Surprised as I am that I've completed this much after not posting anything in months? Nah, high expectations is what get's you through *o*

By the way, I just discovered the most wonderful band and style of music to write to! It's post-rock, ambient music and the lovely musicians are Hammock & a more upbeat awesome one called Safetysuit! I highly recommend them for studying, writing and dreaming c:

I do not claim to own any of these characters nor am I profiting from this work

Big Time Rush © Nickelodeon

Chapter 6: Dust is the Devil's Snow

The bronze alarm continued to pound into Mr. Rocque's mind as he glimpsed out from the tunnel he had formed within the walk-in supply closet. The coast was clear and they had waited long enough.

"Okay kids." He knelt to reach the same level as his class,

"If you wanna stay, you can. But if you want to go, I think all the action is on the other side of the building at the moment. So if we hurry, we can make it out right now. Alright?" He straightened up, sliding the rim of his glasses further into his thick brow line,

"Here's the deal-single file, stay low, right on my heels the entire time, you got that?" He received nods of understanding, encouraging him to open the door further and permit those at the front to slip out and crouch at his feet. Flipping his attention back to the vacant hallway, he explained,

"When I say run, you run. Do not look back. Do not stop running 'til you get to the police outside. Go!" He sent them off, tapping the shoulders of one then the next, allowing meager seconds to hang in the balance between start offs.

As the handful of maturing children bolted, Mr. Rocque hefted himself up and joined their flight.

"Mr. G!" Carlos shouted, shirt untucked and blowing about his thighs as he sloppily added to the assembly hastening down the single aisle towards the left wing exit.

"What in the world are you doing here Garcia?" The large man bellowed, assuming that the troublemaker had made it out first as the front office was closest to the common escape routes.

"I went to the office like you told me to sir," He explained, jogging along almost nonchalantly, however jittering fingers revealed nerves that had run raw with tension,

"But Principal Griffin was out. The-the front office attendant sent me back, I reached our classroom…but you all had left. I just sp-spotted you from across the hall!"

"Glad to see you're safe. Now get moving!" Gustavo instructed, glancing down a parallel row. Out of his periphery, he saw movement but it was too late. Down he went, a bullet lodged in his abdomen.

Carlos pivoted at the explosion, spreading his palms against the wall for support as he witnessed his teacher's fall. Striking his gaze upwards, he managed to catch the silhouette of a young man disappear to the right. However Gustavo broke his concentration, urging his student with a harsh tone,

"Go, keep running!" Carlos peered at the backs of his classmates who had already reached the exit, pushing on the horizontal railing and out towards freedom. Pausing only for a second, he instead dashed to the side of his injured educator. Carlos shot his arms beneath the man's armpits, hoisting the body double his size down the nearest alleyway and out of the line of fire.

Gustavo even managed to assist Carlos with his portion of the weight, propping his torso up by walking backwards as best he could. They stumbled into an open doorway, the desks and chairs upturned; the entire classroom left in utter shambles.

Setting Mr. Rocque to the floor as gently as possible, Carlos flew to the doorway, stuffing a bookcase beneath the handle before finding more equipment to block the entry. As he did so, Gustavo gripped at his own chest, blood gurgling and staining his plaid flannel.

"K-kid," he uttered, stilling Carlos's actions of throwing chairs on the amassing heap of debris before the door. Sickened, the youth returned to his professor's side, ripping his grey tank top off with haste, applying cotton and pressure to the wound,

"I-I don't know what to do!"

"You've done enough…it's okay." Gustavo managed, observing the shirtless boy go into a period of hysterics on the brim of tears,

"Hey, hey! Carlos, look at me!" Sparse energy lifted a pudgy hand onto the bare bicep of his pupil, his voice ragged between gasps,

"Everything's…going to be alright-the cops are right outside. They'll be here any minute. It'll be fine...we just have to...hang tight. Okay?" Carlos wearily nodded, a moist substance building at his creased lashes as he saw Mr. Rocque's strength give out, resting the balding crown on the dirty carpet,

"You did good, son."

Aloud, the mind-numbing whine of the alarm bells tolled, never ending their constant grief. Logan reclined against the heavy steel door that blocked the entry way to the portion of the hallway that he had secured.

"Hey," He whispered to the hardly breathing frame of a girl lying face down on the cold tile, "Are…are you okay?"

There was no reply. After quite a while of staring at her, he noticed the rise of her chest from his position against the door. With a grunt, he heaved himself to his hip, then to his legs and was hovering over her, prodding her limp arm,

"Get up. We have to get out of here. Come on…why won't you move?" Nevertheless, he still did not receive a response. Rotating her, he managed to drag dead weight into his arms.

A mechanic eye aligned at the movement, recording black and white feed as the skinny boy carried a girl out of the destroyed high school. Her arm hung loosely, swaying with each footstep. Logan breached the exit when the dark, hunched forms of security guards crowded into the foyer.

Glazed, he watched as he deposited the unknown girl into the waiting hands of the professionally trained government employees, overcome with exhaustion and an increasing sense of guilt.

The two hockey players who had met up with the original lone ranger and his side kick took over the lead, heading towards Jason's house which was inside the first neighborhood track on the border of the high school premises. They popped through an opening between two quaint, Colonial-styled country homes, dodging a wheelbarrow and abandoned garden rake splayed out upon the grass. The group trotted to a halt, instantly swept up with the commotion occurring on multiple front lawns and atop the asphalt which has been turned into a shoddy regrouping center.

All around them medical personnel and police ran about, escorting weeping families away from their loved ones born on stretchers towards that ominous, white truck plastered with beaming lights and the image of twin, red snakes climbing a pole. Two giant fire trucks had already assembled in the cul-de-sac, the men acting as executives, recording names of those who lay still and cold on the cement.

"I don't recognize anyone." James commented, dazed as he constantly changed the direction he was facing.

"Me neither, thank God." Kendall agreed, holding the back of his hand to his mouth as he caught the image of a face blown through the cheek bone, the middle-aged teen completely indecipherable. To the left, a nurse was bandaging the arm of a boy, his scuffed chin and ripped jeans evidence to his narrow run with death. The fellow below had not been so fortunate, his kidney spurting the dark, wretched plasma needed to stabilize his rapidly decreasing heart rate.

Jason turned his face away after seeing the face of a girl he knew from class, the pallor of her cheeks signaling that she was close to passing out or worse. Mike kindly embraced his close friend, pulling his inches-shorter team mate into the padding of his chest, murmuring,

"Don't worry dude, Amy's still alive. Look, she's breathing-they are just taking her to the ambulance." And that fact was true, she was still conscious, her eyes cloudy and unaware as medics loaded her onto a stretcher.

With a screech, a new automobile breeched the scene. Out stepped a Channel 9 newscaster, his suave, firmly pressed suit shifting as he approached the heart of the action,

"This is breaking news people; let's go, let's go...get those cameras rolling!" Taking care to fix the styling of his hair one final time, he lapsed into a highly energetic oration,

"As you can see behind me, everyone who had fled Maplewood High has taken refuge in a nearby development as family members and neighbors do their best to aid the relief. Those in dire need are being dispatched as we speak. The remaining students are being urged to visit the many trauma centers throughout the city." Motioning to the camera man that his spiel was finished, his blue-grey eyes lit up as he most cheerfully asked,

"Did we get it?"

Disgusted, James turned his back upon the reporter, bitterness sinking into the pit of his stomach that this man, as well as numerous other agents, would be reviling in the traumatic reaction this story was to bring to the media within the following days.

"James, oh James!"

"K-Katie?" He picked up his head, frantically searching the crowd for the familiar face to match the sweet voice he had just heard.

"James!" She was calling out to him again and yet he could not find her! He shouted her name aloud, Kendall within earshot, causing her older brother to turn around, astonished.

"Oh my goodness, James!" And she crashed into him, wrapping her arms around his body, his colossal limbs enveloping her without thought.

"You okay?"

"Yes Jennifer, I'm fine." James consented, attempting to pull away from the fierce grip she had about his neck,

"Did you see anybody else, did you see Katie?" Violently, she shook her head, her chocolate brown fro wavering. Stepping back, she tearfully looked up into his face,

"Nobody, I saw nobody. Me and the others just ran." Noticing his crestfallen features, she offered,

"They said that they are trying to get people to the elementary school, maybe she's there?"

"The elementary, which-"

"Jefferson, you know the one off Bake and-" Clutching her hands, he broke her sentence off, her suggestion giving him a cause for renewed determination,

"Yeah, I've got it, thanks Jenn!" He swiftly called to the others,

"Hey, we gotta go! Where's Jason?" Kendall and Mike shrugged until a sob wracked the air. Jason was bent over a body still secured to a stretcher, sobbing as he cupped Amy's face, parting the hair away from her neck. She was gone.

"You guys stay here," James ordered, pain for his friend's loss reminding him of how that could be him closing the eyelids of the pretty girl he loved,

"I'm going to go. Stay here." He started to back away but his direct order was dismissed as Kendall rashly objected,

"I'm coming with you!" Earth and the sea contrasted as the friend's studied the other's intentions wordlessly. James finally relented, the duo sprinting off once more.

"Be careful!" Jennifer called, worriedly watching them run to the end of the block only to wave their arms and convince a driver to give them a lift in his Toyota pickup. They piled into the back of the truck, slapping the metal hide to signal that they were ready to go. A cloud of dust chugged up under the wheel as they swerved out of the parking lot, sending a spray of rock shards and gravel flying in every direction.