Pass/Fail (2012) Read Online Free PDF Page B

looked around the room—what he could see of it from his position of safety under the desk—and saw glass scattered on the floor, the tiles scorched where the bullet had cut through them, the Proctor still standing in one corner, not moving at all, not running away in terror.
    Well, of course not. The Proctor wasn’t the target of that shot. Jake glanced from the window to the bullet hole in the floor and traced the bullet’s trajectory. Had he opened one of the other envelopes—the ones on top of the table, all of which contained automatic FAILs, the bullet would have gone right through him. Through his heart, maybe. Or his eye.
    He was supposed to be allowed three FAILs before he was killed. That was the rule. But clearly this was one of those automatic failure conditions the Proctor had mentioned. He understood what that meant now: some of the tests would include conditions under which he could be killed without warning, regardless of how many FAILs or PASSes he had. Suddenly everything looked a lot scarier.
    A second bullet burst through the window glass, and made a crater in the plaster of one wall. Jake’s whole body jumped a split second after it hit. He pushed himself backwards, away from the windows. If he stood up, if he moved out from under the desk, would he be shot instantly?
    But the alternative was to stay down there until—when? Until the test was over? Until the gunman got bored and left?
    He followed the trajectory backward, through the window, out into the world beyond. The football stadium was back there. The shooter must be standing on top of the bleachers, aiming through a telescopic sight. The stadium was only about a hundred yards from the back of the school. Jake knew very little about guns but he figured that couldn’t be a very difficult shot for a marksman.
    He had to get out. It occurred to him that the Proctor was safe. That if he moved toward the Proctor, the gunman might think twice about shooting him, so he wouldn’t hit the Proctor as well. Jake grabbed the legs of the desk and jumped out as quickly as he could, right toward where the Proctor still stood motionless and unaffected. He nearly collided with the silent man as another shot rang out, spraying his back with tiny shards of shattered glass. He pulled his shoulders in, terrified that he’d been shot in the back and just didn’t feel it yet. But no—he hadn’t been hit. If he had he would be bleeding, he would be—dead.
    The Proctor next to Jake sank slowly to the floor, as if his suit was suddenly empty and there was nothing to support it. Jake yelped as he saw the Proctor drop past him, a perfect round hole drilled through its reflective surface where the wearer’s forehead would be.
    They had killed their own man, just to try to hit Jake. There was no safe place in that room.
    The door stood open at the far side of the room. Jake dashed through it and up the hall, thinking he had to be safe there—thinking he could at least stop to breathe, to think about what came next. The gunman couldn’t shoot Jake if he couldn’t see him through the windows, right? He started walking hurriedly away.
    Then he stopped in his tracks, every hair on his arms standing up straight. There was someone out in the hallway, moving around. Someone bigger than Jake. He could hear them, feel their presence with a sense he couldn’t quite identify. Just around the corner, maybe. Or perhaps half the school away. But he knew he wasn’t alone. That he wasn’t safe.
    He headed down the corridor, trying not to run. When he ran he couldn’t hear anything but his own footfalls. Even at a slower pace he was almost deafened by his own heartbeat. He pressed up against the wall of the corridor, which was made of cinderblocks painted over so many times they’d become soft and rounded. Across from him a row of lockers ran down the hallway, each exactly alike.
    Down at the far end of the hall a long linear shadow stretched across the tiles. The shadow