The reporter continued. ‘These are humble people of modest income. Hard-working, simple people who, like the rest of us, are wondering, why did this happen here? When will these shootings stop? And, as authorities begin to bring out the wounded and the dead, we are left to question, who did this and why? How did Travis Hanks Elementary School fall in line with Columbine, Virginia Tech, Aurora, and Sandy Hook? What causes these human tornadoes, if you will, to visit these innocent communities, and disrupt and devastate them as we all watch in horror and disbelief? Gail, back to you.’
The camera lingered on the reporter, as the news anchor, Gail Summer, turned to her producer, and whispered, ‘Did you get that? The human tornado thing? That’s brilliant. I’m going to keep it going.’ The producer nodded enthusiastically.
‘Well, Dave, it’s clear that this tragedy is even tough for you to report, but I think you’ve made a significant analogy with your reference to human tornadoes. That’s very descriptive of exactly what these mass shootings are. They happen without warning, like a tornado, and literally tear apart the fabric of the community, not just figuratively, but physically and psychologically as well. No one can predict them or stop them, and they seem to be growing in number. And, speaking of numbers, we’re getting some additional numbers from the police spokesman right now…Can you and your crew catch that, Dave?’
The camera panned back as a police chief pushed through the crowd and took his place on a small dais. Coils of black electrical cables ran like snakes up to the makeshift podium to feed the dozens of cameras and microphones; to feed America’s insatiable interest in this obscene phenomenon.
The police chief was from a nearby municipality: Sebring, home of the 12-hour Grand Prix race. Frosthaven did not have its own law enforcement agency, but was covered by several surrounding city and county departments. The Calusa County Sheriff’s Office normally had jurisdiction, but the Sebring Police Chief was the first ranking officer on scene, so he was stuck with the command assignment. This included talking to the media; a job he did not like and for which he felt ill-equipped. He stood before the cluster of microphones, staring at them as if they were gun barrels pointed at him, sweat glistening on his pate.
‘I’m uh, Chief Dunham with the Sebring Police Department and…uh, want to assure everyone that, uh…the school grounds are now secure.’ He paused to brush sweat off his brow with his sleeve. ‘All of the children have been gathered at the Baptist Church, and their parents are collecting them now. Initial entry was made by some of Sebring’s PD and Calusa County Sheriff deputies at approximately 8:42 this morning, following an emergency alert made by a staff member at the school. I…we…have assessed the deceased and wounded, and the injured parties have been transported to nearby hospitals. There are, at this time…,’ he paused again to refer to his notes, ‘ten school employees that were killed, the names of whom we cannot release at this time, pending notification of their families. I also want to say, though one child is being treated for a minor wound, by some miracle, it appears none of the children were killed. Now, that is all the information I have at this time…’
Dave Gruber jumped in. ‘Chief Dunham, can you tell us if it’s true that one of the teachers had a gun and shot the intruders?’
Chief Dunham looked as if he was punched in the stomach. Wearily, he leaned back toward the bank of microphones. ‘I…I’d rather not…’ he began, but as he glanced around the crowd, many of whom were parents who had just picked up their children, he felt he had to say something. ‘It does appear that, possibly, one of the teachers was able to obtain a gun and was able to shoot the, uh…shooters.’
Questions were hurled like Frisbees at the Chief from the myriad of reporters who were still showing up by the dozens. They were in vans with giant telescoping antennae being manoeuvred and raised. There was a helicopter flying overhead. Chief Dunham felt dizzy.
‘Are you saying there was more than one shooter, Chief Dunham?’
‘It … appears, at this point, that, uh, there were two shooters.’
‘Can you tell us who they were?’ asked another reporter.
‘I’m sorry,’ said the Chief, ‘but this is still an ongoing investigation. The last thing I can tell you is that I will be working with local and state law enforcement agencies, and we will let the news media know more as soon as we know more. Now, I have to go.’
Gruber threw in one last long-shot question. ‘Can you confirm that one of the shooters survived?’
Chief Dunham looked back at the reporter, frowning. ‘No comment,’ he said, as he pulled himself away from the crowd and pushed his way back through to the command post, his cell phone ringing audibly.
Gruber whirled back to the camera dramatically. ‘There it is, Gail. Police Chief Dunham, from the Sebring Police Department, issuing a statement where, at this point at least, it appears there were two gunmen, one of whom may still be alive. And, more importantly, his statement confirms stories of some heroes arising out of this … maelstrom, if you will, particularly, this unknown teacher who, evidently, was able to wrestle a gun away from one of the shooters and stop them before they killed more today. Gail, back to you … ’
Gail Summer’s eyes were large and moist, pupils dilated, excited. This was a story that was just going to keep giving.
‘Well, okay, thank you,’ she said as the camera focused back to her. ‘Thanks to Dave Gruber, our reporter with local affiliate, KBFT, Channel 7, out of Orlando, who was first on the scene with coverage for us. We will keep you posted on this … tragedy, yet another school shooting in a tight-knit community located right in the middle of Florida, really, in what some people might call idyllic, small-town America, typical of where so many of these types of incidents are occurring. Once again, we must ask ourselves, why is this happening and where will the next human tornado vent its fury? We have to take a break right now, but stay tuned as our coverage of this tragedy continues.’
Governor Scott Croll watched the broadcast in his office as his private plane was being readied for his departure. He would be on the ground and at the school in less than an hour. Next to him was Commissioner Jim Bullock, the chief of the Florida Department of Law Enforcement – the FDLE – and one of his top investigators, Special Agent Justin Thiery.
Thiery was a broad-shouldered former quarterback for the University of Florida’s Gators, who maintained his upside-down triangle figure with a steady regimen of weights, running, and sparring. He’d originally been with the Capitol Police, the governor’s own dedicated police force, but as budgets shrank over the years – streamlined, as politicos called it – the CPs were ‘absorbed’ by the FDLE in the 1990s. Thiery was not happy about being absorbed, but what’s a guy going to do when he’s halfway to a pension? He stayed put, and kept his mouth shut, and did his job. He did it well.
Croll strode over to Thiery and, though the crown of his head barely reached the level of Thiery’s coat pocket, he stuck out his hand and shook Thiery’s with robust enthusiasm, his persuasive grip conveying a veiled challenge that belied his diminutive size.
‘Good to see you again, Agent Thiery. How’s the family?’ His wide-eyed gaze was engaging, yet unsettling.
Thiery had no idea what Croll was talking about. His wife had left him long ago and his two sons were grown and gone. ‘Everyone’s fine,’ he replied. ‘Thank you. And yours?’
Croll cocked his head. ‘Where does that accent come from, Agent Thiery? South Georgia?’
‘Close enough. I’m a Gainesville native, sir.’
‘Ah. Don’t meet many of those.’ Croll nodded and pursed his lips as if trying to recall something.