Chapter 1

Chapter

One

H old it steady.

Take a deep breath.

Wait for it.

And snap.

There it was. The shot I was waiting for. I have been in this position for weeks now just waiting for these two alligators to complete their mating dance, and the wait was not for nothing. I don’t even have to review the preview on the back of my camera to know that is the one I’ve been waiting for.

My finger twitches as I continue to watch the alligators rolling around.

Well, maybe having a few more shots couldn’t hurt of course.

Bringing the camera back up, I aim and?—

BOOM

If it weren’t for both chest straps holding my camera, I would have just flung it right into the river. That fucking sound was most certainly not my shutter.

BOOM

My heart races and in an instant I am transported back in time…

My friends and teachers are screaming, scrambling, trying to find safety, but I’m frozen in place. I never thought at thirteen I would piss my pants—literally—in front of my entire class, but here I am.

Soaked.

Trembling.

Bleeding.

Mr. Franer’s vacant eyes stare into my soul from his prone position on top of me. He took a hit to the back almost as soon as he threw himself over me as a shield. Soon the chill from my urine-soaked jeans will be replaced by the warm blood that is already beginning to seep down between our bodies. I know I’ve been hit too, but my brain hasn’t caught up to the pain yet, and my left leg doesn’t feel right.

Boot steps come close and I have enough sense to close my eyes. Hopefully, the shooter will think I’m dead too. How cowardly is that shit?

The stomping boots come close to my head, but I don’t flinch. I hear my screaming before the gun goes off again. This time, right next to me.

I had already seen the shooter's face, but couldn’t place him. He seemed too old to be a student, but not quite old enough to be a teacher. Besides, I was a good girl. I made friends with most of the teachers at Montgomery Middle School, so I knew he hadn’t been a teacher here for the last three years at least.

Another bang from the gun, before the boots begin moving quickly away from the classroom I’ve found myself trapped in.

Stupidly, I manage to force one of my eyes open. I’m rewarded with a close-up view of my first crush, Billy, and the brains that were ejected from his head by the projectile bullet, that have sprayed across the wall.

I still can’t manage to move. Partly from Mr. Franer’s body pinning me down and partly from the soul-consuming fear that has my heart in a vise. And so I lay there.

For twenty-three minutes, I just lay there. Waiting for help or for the gunman to come back and finish me off. I try not to think about the fight Mom and I had this morning about breakfast. I should have just eaten the burned waffles. She did try. But I don’t want my ungratefulness to be the last thing she has to remember me by, so I really hope I do get out of this whole thing alive.

Next time, I promise to just eat the fucking breakfast and not stomp away when she tries to hug me in front of my friends.

If I survive.

BOOM

I blink and the river side that has been my primary focus for weeks, once again fills my sight. With my awareness comes my rage. This is a protected zone. Which means guns are not allowed at all.

Securing my gear and promising my tripod and bag that I will return to them, I make my way in a sort of gimpy stomp-run towards the sounds of men and where the shots came from. Thanks to my life experiences, I don’t fear guns one bit. Or death.

Maybe that’s not always a smart thing, but it’s where I am in life.

Besides, the rage has taken the front seat here.

I spot three males chatting and gesturing around, but only one of them seems to have a rifle. When the sounds filter in, I pick up on Spanish words, but I am sadly not fluent enough—or patient enough—for this conversation to be anything more than English. Alright Tiff, you got this. Just be calm and collected, but stern and…

“Hey, you fucking idiots!” Great start. Way to be civil. I continue stomping until I am nearly nose-to-nose with the asshole holding the rifle. “What the fuck are you doing here? This area is protected!” None of the men have moved and the one in front of me simply blinks. I raise my finger and poke him in the chest. “That means… no… guns!”

You know that moment when you pick up the phone before you actually dial a number in, and it’s just the monotone sound of a dial tone? Yeah, pretty sure these asshole's brains all had the same sound going.

Oh shit. What if there is a language barrier? What if they really don’t speak English? Quick, Tiff. Think of something.

A lightbulb goes off in my head and I cling tightly to it. I wave my arms around to gesture to the area we are in, “animales protegidos. No hay armas aquí.” Ha! Take that Senora Sequinta and your stupid C+

The guy tilts his head like a curious puppy and my confidence deflates a little. Did I use the wrong words? I could have sworn…

“This is not a gun.” The man in front of me speaks in a heavy accent but with studied annunciation. I look down at the rifle he is holding up and back at his face.

“Do I look stupid to you?”

“Apologies, Senorita. I meant it is not a gun with bullets. These are tranquilizer darts.” He opens the chamber on the weapon where bullets usually sit and shows me the needled dart with a bright pink tufted end. Hmm…

“We did not mean to startle you, and I hope we did not interrupt your work,” he gestures to the camera positioned on my chest. “There is a capybara that was injured. We are trying to help him, but it would seem his friend is having none of that.”

He turns and points at a rather large capybara with a clear leg injury. In front of the animal is an alligator that is glaring at the men and growling, with three darts hanging out of his hide. I’m not even sure if the darts are equipped to penetrate his type of skin, but one thing is glaringly clear.

This alligator is actually protecting his capybara friend.