Adam Levin - The Instructions

His molars destroyed, Boystar chewed like a dog.

I took up the soundgun and made an announcement: EVERYONE LISTEN. THE WAR’S NOT OVER. EVACUATE ANYONE WHO ISN’T MY BROTHER. PUT THEM ALL OUT THROUGH THE PUSHBAR DOOR. VINCIE PORTITE’S IN CHARGE WHILE I’M GONE. NO ONE ELSE.

“Where are you going?” shouted seven random Israelites.

I’M — I turned off the soundgun. I’m going up front, I said.

“Why?” they all said, and just as they said it, the cameramen returned. They dropped Desormie’s body on the sideline and stretched.

I’m going up front to protect us, I said. No time for more questions, now.

They stopped asking questions, started clearing the gym out.

I took aside Vincie and gave him the soundgun.

Get this to Scott and stay close to Benji. Don’t let him go after Berman.

“Who’s Berman?”

The one who accidentally shot him.

“Got it. But I don’t think Benji’s in shape to fight anyway.”

I looked between the shoulders of soldiers at Benji. He was leaning on Jelly and the southwall, sitting, his jawmuscles bulging, his eyes pointed high, his busted hand darkening fast on his lap. Beside himself with pain or anger or both, he seemed to be melting and hardening at once.

I said, Watch Benji. And lock the door when the bodies are cleared.

I gave him Floyd’s keyring.

“Don’t the firemen have some kind of universal key?”

I don’t know, I said. Maybe? Guard the door, too.

“How about I jam it.”

With what?

“Cross the mikestand through the pushbar like an X so it wedges and—”

Yeah, I said, do that, that’s good, and watch Benji.

Vincie took off.

Desormie’s silver whistle was laying on his eyeball.

Pick him back up, I said to the cameramen.

They followed me and June to the northeast exit, and the Five and the Ashley surrounding Boystar — who they clutched at four points: the wrists and the neck and the hair — followed them. Ori walked backwards in front of us, filming. Main Man, finally amplified, sang, “Let’s go down the waterfall,” and we entered the pipeline and headed east.

As we walked, I gave the Look of The End to Ori’s lens, said, Hear O Israel, listen up the rest of you, I’m Gurion ben-Judah and I’ve got an army. Today’s a new holiday. We’ll name it later. I’ve taken prisoners, mostly kids. As a show of good will, in honor of our holiday, I’ve already released some out the back door. The rest of the prisoners are safe and secure, but there’s spotters in here on every entrance, and Adonai is on our side, so don’t come within fifty yards of the school, or prisoners will suffer the fate of Desormie, atop whose corpse you’ve found this recording. My first demand is the last great Jew. I want you to get Philip Roth on the phone. I’ll call 911 in thirty minutes. Make sure they can patch me through to Roth. Am Yisrael chai, good yontif, we damage. Cut now, Ori.

Ori turned the camera off.

“You,” whispered June, “just sounded like a crazy.”

Did I sound sincere?

“That’s why you sounded crazy.”

Good, I said.

“Who’s Philip Roth?”

“The greatest American novelist alive who isn’t DeLillo or McCarthy!” said Ori.

How do you spell DeLillo? I said.

Ori spelled DeLillo.

What should I read?

“ End Zone to start with, then White Noise . McCarthy’s Blood Meridian , though — I’d read that one first. Seems more your style.”

I thanked him for the recs and took away his camera, said, Where’s the recording?

“On the hard drive,” he said.

No backup? I said.

“Auto backup,” he said. “There’s a flash in that slot.”

I ejected the cartridge, put it in his hand.

Mazel tov, I said. I hope they promote you.

We’d arrived at the door.

Two helmeted firemen were retreating toward the bus circle. Ben-Wa was saying, “They told us, ‘Open up,’ we told them, ‘Go away,’ and they said they’d come back with the battering ram.”

The firemen climbed in the cab of their truck. Another truck and ambulance pulled into the circle. Then a cable newsvan. Then two copcars.

I unlocked the doors and pushed one open.

Put Coach out there, I said to the cameramen. Lay him out flat on his back.

They did what I said, then one of them sprinted away and June drew.

Let him go, I told her.

You guys go, too, I said to the others. Just make sure you run like you’re scared, or we’ll shoot you.

They ran like they were scared. We didn’t shoot them.

Ashley, I said.

Shpritzy’s Ashley said, “Yeah?”

Get going, I said.

“She’s with me,” Shpritzy said.

“I’m with him,” said the Ashley.

“She’s with Shpritzy,” June said. “It’s settled. That’s that.”

It’s settled then, I said.

“Thanks, June,” said Shpritzy.

I set Ori’s camera atop Desormie’s chest, then stepped back inside and locked both doors.

Bring him, I said.

The Five brought Boystar before the left door. I stood before the right with my hands in my pockets.

Guns on the Ashley, I said to Wolf.

Behind me, Wolf aimed their guns at the Ashley.

Act threatened, I told her.

The Ashley raised her hands above her head and frowned.

Returning with their ram, the firemen — six of them — slowed at the sight of those we’d let go; they stopped completely when they got to Desormie. Two shorter ones knelt to check his vitals, and a tall one stepped over the gym teacher’s body, then rapped on the glass as if testing its thickness, as if seeing killed men laid out in front of schools with holes in their throats and cameras on their chests and blood crusting blackly all over their collars was business as usual for a suburban fireman. Pursing his lips, he rapped on the doorframe, then again on the glass, then went back to the doorframe, squinting and nodding, rapping and tapping, brow all furrowed now, faking unfazedness, pantomiming thinking, the act of calculation, the act of determining ideal points of impact, battering-ramming a science of precision. Throughout this peformance, he threw furtive glances, trying to guage the effect of his poise on us. Pinker said, “He doesn’t want to use that ram.” And Shpritzy said, “He’s scared.” “You’re scared!” yelled The Levinson. The fireman heard him. He looked at Ben-Wa, the one he’d spoken to earlier, said, “Enough with the bullshit now. Open this door.”

Tell me what to do, I said. I’m the leader.

“Open this door or we’ll break it in.”

I spun and cracked Boystar so hard in the nose that it spattered my sleeve all the way to the shoulder. The Five lost their grip and he crumpled up fetal. I kicked him straight, set my heel on his throat.

Tell me again, I said to the fireman.

“Easy,” he said. “Easy.”

Take that camera and take away the corpse. Get fifty yards back on all sides of the school or I’ll kill this kid and then I’ll kill some other ones. Everything else you need to know’s on the camera.

The fireman stood there, looking down at Desormie.

That’s right, I said. Big guy, I said. Thirty pounds on you easy. And that was just me. I did that alone. And I’ve got a whole army and we’re armed to the teeth. Get out of here now. Get back to your truck.

I split Wolf up. The four in front — Ben-Wa, Jesse Ritter, Stevie Loop, and Christian Yagoda — would stand at the doors pointing weapons at Boystar, who we tied to a chair with his bootlaces. I gave Cody von Braker Brodsky’s phone and posted him and Forrest Kenilworth over at the side entrance. If anyone came at the school from the side, Cody’d call Ben-Wa. If anyone came at the school from the front, Ben-Wa would see it himself. In either case, he and Jesse and Stevie and Christian would whale on Boystar with their weapons and their fists until all comers retreated.