The place where the stairs to the first floor and the school cloakroom had once been was now a pile of rubble. Instead of the familiar view of a high, thick wall that should have blocked the further part of the school, there was now an open space of ruins. The debris formed chaotic heaps of bricks, shattered wood, and twisted metal rods.
The sight wasn't much different from how the stairs used to look – scattered fragments of concrete and rubble could resemble steps, only they led nowhere. The whole school seemed lifeless, and the image of its destruction was not something that could simply be ignored. There were no more laughs, conversations, or the buzz of students rushing to classes – only silence, heavy and suffocating.
The entire I-shaped part of the building had been leveled to the ground. Turning his head to the right, Daniel saw nothing but piles of rubble, overturned lockers, and broken desks, as though someone had thrown them violently onto the floor. The air was thick with the smell of smoke, dust, and dampness. Something creaked quietly, as if a stone had shifted in the debris.
Daniel swallowed hard. Laughter had no place here.
Realizing that he was in the L-shaped part of his old school building, he knew he was lucky – very lucky. If he had gone down to the spot where the stairs once were, he might never have woken up from the darkness in which he had been not so long ago.
Turning around, he saw that part of the building was still in a condition where life could exist – except for the few holes in the floor and ceiling and the countless cracks. Wherever he looked, there was still a chance.
Trying to focus, he noticed several doors. Some were in terrible condition – one half-destroyed, another full of cracks. However, one, not far from him, was in quite good condition, only with a few scratches. Taking his first step with his left foot, he didn't feel much trouble, except for the constant screeching that seemed to echo in his skull.
— It's not so bad, — Daniel whispered, quickly changing his mind as soon as he placed his right foot on the floor.
— Ughh… — he groaned quietly, taking another step.
Although the pain wasn't as terrible as before, it still lingered and got in the way of normal functioning. Feeling a great sense of disorientation, Daniel was getting closer to the door of room 22, which was directly across from where the janitor's life had ended. However, this time, he didn't have the courage to turn back, so he walked forward, not looking back.
As he approached the door, he felt as if his already weak and sore legs had turned to jelly. Fear spread through his body, but he didn't think too much about it, as something else took over his thoughts.
"What if those inside ended up like Patrycja… or worse?"
That thought grew colder and colder in his mind, like an icy gust of wind.
Standing almost two minutes with his hand on the doorknob, he finally forced himself to open the door.
The door, creaking like a broken accordion, fell off its hinges as soon as it opened, crashing to the ground and sending a cloud of dust and tiny fragments into the air. The bang was deafening, but Daniel barely heard it – his own eardrums were barely working. He didn't care about the fallen door, even though it was taller than him. Not now. Not at this moment.
His eyes scanned the room, and he froze. In the classroom, among the overturned desks and chairs, lay motionless bodies. Blood spread across the floor, soaking into the old boards. There were many. Too many.
His heart started to beat faster. With quickened pulse, he noticed that some of them might still be alive – their blood could have come from ruptured eardrums, just like his. But those closest to the window… their bodies were covered with a thicker layer of blood, probably from the glass that had shattered and rained down.
"Twenty-two," he thought, though he wasn't sure if it was the number of bodies or perhaps those who still had a chance.
He walked slowly toward the nearest person, one farther from the window. Leaning over carefully, not feeling much pain, he continued what he had started, placing two fingers on their neck, trying to feel a pulse.
The pulse beat rhythmically, like a quiet, persistent whisper of life: thump-thump, thump-thump.
— Ufff… — he sighed.
"Thank goodness," he thought, feeling tears uncontrollably roll down his cheeks.
"Second time today," he thought. "Haven't cried this much in a while, have you?"
"Crybaby," he sighed.
Now focusing on the person whose pulse he had checked, he noticed that it was a short, slender blonde girl in a green, blood-stained hoodie and blue jeans. Her pretty, dusty face was covered with long lines of dried blood, which had flowed from her ears.
He didn't stay over her for long. He had to check the rest.
He moved to the next person, kneeling by their limp body. He placed two fingers to their neck, feeling the familiar thump-thump, thump-thump. They were alive.
"Two," he thought.
He didn't stop. He moved on to the next. And the next. Each touch, every tremor beneath his fingers brought brief relief, though the tension in his chest never left.
"Three… four… five…"
The next people still had a pulse. Barely, but they did. Each thump-thump beneath his fingers was like an echo of a quiet heartbeat of hope.
Until he finally reached those closest to the window.
He didn't need to check. He knew.
Their bodies were oddly still, too stiff. Their skin pale, almost chalky, eerily silent. The blood on the floor around them wasn't pulsing; there was nothing left to push it further.
Still, he knelt. He placed his fingers on the neck of the first one, hoping for a miracle.
Nothing.
The second.
Nothing.
The third.
Silence.
He swallowed hard, but his throat was too dry. He felt his hands tremble, though he tried not to notice it.
The fourth.
The fifth.
The sixth.
Nothing.
He stood up slowly, as if he feared that even the slightest movement might shatter the fragile balance of this place.
"Six," he whispered in his mind, though that word no longer held any meaning.