For the first second, I couldn’t understand what I was seeing.
Then I recognized the place.
The old maintenance corridor beneath the school gym.
Claire’s school had been built in phases over almost seventy years. Behind the newer athletic wing were old service rooms, utility closets, and a loading area students weren’t supposed to enter.
The camera jerked.
Someone was coughing.
Kids were screaming.
Then Claire appeared.
My Claire.
She was kneeling on the floor beside a boy.
Rocky.
He wasn’t conscious.
Another girl was vomiting beside the wall.
The timestamp was six weeks earlier.
My knees went weak.
“What is this?”
Rocky didn’t answer.
The video continued.
A voice behind the camera shouted:
“We need to get out!”
Claire yelled back:
“Don’t go through that door!”
There was smoke.
Not thick black fire smoke.
Something faint.
A grayish haze near the ceiling.
Claire pulled her sweater over her mouth.
Then crawled toward Rocky.
The video cut.
Another clip started.
Claire was dragging him by the shoulders.
Two other students helped.
I recognized Hannah.
Then Marcus.
Then another boy.
They were all coughing.
Someone screamed:
“My chest hurts!”
Claire pointed toward an emergency exit at the far end of the corridor.
“Outside! Go!”
She went back.
The video stopped again.
My hands started shaking.
“How many people were down there?”
“Eleven.”
I looked at Rocky.
“What happened?”
He wiped his face.
“We went down there during lunch.”
“Why?”
