Julie vs. the Terrorists



"Is it me or is this day dragging ass?" Julie asked.

"Oh I know, right? When is this shit gonna fucking end?" Erika agreed.

Two periods remained before they earned their afternoon reprieve, and Julie couldn't wait for the bus ride home. She had received a curbside basketball goal for her seventeenth birthday the previous weekend, and had spent hours on end wearing out the net. In her head she was already there, dribbling up and down the street outside her house, draining jumpers, raining down threes, and sinking free throws. In reality, sixth period Chemistry had just gotten underway, and Mrs. Phelps was lecturing them about protons and electrons or some tedious bullshit which Julie could not be less concerned with.

"You wanna come over and shoot some hoops today?"

Erika frowned. "Dude, I wish, freaking Garcia loaded us up with a freaking shit ton of homework."

"Sure, sure, you just don't want me to school you, bitch."

Erika opened her mouth, feigning shock, and replied with the hint of a smile, "What-ever, bitch."

Julie giggled. "It's okay. You don't have to be ashamed. Nobody likes getting their ass handed to them."

"Puh-lease, girl. You don't even want none."

"Yeah, okay, so is that a yes?"

"I really can't."

"Just come over for an hour or two and do your fucking homework later."

"Julie, you don't understand, this shit is gonna take all damn night."

"Ladies!" Mrs. Phelps shouted at them. "Do you have something to share with the rest of the class?"

Julie's cheeks flushed red, and Erika replied, "No. Sorry about that, Mrs. Phelps."

"No more interruptions, please." Before she could resume her lecture, however, she suffered one final interruption. Three men clad in military style fatigues stormed into the classroom unannounced, their faces hidden behind ski masks. One stood well over six feet tall with broad shoulders and a husky build and an AK-47 cradled in his arms, one was unremarkable except for his tan ski mask, which contrasted with the black masks of his fellow intruders, and the submachine gun held at hip level and the pistol strapped to his back, and the third was a bit on the portly side and carried a tripod and a movie camera. The big guy and Tan Ski Mask Guy promptly opened fire on the Chemistry teacher, riddling her with bullets.

Things seemed to slow down for Julie at that point. She heard the distinct cries of each of her classmates as they screamed in horror, the screeching of chairs as they were hastily emptied, the clatter of shells falling on the marble floor tiles. She could hear the rattle of gun fire outside, in the hallways or other classrooms throughout the school. She heard Erika gasp, "oh shit," as she clamped her hand around Julie's arm like a vice, and she smelled the bitter odor of urine as someone pissed his or herself.

When the shooting stopped, Mrs. Phelps stumbled back against the dry erase board and toppled over backwards. Amazingly, despite being shot dozens of times, she still managed to lift her head and babble something incoherent to the class before lying back down and dying. A few more sporadic gunshots rang out from various locations in the school, and then all that could be heard was the whimpering of Julie's Chemistry class.

In the relative silence the big guy stepped forward to address them. "Everybody return to your seats and keep quiet. If your government cooperates, this will all be over soon." Julie hadn't even bothered to vacate her seat, as she had seen little point in cowering in a corner that offered no escape or protection. Erika had risen to her feet, but she had remained at Julie's side, her hand latched firmly around Julie's right forearm. When she loosened her grip a red ring remained, marking the flesh she had squeezed.

Julie sat calmly as her peers returned shakily to their chairs, and Erika eased back into hers. "Julie, what the fuck?" Erika whispered, but Julie quickly shushed her. Their captors had instructed them to remain quiet, and so she would. She had no desire to end up like Mrs. Phelps.

"Julie!" Erika said again, and this time it wasn't Julie who shushed her, but rather their unwelcome guests. Erika heeded their warning. Aside from a few sniffles and sobs from her classmates, an uncomfortable silence filled the room, palpable enough to choke on.

After nearly half an hour of quiet time, another masked stranger entered the room and said something to the other gunmen in a language Julie didn't recognize. They acknowledged him with gruff noises and nearly imperceptible nods, and he disappeared back into the hallway. The tallest of the three then approached Erika's desk and pulled her to her feet. The girl squawked and struggled but she was easily handled by the well built henchman, and he tossed her against the wall and drilled her in the her chest with several rounds from his AK while the portly man filmed it.

This was enough to elicit a startled cry from Julie, and there were several screams from the rest of the class. It got Julie thinking that obedience and patience might not pan out, and perhaps it was time to take action. Her gaze met Erika's, and looking into the eyes of her dying friend she saw the terrible hopelessness of death. It was not an experience Julie wanted to share.

While the three men's attention was focused on the fatally wounded teenager, Julie slipped out of her chair like liquid lightning and swiped the big guy's pistol from his back holster. Before he could completely turn around she had put a bullet in his brain, and he dropped like a sack of potatoes. She turned the gun on the guy in the tan ski mask and fired just as he squeezed the trigger on his SMG, and while her shot struck her target in the face, his rounds went wide, two of them barely managing to clip Julie in her left shoulder and upper bicep. She twisted with the impact but quickly recovered, then took aim at the camera man.

The portly man who had appeared to be unarmed found a small revolver in the pocket of his trousers and was in the process of raising it when Julie plugged him in the chest. He went down, but as he fell he returned fire, putting a hole in Julie's right thigh. Julie cried out and rattled off four more shots into the fallen camera man, neutralizing the threat.

"Holy shit," she grunted, then bent over at the waist and vomited on her shoes.

"You got shot," Barry told her. Barry was a shy kid who always sat close to Julie when they had class together, so he could ogle her.

Julie looked at him, then looked at her shoulder and her leg and nodded. She wore faded and bleached blue jeans, which provided a stark contrast for the scarlet blood trickling down her thigh, and a sleeveless white cotton half shirt, leaving her softly sloping square shoulders, smoothly rounded arms, and soft, flat tummy bare, so the wounds were clearly visible. "Yeah, three times."

"Doesn't it hurt?" Barry asked.

"Fuck yeah, it fucking hurts. So who wants to get the fuck out of here?" When nobody made a move to join her, Julie stared at them all in bewilderment. "Seriously? Nobody wants to escape?"

"There's more of them out there, Julie," Gracie told her.

"Yeah, and if you stay here they're gonna find you."

"If we go out there they can find us, too, and they'll kill us."

"You think staying in your seats will protect you? Look at Erika, for fuck's sake." Erika was still breathing, although she was fading fast. Her mortal wounds were not enough to garner Julie any followers, however. "Whatever, I'm not waiting around for these fuckers to kill me." Julie cast a scornful glance around the classroom, then hobbled out into the hallway.

The halls appeared to be deserted, which was a stroke of luck for Julie. Leaning against the wall for support, she was able to limp along while keeping most of her weight off her right leg. Eighty yards separated Mrs. Phelps' classroom from the front doors of the school, and Julie had just passed the halfway point when a gunshot boomed behind her. She felt the slug punch into her left buttock and rip out the front of her left hip, and she sunk to her knees. Another round quickly followed the first, this time striking her in the lower back, an inch to the left of her spine, and exiting to the left of her navel. An alarming amount of blood sprayed the wall and the tiled floor ahead of her, but Julie just bit her lip and twisted around to shoot back.

Her attacker was only about twenty feet behind her, and the first time she squeezed the trigger she drilled him square in the chest. Unfortunately the Beretta she wielded lacked stopping power, and she suffered another gun shot wound just below her right collar bone before she emptied out the clip, putting eight more rounds into the poor, hapless soul who made the ill-fated decision to fire on her.

Having vanquished her fourth foe, Julie leaned back against the wall and sighed, "Shit." Shot six times. I've been fucking shot six fucking times! The good news was that most of the wounds did not appear to be life threatening, except for the gaping hole in her tummy that was spurting blood like a water fountain. If she could somehow slow the bleeding though, maybe she'd be alright. Nothing vital had been damaged. She might need her intestines stitched up a bit, but that was doable.

She was clutching her belly and working up the courage to stand when she heard another gunshot ring out down the hallway and felt a sudden pressure in her upper abdomen. A fresh bullet hole had appeared just below her rib cage on the left side of her body, and she spotted the person responsible twenty yards away and closing. Although she knew it was hopeless, she lifted her gun and squeezed the trigger, the firing pin falling on an empty chamber. Hearing the dry click, Julie tossed the gun and pleaded for mercy. "Please, help me! I don't wanna die." Blood spattered from her lips as she spoke. So much for keeping my vital organs in tact.

Instead of help her pursuer gave her another bullet hole in her gut, plugging her a couple inches above and slightly left of her belly button.

"Oooof," Julie groaned. She rolled onto her hands and knees and started crawling away, and she caught another round in the back, just below her left shoulder blade. "Ahhh." She reared up and another bullet bit into the left side of her back. "Uhhnn." Julie reached awkwardly around behind herself with her left hand, and ended up leaning back against the wall again.

Her beautiful blue eyes looked up to find the hollow end of a gun barrel hovering in front of her face, and she squealed quietly. "Please, I'll do anything. I'll suck your dick, just don't kill me."

"Alright. Suck it, bitch." When the terrorist grabbed a handful of her soft, brown, shoulder-length hair and exposed his throbbing, erect penis, Julie didn't hesitate. Surprisingly, she felt no shame for her begging, or for granting sexual favors in exchange for her life. Evidently her need to live far outweighed her self respect. Perhaps the shame would come later, but she could live with a bit of shame. She couldn't live with anything if she was dead.

He kept the pistol pointed at her temple, and her every movement brought her excruciating agony, but as the man attached to the penis in her mouth grew closer and closer to climaxing, his focus was lost. Julie surprised herself with her quickness as her left hand moved faster than the blink of an eye, gripping the barrel of the gun and pushing it away, and her perfect teeth clamped down hard. With a ripping motion, turning her head and grinding her teeth, she severed the man's cock.

She spat the grotesque piece of meat out and saw that she now held the pistol, as the dickless man screeched in horror and gripped his crotch. Julie put him out of his misery with a bullet in his forehead. She swiped the blood from her face and mouth with the back of her hands, then went back to work trying to stand up. The exit was only thirty yards away. Outside there were no doubt law enforcement officers and emergency personnel waiting to assist. She could make it. She had to.

It was incredible how much effort she had to exert, how sapped her strength was, but she pushed against the wall and drew upon every ounce of her considerable will power, until at last she was back on her feet. Now she just needed to walk. She thought the first step would be the most difficult, but she soon found the second to be just as trying, if not more so. As she contemplated the third step, she had to fight a bout of dizziness. As if simply walking with ten gun shot wounds in her body wasn't enough, her situation quickly worsened.

There were three classroom doors along the hallway prior to her intended destination, two on the left and one on the right. To her horror an armed man came out of one on of the doors on the left and another from the door on the right, almost simultaneously. The man to her left carried an uzi .9 mm, and the other held a rifle like the one that had been used to kill Erika. Julie targeted the man on the right first, and thanks to the element of surprise she caught him unawares and took off the top of his skull.

The rattattattat of automatic gunfire erupted from her left, and a bullet made it's way into the left side of her midriff, but the man's aim was sporadic as he shot from the hip, and she could hear the impact of numerous bullets striking the wall behind her, and she felt the sting of chips and debris flying off the tiles and pummeling her soft flesh. She turned towards him, raising her gun, and three bullets punched into her tummy before she could fire. One just to the right of her navel, another about an inch further to the right, and the third about an inch and a half above the second.

Her aim was spoiled, and her bullet grazed the man's left shoulder. The submachine gun continued to jump in the man's hands like a living thing, and two bullets found their way into the right side of Julie's chest, and another took a piece of flesh off the right side of her neck. A split second before another slug struck Julie in her right shoulder, she got off a well aimed shot that hit her foe center mass.

This knocked him off balance and his bullets went far wide of her, but as he slumped to the floor he managed to reposition his weapon and send a burst of lead into Julie's right thigh, four shots in total ripping into her. "Bastard!" she cursed him as she leaned against the wall, clutching her leg with her free hand and struggling to remain upright, and then she shot the fucker in the face.

As things quieted down and the stench of gunpowder and blood hung in the air, Julie took a moment to compose herself and assess the situation. She looked down at her bullet riddled torso and realized she had been shot so many times so quickly that she had lost count of the wounds, but her heart was still beating and she had breath in her lungs, so she had to keep fighting. Walking had an added challenge now, with her left hip in ruins and her right quads punctured in five different places, but she used the wall as a brace and stumbled towards the exit.

She kept expecting someone else to come out of the classrooms ahead of her, and because of that she tried to keep the pistol at the ready, but when she cleared ten feet and that didn't happen, she began to wonder if she had thinned their ranks so much that they were running out of men to send after her. That was an encouraging thought. "Fuck with Julie, you get the horns," she muttered to herself, and giggled. What she didn't expect was for the doors she was fighting so hard to reach to suddenly spring open, and a SWAT team to come pouring through them.

A huge sense of relief washed over Julie, and she pushed off the wall and held out her arms to accept her saviors, forgetting she still held the pistol. Instead of saving her, four of the cops that came rushing into the school opened fire on her. Two MP5 submachine guns, a Colt M4 carbine, and a Remington 870 12 gauge lit her up all at once, very quickly turning her torso into a human sieve.

Two 12 gauge shells were expended, all twenty-four of the balls striking her first in the stomach, then in the right breast, most of the shot making its way clean through her body. Twelve 5.56 mm rounds stitched her from the belly up to her left shoulder, and twenty-one .40 caliber Smith and Wesson bullets punched through her gut, her chest, her shoulders, and her upper arms. Julie dropped the gun she held and fell to her knees, her blue eyes wide and staring.

Her soft buttocks came down on her heels, and she watched, dumbfounded as the SWAT team moved smooth as silk through the hallway, sweeping the rooms and delivering their brand of swift justice to whatever terrorists still opposed them. A team of eight streaked past her with barely a second glance, and she guessed they'd soon be in the room she had cleared all by herself. She wondered if it was too late to save Erika, and figured it probably was.

As she finally collapsed on her back and stared up at the ceiling, she wondered if the SWAT team would have still come in when they did if she hadn't tried to fight her way out. Would she have been safe if she had just stayed in her seat? Could she have been saved if she hadn't been so careless with her gun? She'd never know the answers to these questions, but they plagued her as she faded off into an eternity of nothingness.