At some point, someone turned out the lights and shushed everyone to a murmured panic. Mr. Howard was dialing the police as he locked the classroom door and motioned for everyone to crouch low.

Blaine is still in his chair, gripping onto his book as if it was his life.

“Blaine,” Finn is whispering, grabbing his collar and pulling him from his chair. “What are we going to do?”

Finn’s eyes look scared and Blaine wonders if he is thinking about Rachel. Their gaze is interrupted as a student attempts to throw a chair through the window to no avail.

Mr. Howard is making dramatic motions to calm down regardless of his opposite demeanor.

“The cops are coming,” Mr. Howard says taking a deep breath. “I’m going out into the hall to see if we can run for the exit.”

And with that, he’s slipping through the door and into the hallway. The room goes silent, every student holding their breath and waiting. Blaine’s mind keeps sharpening on the thought of Kurt. Was he too okay, sitting at his desk with the unquenchable desire to run through the halls bellowing out his name in desperation? Or was he slumped somewhere against his chair leg with a gunshot wound, bleeding out alone and cold. Blaine flinches at the thought. He imagines the look Kurt gave him this morning when he tried to touch his hair.

Blaine stands abruptly startling several students with his sudden movement. He has to find Kurt. He doesn't care if he’s shot in the process, his just has to. That face, what he said…. that can’t be their last moment. Blaine refuses to sit here and wait until some masked gunman ends his life.

Finn is now standing next to Blaine. They make eye contact and at once Finn understands. He nods his head and with that Blaine and Finn are making for the door. Where several students gasp their disapproval, no one moves to stop them.

Blaine peaks his head out the door and around the corner. The fluorescents are eerie what with the air of abandonment in the hallway. Blaine wonders if other rooms have evacuated. Blaine and Finn clear the threshold and slowly walk down the hallway, making to glance around corners and peak through classroom doors. It seems most classes towards the south end have made their way to the door.

“Kurt and Rachel were in history,” Finn is whispering. “Second floor.”

Mr. Howard would have liberated their classroom by now. It seems the first floor is secure and that the shots had come from upstairs. Blaine’s heart sinks lower into his chest as this thought sinks in.

“They’re okay,” Finn is saying as they round a corner and gaze up at the staircase before them.  Outside, sirens are getting louder as police and SWAT surround the campus. The thought of exiting and letting the cops take care of the matter never crosses their mind as they each draw in a long breath and start ascending the staircase.  As they climb, signs and sound of panic escalate. Papers are scattered across the floor and several students are brushing shoulders with Blaine and Finn as they fly down the stairs.

Once they reach the top, hysteria is in full flight.  Doors are thrust open, people are running down the hall with tears streaking their face; some with blood on their shirts. People are gripping at each other, fighting to make it down the staircase. Blaine’s eyes widen as he sees the crimson and starts to panic himself. He’s now running against the flow, searching through faces to find Kurt’s.  It's useless, amongst the chaos, and Blaine founds himself shrieking Kurt’s name over the shouts of panic.

“KURT!” Blaine is yelling, pushing people aside as he moves his way up the hall on the way to Kurt’s history room. Blaine is slipping on blood beneath him; it’s apparent someone shot has been dragging themselves away. Blaine momentarily looks around for whoever might be hurt but can make out nothing. He pushes on, freezing right outside of Kurt’s classroom. The door is closed, shades pulled tight. Blaine is aware he’s lost Finn in the confusion, but he couldn’t wait any longer.

Accepting there is no way to mentally prepare himself for whatever is in the class room, Blaine pushes open the door and yells out a scared “Kurt!”

The first thing Blaine is aware of is the blood on the floor. It seems to be everywhere: handprints on the desk, footsteps from retreating students, pools of it around the discarded book sacks. Blaine’s knees go weak and he’s kneeling before it trying hard not to vomit. Was this Kurt? Did he get Kurt?

Blaine feels himself sobbing uncontrollably. He has no idea as to whom this blood belonged, but in the middle of the room he can just make out Kurt’s book sack, now vermillion and soaked through and through.

There’s movement from across the room that sends Blaine to his feet.

“Kurt?” Blaine asks, pushing his way through the toppled chairs to the other side of the room.

Yet as Blaine approaches, a  masked figure stands from his crouched position, rifle in hand.