The gymnasium smelled of sweat and blood of the dead assistant. Dozens of students and staff were still kneeling or lying face-down on the polished wooden floor. Thirty or so women in cleaner jackets stood like statues, rifles slung but fingers ready on triggers.
At the center of them all, the leader looking tall woman with cropped hair and a pale scar running across her cheek — frowned at the silent radio in her palm. Her thumb pressed the transmit button again and again. No answer. Nothing but static.
She hissed under her breath. "What's taking them so long…? Is something going on?"
A young gunwoman beside her whispered, "Leader… still no reply from the perimeter."
"I can hear that." The leader shoved the radio back into her pocket, straightened, and barked loud enough for everyone to hear, "Enough waiting. It's time."
Her hand slid behind her back. A pistol came out from the waistband of her trousers, black metal glinting under the gym's ceiling lights. The students gasped.
