Harry Truman High School - 10:22 AM

     Carter leaned his head back against the wall again, his arm throbbing now that he had noticed the blood.  He looked down again, wrapped his fingers around the ripped fabric of his light blue shirt, and pulled just enough back to give him a good view of his injury.  He sighed in relief as he realized it was just a flesh wound, a slight graze across the outside of his upper arm.  Enough to ruin his shirt and his day, but not enough to leave any lasting damage.  He strained his ears for any sound of the gunmen, and heard their voices from a long distance off.

     "Probably upstairs again," he whispered, jumping at the sound of his own voice.  He pushed himself up from the floor, wincing a bit at the pain it caused his wound, and walked slowly to the broken window.  He could see them loading Mr. Evans into the back of the ambulance now, and heard the approaching sound of a helicopter.  Looking back around him at the mess in the office, the shattered glass and blood on the floor, he sighed again.  "Such a waste," he whispered again, wiping the hot tears from his eyes.  "Such a damn waste."
 
     He gripped the sides of the window, careful not to cut himself on the glass that protruded from it, and pulled himself up onto the window ledge.  He squatted there for a moment, watching the County General Medevac chopper land in the middle of the street.  As the rhythmic thump of the rotors slowed, he saw Dr. Benton and Dr. Green jump out.  They moved away from it quickly, kneeling down beside the injured.
 
     A sound from inside the building made Carter turn.  It took him a few seconds to identify the sound, and when he did he closed his eyes again.  It started as one distant sound, and was picked up and echoed all the way down the hall.  It was the sound of the terrified kids who had been unable to escape during the initial confusion.  It was the sound of teenagers, boys and girls; the sound of teachers, male and female; the sound of pain, and terror, and despair.

     They were crying.

     Carter glanced out the window again, torn over what to do.  His mind was telling him to get the hell out of there while he still could; his heart was telling him to help those kids.  He realized suddenly that Dr. Benton was looking in his direction, and locked eyes with him across the schoolyard.  Carter leaned out the window, and started to drop his leg to the outside, when he heard the sounds of more shots being fired upstairs, and jerked his head back around.

     The crying became an agonized wailing, echoing up and down the green-tiled hallways of what had been, until moments before, an average high school.

     Carter looked back out the window, still undecided, still torn.  He could see Dr. Benton clearly now, and the look in the surgeon's eyes was unmistakable.

     Peter Benton heard the echo of the gunshots in the building, and fell to his knees protectively in front of one of the injured students, a girl with a bullet wound to the left side of her face.  She had woken up this morning perfectly normal, and was now missing a large chunk of her left cheek and most of her left ear.  Tomorrow she would wake up with healing scars, but she would live.

     The second the shots ceased, Benton spun back toward the building.  Carter was still squatting in the window sill, looking back at him.  'Get the hell out of there, Carter!' Benton's mind screamed.

     Carter again started to jump down to the ground beneath him.

     "Help us!  Somebody help us!!"

     It was a cry that chilled his blood and froze his body.  She wasn't far from the counselor's office; perhaps she was right across the hall.  Maybe she was injured; maybe she was the only one alive in the room.  Why hadn't the teacher gotten them out of there?  Maybe the teacher was hurt, possibly dying, maybe even dead.  Carter's heart ached more than his arm as he stayed there in the window, his mind reeling from the insanity around him, trying to decide what to do.

     He glanced again out at Dr. Benton, and saw Mark Green looking his direction as well.  They wanted him out; it was written plainly on their faces.  His mind screamed at him to do as they wanted, to get out of this building before everyone in it was dead.

     But someone had to help those kids.

     He locked eyes with his friends, first with Dr. Green, then with Dr. Benton, and slowly shook his head.  Very carefully, mindful of the shattered glass all around him, he stepped out of the window and planted both feet firmly on the floor of the office.

     "CARTER!!" Benton cried in dismay.



County General Hospital - 10:44 AM

     Things were slowing down.  Cleo Finch had arrived, and all but two of the critical patients had been treated.  The last two, a teacher with three wounds in his back and a male student with one wound in his leg, were both ready to be transported to the OR for surgery.

     Kerry Weaver sat at the admit desk, staring at the television without seeing it.  So far, there had been fourteen major traumas and ten minors brought through those doors, and she knew that as the day went on those numbers were going to keep escalating.  Of those who had already been transported to County, seven were in surgery, two had been admitted to medicine, and three were dead.  The waiting room and exam rooms were now home to those whose injuries had been ruled minor; most of them had lacerations from glass that had shattered by the bullets exploding around them, three had sprained their ankles in their haste to escape the chaos, and one had broken his arm when he tripped and fell down the front steps.

     Things were slowing down.  But Kerry Weaver knew that they wouldn't stay that way.

     She sighed and rested her chin against her fist, not seeing Luka Kovac as he returned from the elevators after having sent his patient upstairs for surgery.

     "Some day, huh, Kerry?" he asked, but received no response.  "Kerry?"
     
     "What?" she asked quickly, blinking her eyes and turning toward him.

     "I said, 'some day'."

     "Yeah," she whispered, turning back to the television.  "Some day.  How's your patient?"

     "He's got a bullet lodged against his spine.  He's on his way up now, but he's probably going to be paralyzed."

     Kerry shook her head in infinite sadness.

     "They're saying on the TV that they're kids, the ones who are doing this."

     "Yeah, I heard that too," she answered distractedly, as something on the screen caught her eye.

     "What could make kids do something like this?  If they were this disturbed, how could no one have noticed?"

     Kerry didn't answer, but pushed herself away from the desk and walked closer to the televion.  The cameras were focusing on a lone figure, squatting in a window sill on the first floor.  A lone figure wearing a light blue dress shirt, a pair of dark blue slacks, and a pair of suspenders.  "John," she whispered.

     "What?  Kerry, what?" Luka asked, following her gaze to the screen.  "That's Carter!" he cried in shock and recognition.  "Why is he just sitting there?  What's he doing?"

     Kerry watched as Carter shook his head slowly at someone she couldn't see, and climbed back inside.  She heard Luka gasp beside her, and she felt tears welling up in her eyes.

     "He's helping those kids," she answered softly, turning away and walking toward the lounge.  Silently, she added, 'Please, God, help HIM.'