6
The teacher was screaming at the children to get out, standing with his back to McBride with his arms outstretched to the side as if he could shield them with his body. The second boy that McBride had shot in the gym lay twitching on the floor under a basketball hoop. The boy was missing most of his head and the chest was a bloody mess but the legs continued to beat a tattoo on the wooden floor and his right hand was trembling.
‘Out, come on, get a move on!’ shouted the teacher. The pupils didn’t need any urging – they were all terrified, and pushed and shoved as they forced their way through the fire exit.
McBride calmly ejected the two spent cartridges and slotted in two fresh ones. His eyes were stinging from the cordite and his ears were ringing.
He walked over to a wall and slowly sat down. He used his left foot to prise the Wellington boot off his right.
He looked over at the fire exit. Most of the children were gone. The teacher was still standing with his arms outstretched, urging on the stragglers.
The doors to the gymnasium burst open and two men with black carbines appeared, crouching low and swinging their weapons around. One moved to the left and the other to the right, then two more stepped through the doors. All four were dressed in black, with Kevlar body armour and black ceramic helmets.
‘Put down the gun or we will shoot!’ shouted Chisholm. All four officers had their weapons aimed at McBride. Two more armed officers appeared and all six men fanned out across the gym, their guns trained on McBride’s chest.
‘It’s all right, boys, there’s no need for that,’ said McBride.
‘Put the gun down!’ yelled the sergeant at the top of his voice. His finger tightened on the trigger of his carbine.
In one smooth motion McBride swung the shotgun around and propped the stock on the floor. He lifted his right foot and slipped his big toe onto the trigger.