A Risky Night

Brenna Bronze checked her phone, and found out she had been studying past midnight. Her roommate, Brandon Parks, was fast asleep in his bed. Brenna wondered if Brandon even knew there was an exam next week, but she liked how peaceful and silent Brandon was when he was in his bed, so she thought not to remind him. Her eyes were leaden with sleep, her mind however was burning with determination. Brenna kicked back her legs on her chair, stretched her battered limbs, then decided to take a well-deserved nap. Sleepiness circled through her system, which forcefully closed her eyes. The ticking of the clock drummed at her half-asleep ears…

Suddenly, Brenna woke, her heart beating fast, and her ears sharpening. Brandon sat up, ran to the door, then flattened his face upon it. "Did you hear it?" he asked, still focused on the sounds behind the door. "Yeah," Brenna replied, her voice ebbing. "Are those what I think they're," she said, worries resounding from every word. "Yes," Brandon answered, "gunshots."

After hearing the end of the sentence, Brenna's nerves tightened; her face turned pale. "What…are we going to do?" she stammered. "I think it's a terrorist attack," Brandon whispered, listening intently. Continuous gunshots even pushed Brandon to back away from the door.

Brenna was close to tears. Brandon was pacing back and forth across the room. Brenna decided to protect herself in her blanket when she heard muffled screams from outside. A thought hit both of them - they should obviously call someone. With their hopes up, they checked their phones. But, there was no signal nor an internet connection. Brenna wrapped her blanket around her once more, and Brandon went back to brainstorming some ideas. Brandon pulled on his coat. He packed the essentials - 3 bottles of water, his selfie stick, an energy bar, his phone.

Brenna saw him reaching for the door, so she freaked out. She begged him to stay with her, and not act so rashly. "I need to find out!" he yelled indignantly. Brenna had no choice - she had to stick with him no matter how badly they got along. She thought it would be safer if she had company. Shakily, Brenna grabbed her cumbersome backpack. She sought refuge near Brandon's back. Then, they waited until it felt right to get out.

Brandon led the way through the disconcerting darkness of the hall. They sighed as they took notice of the gunpowder-tinted air. Brenna kept pulling Brandon's arm when she heard a distant scream or a gunshot. Just as they were about to reach the end of the dormitories, they heard loud footsteps approaching them. Brandon stuffed Brenna into the fortunately near bathroom, then slipped in himself. Brenna stood in one of the stalls, her hands covering her mouth. Brandon was in the next stall, waiting to pounce. They heard the door swing open, and heard someone step in. When the footsteps stopped in front of Brenna's stall, Brandon quickly jumped on him. Hearing the struggle outside, Brenna was too scared to move her limbs. Her ramshackle mind was trying to decide. Could she risk her own life just to help him? Without a moment to lose, Brenna flung the door open, then unknowingly jumped in on the fierce battle. Breakneck punches were thrown, necks were held against the sink, and finally, heads were bashed into doors. They both won the battle.

The dead man who did not look at all like a terrorist lay on the floor, his head placed ungainly in a puddle of blood. "Search him," Brandon ordered, his face in too much pain to give the correct expression. "I'll give you this if I get to treat it," Brenna said, shoving the rusty pistol in Brandon's hands. Brenna was trying to rip off a part of her pyjamas while Brandon was posing himself with the gun. Brenna soaked her scrap cloth from the sink water, then ensconced Brandon on the floor. "Does that feel better?" she asked, softly tapping the large cut on Brandon's forehead with the cloth. "Yeah," Brandon answered, his voice simpering. "I thought you didn't have the guts to fight," he said, staring at Brenna affectionately. "I do," Brenna smiled for a split second, pulling her dusty, bushy, black hair into a ponytail. "We should get going," she said, her face losing its shine again.

Brandon went first, followed closely by Brenna. They only had the tiny circles of their torchlight ahead to guide them. "This doesn't make sense," Brandon claimed as he took steps to what seemed like the cafeteria. "There should be at least a few people.." before Brandon could continue his sentence, he saw it - cold bodies lay speckled on the floor with horrible expressions on them. Brenna quickly buried her face in Brandon's coat, softly wetting the sleeve. He made Brenna promise to hold on tight, and keep quiet. He gripped her hands while keeping his ears sharp. If they heard something, they would run as far as they could. He knew Brenna would be extra scared with the bodies and all, so he tightened his grip on her once more.

"Run!" Brandon whispered as he beckoned her to follow along. The bullets blazed through the air around them. They struggled to run over the corpses. Footsteps were loud, but the endless gunshots were even louder. Luckily, they managed to escape into a classroom before their captors. They were relieved at first, but soon, the truth slowly seeped in - they were trapped. Brenna examined the room to find out that it had a corpse of a senior in it. She was too stunned by the scene to worry about herself. The door kept banging. Brandon moved some desks in front of the still rumbling door in hopes of blocking them out. Brenna's dark, dull eyes rolled around the room to Brandon, whose cut was as prominent as ever.

"What happens next?" Brenna asked. "Guess this is it," Brandon replied, still staring at the sturdy door opposite the moonlit window. Suddenly, Brenna got up, then headed near the barred window. She tried to break the glass with their small fists, but it wouldn't budge. "Help me with this," Brenna turned to Brandon desperately. To her surprise, he got up. "Like this…?" Brandon whispered, hitting the glass till a seemingly large hole appeared. His knuckles were smeared with blood. Brenna took her phone out, then held it outside. She was looking for a signal. A hopeful bar of signal flickered on and off in the corner of her phone. Her eyebrows furrowed with determination as she started calling the police.

The call was in. "Hello?Hello?Our school is under attack!" Brenna talked into the phone repeatedly. "Sorry, we are terribly busy right now; please call another time," a robotic voice echoed from the phone. They both looked at each other quizzically. What the hell? They phoned again and again, but they only received the same response each time. Brandon, his brown wavy bangs decorated with strings of dust and blood, turned to Brenna who was still sulking. Lost for words, both of them were ready to give up.

Suddenly, the door blew to pieces. They ducked down as bullets were fired at the window. There were more than one person at the door. "Look, you are going to go out that busted window while I cover for ya," Brandon ordered, his eyes gleaming again. "This is not up for question," he continued. Brenna, shaking, did as she had been told. In the short interval between gunshots, Brenna made a bid for freedom. She forced herself through the cracked glass, out the window, and instantly grabbed onto the pipelines attached to the wall. Brandon however was late. He decided to shoot at whoever they were with his rusty pistol. Though the pistol was old, it did its job marvellously. As Brandon was about to go through the window, he felt something hot pierce his left calf. But, he managed to grab onto the outside pipelines.

Brandon's part of trousers close to his left calf was now oozing with blood, he was hung precariously. Brenna realised he was shot, and immediately started worrying about him. "Brandon!!" Brenna yelled, as she saw his grip loosening. The corner of her eyes swelled into glistening bulges of tears. She handed out her left hand to him, but he refused. "Grab it!" she yelled loudly. They were stunned when they saw someone coming out of the window. That someone was firing shots carelessly. Brandon's right grip tightened, his left hand was now on his pistol. Before Brandon could do anything, a bullet ricocheted off his pistol, then flung it into the air. Brenna reached for it midair. She felt the pistol in her hands, then shot at the window. It was a hit! She thought she was going to fall, but Brandon grabbed her just in time. The hooded person at the window accelerated downwards, then hit the ground with a silent thud.

Brandon helped Brenna regain her original position beside him. "Thanks," Brandon said, his roguish smile reappearing, and his eyes beaming with his plentiful zeal again. They were at the very least, not dead yet. They moved slowly towards the towering mango tree which was intertwined with some parts of the school building. They climbed down, basking in the bliss of freedom.

When they finally made it down safely, they were certain it was over. But, they couldn't have been more wrong. "How…" Brenna said, staring at the smoking buildings up ahead, and the people rampaging in the streets. Catastrophic explosions went off intermittently. Brandon slumped under the tree, upset but not broken. His dishevelled, oak-coloured hair stood out in the moonlight.

It was the beginning of a worldwide apocalypse, not a terrorist attack.

"We wanna get going," Brenna claimed, her hand outstretched towards Brandon. "Yeah," Brandon replied, "and you better fix up my wound, Brenna!"