Read Online The Day the Dead Came to Show and Tell by Mira Grant - Free Book Online
Authors: Mira Grant
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scooted closer to Scott, who hadnât said a word during the entire exchange. The bigger boy just stared at his desk, not moving or speaking while Brian laboriously undid the screws holding the ankle restraints in place.
There were some peopleâmostly in equipment manufacturing, who stood to make money from the changeâwho wanted the simpler restraints, with their external hinges, removed from classrooms. Their nightmare scenario was the one that was being played out, with a potentially contaminated student being released by a well-meaning teacher with access to a screwdriver. But Scott wasnât the only student being held down by a restraint that couldnât save him, and even the most sophisticated models still had misfires. As long as the technology possessed any capacity for failure, there would need to be some sort of manual release. The nightmare of the administration didnât come close to the nightmares of the parents, who could all too easily picture their children, trapped, being left behind when the release switch for the classroom restraints was somewhere out of reach.
Brain was small and didnât have much upper body strength, but he was also determined, and had used a screwdriver before. After only a few minutes, all four screws were on the floor, and Scott was free. He stood shakily, and stopped as Miss Oldenburg held out her hands, palms first, warding him away.
âScott, Brian, I need you to go to the closet,â she said. âScott, do not touch anything . Brian will open the door for you. Do you understand?â
The two boys, looking terrified, nodded but did as they were told. Miss Oldenburg followed them, pausing when she reached her desk to look back at the rest of the class.
âAll of you stay quiet and in your seats, and do not open the door for any reason ,â she said. âDo you understand me?â
The class nodded, ragged and out of synch with one another. Miss Oldenburg looked at them for a moment, trying to decide whether or not to believe them. In the end, she decided that it didnât really matter either way; she had to do this.
âIâll be right back,â she said, and followed Brian and Scott into the closet.
It was a small, claustrophobic space. The shelves were packed with basic school supplies: paper, crayons, extra ammunition, formalin, bleach. Miss Oldenburg gestured for Brian to close the door as she took down one of the sterilization bins from the shelf and set it on the floor in front of Scott. Then she got down the bottle of bleach, and the face masks. She got one. So did Brian. Scott did not.
âI am very sorry, Scott,â she said gently, and began pouring bleach into the bin.
It was hard not to reflect, as the bleach fumes filled the enclosed space and the clear liquid lapped against the plastic walls of the bin, on the strange irony of the situation. There was a time when a teacher who forced a student to bathe in bleach would have been fired, for good reason, and charged with child abuse. Bleach was a caustic chemical. It could burn sensitive skin. And that didnât really matter just now, because bleach was the only thing stable enough to store in a classroom, and this was an emergencyâand while she didnât want to burn Scott, she didnât want to leave him for dead, either.
Elaine Oldenburg gasped, just a little, behind her mask. Before that moment, she hadnât fully realized that she was planning to leave the classroom.
It was a risk. The classroom, for all its faultsâno water, no restrooms, large, if locked, windows taking up much of one wallâwas at least familiar and semisecure. They could stay inside and ride out whatever was happening on the rest of the campus, and while the alarm would probably start upsetting the children soon, there were things they could do. Quiet things, things that wouldnât attract any monsters that happened to be wandering the halls.
But there were
There were some peopleâmostly in equipment manufacturing, who stood to make money from the changeâwho wanted the simpler restraints, with their external hinges, removed from classrooms. Their nightmare scenario was the one that was being played out, with a potentially contaminated student being released by a well-meaning teacher with access to a screwdriver. But Scott wasnât the only student being held down by a restraint that couldnât save him, and even the most sophisticated models still had misfires. As long as the technology possessed any capacity for failure, there would need to be some sort of manual release. The nightmare of the administration didnât come close to the nightmares of the parents, who could all too easily picture their children, trapped, being left behind when the release switch for the classroom restraints was somewhere out of reach.
Brain was small and didnât have much upper body strength, but he was also determined, and had used a screwdriver before. After only a few minutes, all four screws were on the floor, and Scott was free. He stood shakily, and stopped as Miss Oldenburg held out her hands, palms first, warding him away.
âScott, Brian, I need you to go to the closet,â she said. âScott, do not touch anything . Brian will open the door for you. Do you understand?â
The two boys, looking terrified, nodded but did as they were told. Miss Oldenburg followed them, pausing when she reached her desk to look back at the rest of the class.
âAll of you stay quiet and in your seats, and do not open the door for any reason ,â she said. âDo you understand me?â
The class nodded, ragged and out of synch with one another. Miss Oldenburg looked at them for a moment, trying to decide whether or not to believe them. In the end, she decided that it didnât really matter either way; she had to do this.
âIâll be right back,â she said, and followed Brian and Scott into the closet.
It was a small, claustrophobic space. The shelves were packed with basic school supplies: paper, crayons, extra ammunition, formalin, bleach. Miss Oldenburg gestured for Brian to close the door as she took down one of the sterilization bins from the shelf and set it on the floor in front of Scott. Then she got down the bottle of bleach, and the face masks. She got one. So did Brian. Scott did not.
âI am very sorry, Scott,â she said gently, and began pouring bleach into the bin.
It was hard not to reflect, as the bleach fumes filled the enclosed space and the clear liquid lapped against the plastic walls of the bin, on the strange irony of the situation. There was a time when a teacher who forced a student to bathe in bleach would have been fired, for good reason, and charged with child abuse. Bleach was a caustic chemical. It could burn sensitive skin. And that didnât really matter just now, because bleach was the only thing stable enough to store in a classroom, and this was an emergencyâand while she didnât want to burn Scott, she didnât want to leave him for dead, either.
Elaine Oldenburg gasped, just a little, behind her mask. Before that moment, she hadnât fully realized that she was planning to leave the classroom.
It was a risk. The classroom, for all its faultsâno water, no restrooms, large, if locked, windows taking up much of one wallâwas at least familiar and semisecure. They could stay inside and ride out whatever was happening on the rest of the campus, and while the alarm would probably start upsetting the children soon, there were things they could do. Quiet things, things that wouldnât attract any monsters that happened to be wandering the halls.
But there were
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