Slaughterhouse High

If instinct hadn't made him wince and try to sidestep it, the icicle would have whisked past him. As it was, he flinched into its path, took it full in the right eye, and reared back like a catcher's mitt on the rebound.

Without a sound of protest, he fell backward. His trumpet dropped from his hands. A clatter of crumpled brass rang out where it fell. The dying bandleader twitched on the risers.

At his rope's end, the sheriff jinged this way and that, a naysaying puppet saying No! No! No! then oscillating into dead sways.

Amid the screams and shouts that surrounded them, Jonquil, helpless in Claude's capable arms, rang in with a triple orgasm, wave upon wave of fear and lust and anger informing it, full out.

15. Buttweiler in Charge

Futzy felt baffled, befuddled.

Never in the history of Corundum High had things gone awry at the prom. Sure, one or two inept slasher-teachers had been killed by their intended victims. But that was a turnabout to be expected every so often.

What confronted the principal tonight was sheer madness.

He spoke above the hubbub. For a time, his personal problems took a back seat to this new urgency. His head felt as if it might explode, but somehow his words gathered authority.

"Students," he said. "Students."

They ignored him, churning like thick taffy.

"Students." Calm, persistent.

At the corner of Futzy's eye, Jiminy Jones's body twitched. Brest and Trilby, standing with Bix by the refreshments, rushed into the hallway and were gone. Futzy had heard a rumor that their daughter was holed up in the school. More than likely, they had gone to check on her.

A nub of crowd started to drift that way. Futzy couldn't have that.

"Students."

They were quieting. The sheriff's sway at rope's end had settled slow and easy, like a tire swing.

"You all need to get a grip on yourselves. Get a grip. Calm down and get a grip."

He repeated the phrase, trying to seize on their chattering minds.

"Get a grip. That's it. You can do it. Stay here. Stay right here in the gym. It's the safest place to be. The killer could be anywhere out there. There's safety in numbers."

Use fear to halt the mass exodus before it begins.

"I want you to spread calm. Not panic. There's no need for panic. Hold one another. Assure one another. We're in control here."

Jesus, what a lie.

"Teachers and chaperones, please make your way to the bandstand. That's it. Steady as she goes. We're in control here. We'll figure out the best course of action and restore order, calm, peace, serenity. That's it. We're doing fine. Everything's under control."

Adora Phipps was standing close by.

Elwood Dunsmore sidled his way through the crowd on the right.

Jonquil Brindisi, clutching Claude Versailles' arm, wore a strange shiny-eyed smile as they approached.

"You folks are handling this just fine."

He raised one finger in a be-right-back gesture. Then he crouched at the edge of the riser.

The Borgstroms, the white-haired notched elders, had risen and were coming forward.

Nurse Gaskin hesitated, unsure whether faculty and chaperones meant her. Futzy motioned her over, blue dress, short dark hair, Kitty's age had she lived.

"Delia," he said to the nurse, "try to find Gerber so we can get the lights turned on full. Elwood, I want you and…" Brest Donner's husband Bix arrived on the left. "I want you and Bix to hack down the sheriff's body, if you will. Then toss a blanket or something over Jiminy Jones. Please."

"No problem, Futzy," said Elwood, his army brainwashing kicking in. Bix looked less certain. But he nodded and started to leave with the shop teacher.

"Oh, wait, Elwood." Almost let him get away. Chaos contrived sometimes to muddle the brain.

"Something else?"

"You don't have a key to the front padlock?"

"No, sir. Only the sheriff has that."

"Search him. I doubt you'll find it. How soon could you saw through the padlock? It's pretty thick."

Dunsmore grimaced. "Hell'd freeze over first. Maybe an acetylene torch. Get one from the shop, wheel it over, heat up the steel, lever a blast of oxygen at it, we ought to be through in two minutes. I'll need to have a look at the lock though. They've come up with a new tempered steel that resists just about everything."

"Try it anyway." Futzy dismissed him. "Jonquil, take over the mike. Talk about the vices in that winning way of yours. Harden them. Calm them. Make them ready for whatever might be coming down the pike."

"What about you?" Jonquil asked, a defiant little bitch as usual, forever implying inadequacies in him.

"I'll be back soon. I'm going to my office-"

"I'll go with you," Miss Phipps chimed in.

"-try the phone there, call for help if the line's up, get my gun in any case. Claude, check the pay phones. Rumor has it they're dead, but I want to be sure. Be super cautious out there and return straight to the gym when you're done, give Jonquil some backup at the mike."

"How about us?" Mr. Borgstrom radiated a soft savage bloodlust that was lovely to behold. "What can we do?"