7
Marcus sprinted to the nearest stairwell.
He bounded up the steps two at a time, reached the second floor, then paused before entering the hallway. He was second-guessing himself now. Was he absolutely certain there were only two shooters? What if there were more?
Marcus stuck the barrel of his weapon into the hallway, then pulled it back, wondering if he might draw fire. Nothing happened. He chanced a quick peek around the corner. The hallway looked clear. Hearing heavy fire continuing from the bell tower, he knew he couldn’t wait any longer. He took one final brief look but again found the hallway was clear in both directions.
Taking a deep breath, Marcus pivoted around the corner with the AR-15 out in front of him. He moved quickly though quietly down the hallway to the stairwell at the opposite end. As he went, he looked through the windows into each Sunday school classroom. He could not see a single child or teacher. What’s more, the lights in every classroom were off.
These were good signs. Marcus had attended this congregation for years. He’d helped Carter and the elders develop security protocols, and he’d personally taught each teacher what to do if there was ever an active shooter in the building. He knew, therefore, that the children and teachers were all sitting on the floor, huddled along the walls of their classrooms closest to the hallway, heads down, and thus out of immediate sight of anyone in the hallway who might be glancing in the windows. He knew, too, that all the classroom doors would be locked, and when he checked them one by one, sure enough they were. The teachers had followed his protocols to the letter.
Marcus wanted to assure them that everything was going to be okay. They knew his voice and would be grateful to hear it. But as he still didn’t know for sure how many shooters he was up against, he couldn’t afford to give away the element of surprise. For now, he had to remain silent. The teachers and kids would have to stay hunkered down a little while longer.
When he reached the stairwell on the north end of the building, Marcus worked his way up to the third floor. The shooting continued in short bursts from the bell tower, but each of the church’s offices still had to be cleared one by one.
Marcus glanced into the hallway. Finding no one waiting for him, he took a moment and texted an update to Kailea. Then he crept into the hallway and into Carter Emerson’s office, AR-15 at the ready. The phones were ringing off the hook, but Carter’s private study and his secretary’s area were empty. Marcus moved into the adjacent conference room. It, too, was empty. From there, he cleared the church administrator’s office, the copy room, the supply room, the office of the Sunday school superintendent, and the “bull pen” where a half-dozen interns from various Baptist seminaries typically worked in cubicles. Fortunately, these were also empty. There was no third shooter. Everyone who was supposed to be in the building was in the sanctuary or locked away in the Sunday school rooms. Marcus could now turn his full attention to the one shooter that remained.
He carefully approached the doorway that opened to stairs leading to the bell tower. With every step closer, the sound of the gunfire grew louder. He reached out for the doorknob but found the door had been locked from the inside. He took the butt of his rifle and smashed it against the knob. It snapped off instantly, yet the door didn’t open.
Marcus needed a new plan, and it came to him quickly. He had spent most of the summer as a volunteer, fixing leaks in the 137-year-old church’s roof, stripping off old roofing tiles and installing new ones. That experience now came in handy. Removing his jacket and tossing it aside, he slung the rifle over his back and secured it with the shoulder strap. Then he stepped into the office of the Sunday school superintendent, where there were three large windows. The one on the far left was fitted with an air-conditioning unit. The other two were not only locked but painted shut. Marcus found a large metal stapler on the superintendent’s desk and used it to punch out one of the windows and scrape away the remaining shards of glass in the large frame.
Tossing the stapler back onto the desk, Marcus climbed out onto the ledge. The November air was chilly, especially with strong breezes coming off the river. He quickly scaled the side of the building until he reached the roof, but there was no clear shot. The bell tower was a good fifteen feet higher than the roof on the main building. So Marcus ran to the center of the roof and scrambled over the large dome that covered the sanctuary, stopping only when he reached the base of the tower.
Three helicopters circled overhead. Marcus could see that one was from the D.C. Metro Police. The other two were from local TV stations. All of them were taking care to remain out of range of the shooter. Marcus sent another text update to Kailea. He told her to call 911 and make sure the cops were fully apprised of what he was doing. He didn’t want the police mistaking him for an assailant and taking a shot at him.
A minute later, Kailea wrote back.