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dropped his magazine from his weapon and put it in his pocket then quickly inserted another one from the pouch on the left hand side of his belt.
Insert-rotate-operate inside your workspace .
    His original magazine still had a few rounds left in it, but you never wanted to find yourself without a fully loaded weapon. It is known as a tactical reload, and it too was part of training.
    He turned and looked at his car. Spud was still in the back seat, mouth wide-open, eyes big as saucers, and glued on the police officer. It is not every day that you see a cop shoot two guys in the head on a nice manicured lawn in October.
    The pounding in Durham’s ears began to subside just ever so slightly enough to hear the radio call ordering all officers to the elementary school immediately. Durham called in to Dispatch that he had just had an officer-involved shooting and to roll emergency services to his location. It was while he listened to the deputy chief order him to leave the scene and head immediately to the elementary school that Durham noticed the two suspects he had just shot in fact did not have body armor.
     
    — | — | —
     

    Chapter 7
     
     
    Billy felt his cargo short’s pocket, assuring the .38 was still there before he got out of the truck.
    “Stay here, Cat,” he said to his daughter.
    She was already out of the truck and closing the door. “Not on your life,” she said firmly without a hint of sarcasm.
    He grimaced and nodded slightly, still at least making an effort to imply he was in charge of her. She always had been a good girl, intelligent but strong-willed.
    The scene at the elementary school was surreal. There were more than a dozen bodies lying akimbo across the parking lot and all the way into the school. Most of the bodies were adults but a few were smaller. A trail of shoes, backpacks, books and hoodies, abandoned by their former owners littered the grounds. They seemed to have been thrown away in a hurry.
    “Let’s go find your brother. Try to get ahold of 911 but stay right by me,” Billy said firmly, looking directly into his daughters big blue eyes.
    As they made their way from the truck across the parking lot, they passed a body of a young nurse, hay colored hair matted to her head in blood. It looked as if a wild animal had clawed out her throat. Years of being a first responder at car accidents told him without stopping that she was way past anyone’s help. Her face was already turning blue and lifeless as the blood ebbed away from her body.
    The pair entered the school walkway. The metal and glass front door was propped open by a pile of a half dozen backpacks. They were heavy with books and obviously belonged to students, as at least half of the backpacks in the pile were comic book and cartoon-character themed.
    “I can’t get anyone,” Cat whispered, her voice the embodiment of frustration.
    Billy was a head on a swivel, scanning in all directions as he walked, keeping Cat next to him. Once in the doorway they found the hallway full of more backpacks, books, papers, coats, hats, gloves and shoes. The cast-off items ran wall-to-wall with only a thin walkway between the piles. It was if the school was having a going out of business sale on student accessories.
    They had made it twenty feet into the hallway when they heard footsteps. The sound of small feet running down another unseen hallway just out of view, to their left and around the corner grew closer. Cat grabbed her father’s right arm and held tight. The last time she had done that was a few years ago when they had gone to a haunted trail at Halloween and a person with a bladeless chainsaw had popped out.
    The footsteps grew louder and Billy could make out by the sound that it was just one pair. He put his right hand, still with Cat holding onto his arm, inside the cargo shorts’ pocket and fumbled for the handle of the old .38.
    Just then, a little boy with a blue shirt, not any older than six, burst around the corner and