Part 3: Life After Curfew
“Do I need to bring TP?” Madison whispered into her phone to her best friend, Grace.
“Nope! We’re stealing it from the school bathrooms,” replied Grace. “Hurry up and get down here!”
Madison slid open her bedroom window and climbed down the leafy trellis to the bushes below.
“Welcome to life after curfew!” Grace said in a loud whisper.
“Shh!” Madison reacted, scanning the darkness. “Don’t get us in trouble before we’ve even left the yard!”
“Relax, Maddie, there is NOBODY out here. Not even Curfew Officers. It’s been hours since twilight. Come on!”
Grace led Madison through a labyrinth of yards, avoiding streetlights. It took a few minutes for Madison’s eyes to adjust and notice that Grace was toting not one, but two rifles.
“Is the extra one for me?” Madison asked sarcastically.
“Maddie, I know you don’t have a rifle, and I know you think you’re making some big statement by not getting one because you’re the one who told everyone they should get one, and now you think that the entire country is watching your every move, and they probably are but who gives a shit, and you think I think you’re a coward for being, like, a conscientious objector, and you’re right, but now you think I feel obligated to protect you or whatever, and I do because you’re my best friend, but actually” - she paused dramatically - “one is my rifle, and the other is a paintball gun.”
Madison, accustomed to Grace’s flamboyant speeches, disregarded it. “Why did you bring a paintball gun?”
“To shoot the security cameras. No surveillance footage!”
“And you think you can hit all the cameras?”
“Hell yeah. Unlike all the other gun-toting idiots in our class, I actually know how to shoot.”
Madison laughed into her hands. “This is going to be the best fucking night! I haven’t been outside after dark since, like, ninth grade!”
They put their hoods over their heads as they approached the high school through the dark soccer fields. At the cafeteria door, at least forty of their classmates, all wearing hoodies, whispered and giggled excitedly. About half of them carried rifles. Madison wondered why the others didn’t: Were they still underage? Did they own one but just left it at home? Or, like her, were they deliberately defying their second-amendment responsibilities?
Grace pointed one of her rifles towards the roofline and shot a paintball at the camera.
“Nice shot,” someone said, as another started tapping on the door. A moment later, Bronson, Madison’s lab partner, opened the door and waved everybody inside the dark cafeteria.
“How did you get in here, dude?” somebody asked.
“I do night security here, so I’m legit,” said Bronson, jiggling his key ring. “Grace, do the cafeteria cam before I turn the lights on.”
Grace aimed and paintballed the security camera. By the time Bronson turned on the lights, Grace was already in the hallway shooting the other cameras.
“Just leave your rifles in here, they’ll be safe,” Bronson directed. Those who were carrying them laid out their weapons on cafeteria tables, then scattered to the restrooms to collect toilet paper.
The library became a frenzy of white streamers and a cacophony of chatter and laughter as the prank ensued. Toilet paper was hanging from the fluorescent lights, dangling through the stacks, over bookshelves and tables, and wrapped around chairs.
Bronson turned on music from behind the librarian’s desk. It was an 80’s song that everyone knew, and they all started singing along.
After the toilet paper ran out, everybody danced between the bookshelves. They hadn't been to a party like this since freshman year.
An explosion interrupted the song as the windows to the hallway shattered. The sound of an automatic rifle echoed from the hall. A few people ran out to inspect, and gunfire rang out again. In one blink, Madison saw them all fall, limp.
Gunfire, screams, and chaos took over the library. “It’s a Curfew Officer!” Bronson yelled over the pandemonium, “over here, over here!” He guided the remaining group out the emergency exit.
Madison found Grace in the stampede outside; she still had both her rifle and her paintball gun. The two of them kept running, following the same unlit path back to Madison’s house. They paused under the trellis, panting. They hugged but did not speak. Madison climbed up; Grace walked home.
The next morning, Madison went to the kitchen for coffee before getting ready for school. She found her mom, Alice, with her face frozen towards the TV as images of her school flashed on screen.
“We are on the scene at East High School where, just past midnight, Curfew Officer John Bristol broke up a large group of suspects who were apparently plotting a mass shooting to be carried out this morning. When Officer Bristol arrived on the scene, he encountered twenty armed students in the cafeteria who fired and chased him down the hall. In self-defense, he fired back but only took down three suspects. By the time back-up arrived, the suspects had fled the scene, leaving their rifles behind. Once the suspects have been identified, they will face charges including Curfew Violation and Assault of a Curfew Officer. East High will honor Officer Bristol for his bravery and heroism at next week’s graduation ceremony. Classes at East High are cancelled today, but Officer Bristol is reminding students and faculty that thoughts and prayers don’t save lives: Please remain vigilant and continue carrying weapons for the last week of school. Now, back to the studio.”
Alice, her mouth agape, remained fixed on the TV screen.
Madison hurled her coffee cup at the television. It bounced to the floor and shattered; coffee splashed everywhere.
“Hey, what do you think you’re doing, young lady?” Alice yelled. “Clean that up, NOW!”
Madison ignored her and stormed up to her room.
