“Two shooters,” Mitch said. “Identities unknown. Calls are still coming in, I think, from students and teachers, but what we heard so far is that two kids, both males, armed with assault rifles, went into the administration building about ten minutes ago and started firing. No word on who was in there at the time, or if anyone’s killed or injured. The boys’ current whereabouts are unknown. The rest of the school’s on lockdown.”

“Okay,” Brad said. “We’ll enter from the front, then spread out in pairs over the campus. Hank and I will take the administration building. Carol,” he said over the radio, “let us know if anyone calls in or texts a location. Those teachers and kids are on their phones, and you may hear it before we see it.”

“Gotcha.”

“You, too, Issac. If you hear anything from the parents.”

“Roger.”

Norris, Paul and Bill F. arrived, hurrying up. “What’s our move?” Paul asked.

Brad explained as they strapped on their vests. Hildy and Clint pulled up a moment later, already armed and suited. Brad quickly ran through the plan once again. They were a man extra, and he stationed Bill F. at the front of the school near Issac in case something went wrong and one or both of the shooters made it out.

“Keep your radios on,” he ordered. “Stay in contact.”

They moved quickly. There’d been no sound of gunfire, and that was definitely a good sign, but he didn’t trust it, and the silence of the school put him even more on edge. He and Hank peeled off to the left, alert for any noise or sign of movement. The door to the administration building office was not only wide open, but the glass had been shot out.

“This is the sheriff!” Brad hollered, rifle aimed at the doorway.

He heard whimpering, and a small crying voice called out, “Help!”

“Are you all right in there?” he shouted. “Is anyone with you?”

“They’re gone!”

He could see movement now, a high school girl staggering through the office toward the door. Her hands, held in front of her, were coated with blood.

“Cover me,” he ordered Hank, and rushed forward to escort the girl to safety.

“They’re all dead in there,” she cried. She wiped the tears from her cheeks, leaving a smear of crimson across her face. “They’re all dead. They’re all dead.”

“Who killed them?”

“Dave Reynolds and Jim Hardy. They had…guns.”

Brad recognized the names and was shocked. Reynolds was the football team’s star quarterback. Hardy was the baseball team’s undefeated pitcher two years straight.

“Are you sure?”

She nodded emphatically.

Brad relayed the information over his radio. He asked the girl if she knew where they’d gone, and she shook her head vigorously back and forth.