The Teacher’s mouth broadened into a humourless grin, as his finger tightened around the trigger. A moment later, there was a series of deafening bangs and a broadside of bullets hammered into the door leading to the toilets.
With a quizzical look, he listened for the tell-tale sound of a body slumping to the ground, but all he heard was the sound of a siren in the distance. Again, he took aim and squeezed off a couple more rounds close to the right side of the doorframe, sending splinters out in all directions. He sighted the other side of the frame in his Glock and squeezed the trigger. This time there was no recoil, just the clicking of the pistol’s firing pin striking an empty chamber. The Teacher’s nostrils flared as pure hatred flooded his face. Securing the gun in the waistband of his trousers, he slammed his boot into the door, sending it hammering against the wall. A moment later, the Teacher’s imposing body filled the doorway, his eyes scanning for Blake.
Clenching his teeth, Blake dived out of the corner and launched himself at his attacker. He was too slow. The Teacher swerved his body and delivered an eye-popping blow to Blake’s kidneys. Blake’s knees gave out as the pain burst downwards into his legs. He fell to the ground, his lungs grabbing air in rasping gulps.
The Teacher took hold of Blake’s ears and yanked him to his feet. Through a fog of pain, Blake tried to focus. His assailant’s fingers were vice-like around his head, their thumbs sinking into his blinking eyes. Terror engulfed him. Summoning all his power, Blake wrenched his head backwards and thrust the shard of glass he had prised from the cracked mirror into the base of the Teacher’s neck.
Seemingly unaffected by the several inches of jagged glass extending from just above his collar bone, the Teacher delivered a blistering blow across Blake’s jaw. Losing his footing, Blake toppled backwards, his head striking the side of the hand basin with a clanging whack.
The Teacher towered over Blake’s unconscious body like a gladiator readying himself for the kill. He paused, a hint of confusion passing over his eyes. Small concentric droplets of blood were patting on the ground by his feet. Moments later they were hitting the ground like rain. Slowly, he tilted his head towards the thin jet of blood coming from his shoulder. His face filled with horror at the sight. He staggered for a moment, trying to remove the shard of mirror from the base of his neck. Moments later, the jet geysered into a fountain of arterial blood and he crashed to the floor like a toppled oak.