of this.”

Roz narrowed her eyes at her. “What are you saying? I don’t get it.”

“Ira and Elena. I’ve put them in so much danger. I love them so much. I. . couldn’t bear for anything to happen to them. They’re my children, Roz. My children.”

“Lea, please-”

“Mark warned me but I didn’t listen to him. I wanted those twins so badly. I mean, I thought I wanted them. And now, look what I’ve done, Roz. Look what I’ve done.”

“Lea, you’re not making sense. Of course you’re upset. I’m upset. Look at everyone here. We’re all going out of our minds with worry. But how can you blame yourself? You didn’t-”