one cop pointed his gun Malort’s direction and screamed for him to get fucking down or get fucking shot. He didn’t normally like complying with cops, but sometimes you have to pick your battles. He tossed the shotgun into the Buick and then got low, thinking that if he were about to die, he was going to go out how he’d lived: with absolutely no idea what the hell was going on.

[…] Malort watched with anticipation, wondering if the kid would manage to take out either of the police before they ventilated his entire torso. At a moment when Malort was certain both cops had started pulling their fingers into their triggers, the girl in the Circle K shirt ran over to the kid, ripping the gun away and clawing him in the face. Then the cops started yelling at both of them, the school shooter now screaming and crying in protest. It was, without question, the funniest fucking thing Malort had ever seen.

[…] Just then, Malort turned his head, and there was the goddamned white Lincoln Navigator, rolling past at a leisurely pace, the girl visible in the passenger seat, some nerdy guy at the wheel. They rounded the corner toward the interstate and were gone. Malort cursed to himself, and also cursed loudly, to everyone in the vicinity.