“JX! JAY-EXXXXXXX!” Rupert was adding his own shrieks and screams as he yelled for his friend. He knew no one else could hear him, but he couldn’t stop calling. Then he realized he couldn’t hear his own shouting either. 

For just a second, he thought of a movie called Kiss Me Deadly, where a house blows up at the end with the detective still inside.  The audience never knows whether he survives.  That was not the kind of detective Rupert had planned on being. 

His hearing started to come back a little. The other screams were getting louder.

“Out! Out! Get out and line up!” Ms. Handley, Rupert’s English teacher, was in automatic fire drill mode, trying to get everyone out like it was a regular school day. Rupert could hear the loud steady brrrrrrrring of the alarm. For once, it wasn’t a prank.

All too late, of course.

Then, through the smoke, he saw her. JX was down on her knees, her hands pressed against the wet, spongy chest of Frank Delmert. Frank was making huzz, huzz, huzz sounds as he tried to breathe. Blood was bubbling around his lips.

JX had it all over her hands. She had strips of someone’s shredded jacket pressed against Frank’s chest.

“Help me quick, I need bandages!” she shouted when she saw him.

“I don’t know!” Rupert said loudly in reply.

“Just find something!” JX shrieked. 

“I mean, I don’t know if the detective gets out of the house!” Rupert said, trying to explain what he meant. As soon as he did, he realized his brain, not just his ears, was ringing, too.

Rupert pulled off his coat and dropped to his knees. He handed the coat to JX, who pressed it to Frank’s chest. It immediately started to stain with blood.

“Out, out, out!” Ms. Handley was there pulling at JX and Rupert, trying to get them to move.

“He’s dying,” JX said.

“You don’t know what you’re doing,” Ms. Handley said.

“Yes, I do!” JX shouted back. “This patient needs morphine, coagulants, and pressure bandages right now! Go get help!”

Ms. Handley stepped back, her jaw slightly dropping. 

Then there were sirens just outside, and other hands, pulling Rupert to his feet, lifting JX up, kneeling to help Frank.

Rupert saw Father Erskine Bayard Jones beside him, applying a pressure bandage to Frank’s wound. He was in his police reserve uniform; his medical kit was with him. 

“We’ll take it from here, chaplain,” a paramedic said, moving in alongside Father Jones.

“Right. Let me know,” he said. Then he turned to JX. “Come on, honey. Let’s get you out of here.”

That was when JX started to cry.

Lots of people were sobbing, or shaking, or silent, gone into shock. Brakes screeched, and panicked horns honked, as cars roared into the parking lot and parents jumped out, calling for their kids.

Father Jones went down the gym steps with one arm around Rupert and the other tightly clutching his daughter.

 “Daddy, will he live?” JX said. “Will Frank live?”

“If he lives, it’s because you were there, honey. I am so proud of you. Well, done, well done.”  

Ambulances were taking on their loads of broken bodies. One of the paramedics trotted over. “We got him stabilized, I think,” he said. “Good work,”

“Are you alright?” Father Jones asked his daughter. 

She nodded. “Think so.”

He looked hard into JX’s eyes. “You’re not in shock,” he said. “You are one strong kid.” Then he turned to Rupert. “What about you, Rupert?”

“Oh, I’m okay,” he said.

Father Jones examined his eyes, too, and nodded. “You both need to be looked at, but there are people hurt really bad here,” he said. “Jenny, you and Rupert wait here in the staging area. Your mom’ll be here in a little bit. Just stay put. It’ll be okay. I’ll check back in a few minutes.” 

He picked up his medical kit and headed toward the gym.

“I didn’t know you knew first aid,” Rupert said.

“My dad was an Army medic for four years, and he taught me a lot of stuff,” JX said.  “Daddy says once the red starts flowing, people forget all the other colors real fast.”

Rupert and JX were standing at the edge of the yellow police tape. All around them terrified parents were trying to find their children, and teachers were trying to account for students. The police were searching methodically for those who were wounded, or worse.

“Crimewatchers,” Rupert said suddenly. The brain-ringing was fading a little and he was starting to think again.  It struck him that whoever planted the bomb might still be watching.

“Crimewatchers,” he repeated. He pointed to a small hill just beyond the edge of the school grounds. There was an abandoned mall there, with an old chain link fence that had needed replacing for years, but the budget cuts had made it impossible. So the fence had gotten saggier and bent over almost double. Kids would scale over it if they were trying to get to school before a bell without being seen --  or if they wanted to leave early.

“Crimewatchers,” Rupert said again. “They stood and watched their bomb explode.”

“Rupert, calm down,” JX said. “There’s no one up there.”

“You don’t know that,” Rupert said. “There’s all kinds of places to hide.”

This was true. Between the fence and the hill there was a dry creek bed lined with bushes. On top of the rise there was the mostly empty mall parking lot -- though some homeless people camped there. 

Rupert ducked under the yellow tape and pushed his way through the crowd. 

“Rupert, where are you going?” JX said. “Come back here. My dad said we should stay  – oh, shoot.”

She gave up in frustration as Rupert climbed over the fence and disappeared down toward the dry gully.

“You’re not Niles Hollywood!” she yelled after him.  Even if his ears hadn’t been ringing, he wouldn’t have heard her.