Chapter 1

The boy huddled behind the big gray dumpster in back of Cactus Point High School. He sat on the asphalt with his back against the cool metal and knees raised. In a few months, the scorching summer heat in the tiny Arizona town not far from the Mexican border would bake the black asphalt, making it too hot to sit on, and so soft the heavy garbage truck would imprint wavy tire tracks in its surface.

But the beautiful spring morning had a slight desert chill in the air, so the boy wore a long-sleeved sweatshirt. It was black with the Cactus Point High School logo on the front. A circle of blue with a green saguaro inside it, with two arms, one on each side, both curved upward reaching for the sky. According to the school yearbook, it signified the sky’s the limit for its students. The students, who felt their futures were limited, joked that it was a gesture for giving up. A white cowboy hat was perched on top of the saguaro, tilted on a slight angle. The yearbook claimed it honored the brave men who had founded their little town. The large Hispanic population viewed it differently.

The boy flipped the oversized sweatshirt hood over his head and, with the tip of his middle finger, shoved the mirrored sunglasses up the bridge of his nose. The dumpsters had been emptied the night before and classes had just begun so he was sure no one would disturb him. His heart pounded in his chest anyway. And his palms sweated inside the black, skin-tight leather gloves.

He lifted the bottom of the sweatshirt, snatched the semi-automatic pistol from the waistband of his jeans, and ejected the high-capacity magazine. It was full, as it had been the two previous times he had checked it. After snapping the magazine back into the handle and flipping off the safety, the boy pointed the muzzle toward the sky and racked the slide. The metallic shlick-shlick sound loading the round into the chamber was like a crack of thunder in his ears.

His breath caught and his body tensed. He clutched the pistol to his chest, one hand on the handle with a finger on the trigger, the other hand pressing the weapon to his body. Someone with more experience would have realized the gun’s muzzle pointed at the underside of his chin. A twitch of his trembling finger would blow his head off. But his thoughts were on someone catching him as his eyes darted behind the sunglasses and his ears strained to hear for a sound.

The air came out of his lungs in a long whoosh.

The boy pulled up the scarf that was tied around his neck, up over his chin and lips, all the way to the bridge of his nose. He tucked it under the bottom of the sunglasses. The black nylon was sucked into his open mouth with each deep breath and then ballooned out.

It was time.

He jumped to his feet and yanked up his jeans. The high-capacity magazines were heavy. One in each front pocket. He only needed the three. It would be done quickly. Everything needed to be done quickly. Not wanting to wrestle the magazines out of his tight pockets at the crucial time, he moved them to the waistband of his jeans and tucked the bottom of his sweatshirt behind them for easy access.

He was ready.

The boy knew every entrance and exit in the small school. The one that led to the dumpsters wasn’t used by students or faculty. It didn’t lead anywhere they would go. Not to the parking lot in the front or the ballfield off to the side. There wasn’t even a classroom close to it. Only the custodial rooms at the rear of the school. The first classroom he would come upon was Miss Johnson’s. He had always thought she was pretty. Hot, actually. In her early twenties, she wasn’t that much older than him. He had masturbated thinking about her many times. She never liked him, though. Said he was lazy and disruptive.

He entered the rear door and hugged the wall while slinking past the rooms containing mops and brooms. At the end of the hall, where it intersected the main hallway, he peeked around the corner. All quiet. Not a soul. With gun ready, muzzle pointing up, finger on the trigger, he tiptoed to the first classroom. Miss Johnson’s sweet voice came through the closed door. Something about an upcoming exam.

The boy shoved the door open. It ricocheted off the wall with a crack and slammed into his shoulder as he sprang into the small classroom.

Miss Johnson, caught in the middle of a word, turned his way. Her blonde hair whipped the side of her face, finding the inside of her gaping mouth. He pulled the trigger. Bang! A flash of light flew out of the muzzle. Miss Johnson’s eyes widened. The bullet plowed into her chest. Into her heart.

Children screamed. Some jumped from their chairs. Stood like statues. Unable to move. Others dropped to the floor. Curled up in balls. Hands clasped behind their heads. Desks scraped the linoleum as they were shoved out of the way. Chairs toppled over.

In the midst of the frantic turmoil, one girl in the back row sprang up from nowhere and shrieked. Maria Lopez’s hands covered her open mouth. Her eyes bulged. The boy spun away from the teacher lying in a pool of blood, her lifeless green eyes staring up at him, and focused on the girl in the back that caught his attention. He fired. Bang! Bang! Bang! The sounds filled the room. Echoed off the four walls. Two bullets entered Maria Lopez’s chest. One her throat. She grabbed her neck and made a gurgling noise as her legs folded under her. She crumbled to the floor.

He whipped the pistol around at a boy cowering under his desk in the front row. Steve Smith always sat in the front. He was the teacher’s pet in every class. The boy put two bullets into Steve’s body.

Big-titted Juanita Salvo sat frozen at the next desk. The fingernails of her right hand drew blood as they sank into her left forearm. Her tight sweater-top flaunted big, round breasts that a Playboy centerfold would envy. The boy had once grabbed her tit. When she had slapped his face, everyone laughed. He fired two quick shots, one in each breast. No one’s laughing now, he thought. Juanita’s hands flew to her breasts as she fell forward. With all the screaming, no one heard the bone in her nose crack hitting the desktop. Her arms dropped and hung limply at her sides.