Salt Pillars

Chapter 8

"What the fuck is going on Bill?" said Mrs. Janacek, the art teacher with a propensity for foul language.

"I don't know yet." Mr. Michaels replied with a disheveled look.

"Well what the fuck do you know... is this supposed to be a drill?" she asked again.

The children had begun to buzz, the early signs of chaos and disorder, the kind of disorder that teachers feared. The illusion of control had been undermined and the longer that they went without action, the greater loss of perceived authority would occur. Then there would be no going back — it would all unravel.

Mr. Michaels had seen it happen before. As a young man, he spent an externship teaching Tunisia. The government at the time had pushed their luck with the population by ending subsidies on wheat in the region, leading to a spike in the price of bread. It all boiled over during a demonstration outside the police headquarters.

The crowd sang songs of revolution and chanted as the police lined up in front of the building in rigid formation, dressed in riot gear helmets with shields and billy-clubs in hand. The razor sharp look in their eyes was of men tired of dealing with the bullshit of the common people. They were itching for some payback; the kind of satisfaction that only the crack of a club against a dissenters' skull could bring.

Mr. Michaels remembered the strange energy in the air that night. He was only there as an observer, but still he felt it clearly like the electricity of a storm before it hits. It was a power surge that caused the eruption. One moment, it was just another demonstration, then darkness and screaming. The crowd rushed the police and they tore at each other in a flurry of broken glass, and bloody fists. He never forgot that strange energy and recognized it here today; volatility. The perception of authority is what really matters more than anything else, without it, the system will collapse.

"Well?" Mrs. Janacek said with increasing impatience.

"We don't think that it's a drill... the EAS came in as a red alert a few minutes ago. The alert is real," he said the last part in an apologetic tone.

"God help us," Mr. Ashmead chimed in.

"Do they know what it is?" Mrs. Janacek was silent now, covering her mouth with her hand.

"We don't know, the EAS is the only notification out, even the mainstream media hasn't reported on it yet, which probably means that they didn't want a large scale panic. My guess is that a strike will occur before any knows what happened."

They were silent, dumbstruck, and oblivious to the increasing rowdiness of the students in the background. Mr. Ashmead began to walk away. "Where the hell are you going?" inquired Mr. Michaels.

"I'm sorry, but I've gotta get to my family, that's all that matters right now," he said then broke into a sprint out of the gym.

"He's right," Mrs. Janacek weighed in. "I've gotta get my children," she said.

"No, we have an obligation to these children," Mr. Michaels rebutted.

"I'm sorry Bill, but fuck em."

And she also left followed by four others.

Now only Mr. Michaels and Mrs. Jorgenson, who was the substitute math teacher, remained.

"My children are all raised and gone, so I'll stick with you Bill," she said. "Thank you Mary."

"The first thing we need to do is get these kids down to the shelter."

"Here... run to the storage room," he said handing her his keys. "There's a duffle bag labeled emergency, grab it and meet us in the shelter."

Mrs. Jorgenson took the keys and scurried off with the waddle-walk of bad hips and heavy thighs.