CHAPTER ONE — The Wolf is at the Door
April 15, 2025
Mike Livingston drove into the parking lot at Bear Wallow Middle School as the sun peeked over the nearby fields of freshly tilled soil. He rummaged through his beat-up RAV4 for the stuff he needed, grabbed his messenger bag, and stood up, putting on his U.S. Army ball cap. He looked around and took a deep breath, savoring the smells of an Indiana spring. He loved springtime.
He noticed a light was out on one of the light poles in the parking lot, so he made a mental note to tell the Facilities Manager. He sighed. He hadn’t even gotten into the school, and his workday had already begun, near the end of his fifth year as Bear Wallow’s Assistant Principal. He was silently laughing at himself for his work ethic when he felt a bump on his left shoulder.
He looked over and saw Susan Callowell, an English teacher. She was young, petite, pretty, and was staring at her phone with a frown. She abstractedly looked up and muttered, “Oh, Mr. Livingston! I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there.” She went back to looking at her phone.
Mike noticed her furrowed brow and grew concerned. “Is everything okay, Susan?”
She tore her face away from the screen. “That former student I told you about, William Crawford? He posted some pretty upsetting posts on social media last night. He seemed really angry and mentioned me by name.”
Mike didn’t want to look at Susan’s phone in the parking lot. “Tell you what,” he told Susan, “Come see me during your prep period. That’s what, third period?”
She sniffed and wiped her eyes with her sleeve, then finally made eye contact. “I spoke for him at his expulsion hearing! Why would he post those things?”
Mike pressed his lips into a thin line and thought, Damn, I hate mean people. He put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Susan, I’m sorry you’re starting your day like this. Set it aside for now; try to focus on your students. Come see me during your prep. I’ll have Deputy Cassidy there as well. Don’t delete anything, but don’t keep reading, okay?”
She nodded and put her phone away. He held the door open for her, then followed her inside. As he walked down the hall, he texted the SRO, Sam Cassidy. “See me as soon as you can this morning. Possible threat from William Crawford. Meet with Ms. Callowell and me third period, my office.”
Before Mike got to his office, Sam replied, “Roger that.”
Mike compartmentalized the incident: he had no more time to think about it. As the Assistant Principal he had to do bus duty, so he put on his high-visibility reflective vest. He oversaw six hundred boys and girls exiting the buses and streaming into the school through four exterior doors. He spoke with drivers about two separate bus issues in the lot, then watched Sam stop traffic on the road to allow the buses to leave.
Next, he stepped into the cafeteria to monitor the students stopping by for breakfast. Here, he was able to interact a bit. He chatted with a few of the boys who were discussing the eighth-grade football team’s comeback win last night. He clapped some shoulders, shook hands, then left to do his daily walk-around to make sure the exterior doors were locked. He hurried students he met in the halls to their classrooms as Matt Dremer, the Principal, came over the PA with morning announcements. Mike stopped and put his hand over his heart as Matt and a couple of students said the Pledge of Allegiance. After the Pledge, he continued his check.
He found Door #7 at the back of the school propped open, with a small rock stuck at the bottom that prevented it from latching completely. He frowned. This was the second time this week. He squatted, removed the rock, and made a note on his phone to check the cameras to see if it was intentional and, if so, who did it.
He texted Sam, “Door #7 propped open with rock, again. Will check camera.”
Sam replied with a thumbs-up emoji.
Mike stopped by the break room to grab a cup of coffee, went to his office, and removed his vest, hanging it up on a hook behind the door. He set his coffee on his desk and poked his head into Matt Dremer’s office to see if the Principal needed anything done that day. For once, Matt said he had nothing.
Mike then sat down at his computer and sipped his coffee. He logged his walkaround into a spreadsheet he’d created for the purpose and noted the issue at Door #7. Staring at his screen, he logged into the school’s camera system, identified the camera he needed, picked an early time that morning, and then began playing the recording at two times normal speed. There.
Mike stopped the playback at a frame showing a male student with half his head shaved opening the door and bending over to do something at the base of the door. Mike noted the time, date, and location on a post-it note. He wrote the name ‘Ben Ferguson’ on the note, as he was the only one he knew that shaved his head like that. Mike’s brow furrowed. This was the second time that week that Door #7 had been propped open. The first time, he thought it was just a mistake, as it was just a little rock, although he logged the finding. To scratch an itch, he went back to that day and spent a moment checking. Sure enough, the boy was there again, propping the door open.
Mike went still. He grabbed his radio. “Sam, this is Mike.”
A short pause, then a click on his radio. “Sam here.”
“Check out Door #7, pronto. Ben Ferguson has been propping it open. I don’t know why.”
The radio clicked again. “That’s good copy. On my way.”
Mike stared at the computer screen, chewing on the end of a pen. What was Ben doing? Mike remembered researching the Arapahoe High School shooting in 2013. The shooter entered the school through a door that had been propped open.
Mike saw it was time for passing period, so he stood and clipped his radio to his belt. He stepped outside of his office and told Kelly, his secretary, “Send a pass for Ben Ferguson. He’s got some splainin’ ta do.” Kelly nodded, grabbed a blank pass, and started filling it out.
“Insanity time,” Mike told her with a smile. She smiled in return as she answered the phone.
Mike felt like a salmon swimming upstream as he forced his way through the crowded hallway to his usual place, an intersection of two hallways. Students and the occasional teacher jostled their way through the halls. Occasionally, students yelled to each other. Students mostly kept to the right, which helped the flow. He spotted Ms. Callowell frantically moving toward him, her eyes wide in fear.
“Mr. Livingston!” She cried, her face white. “He said he’s coming…”
CRACK
Mike’s head snapped around to his right. That was a gunshot. A long rifle, from the sounds of it. God damn it!
CRACK CRACK CRACK
Screaming came from down the hallway, and the students surged away from the sounds. Mike’s vision narrowed to the hallway as his heart rate spiked. He did a couple of rounds of tactical breathing, and his vision cleared, somewhat.
Suddenly, a high, panicked voice that sounded like Brett Tolliver’s came over the radio, “Lockdown! Lockdown! Lockdown! This ain’t a fucking drill!”
Mike looked around and used a command voice that cut through the confusion. “Everyone, get to a classroom! NOW! Lockdown! Lockdown! Lockdown!”
Students frantically moved into the nearest classrooms, eyes wide, mouths open. Doors began closing.
CRACK
BOOM BOOM
Mike recognized the sound of what he thought was Sam’s Glock 22 coming from the direction of Door #7. So, Sam was likely in the fight. Mike scanned the now-empty hallways, thinking furiously. Kelly would be calling 911, and Sam would likely have used his radio to call for backup. Matt would be looking at his Incident Commander responsibilities.
CRACK CRACK
BOOM
Mike took a deep breath, then did what he always did when danger threatened. He ran toward the danger. Lynne will be pissed again, he thought as he ran down the hallway.
Kelly’s voice came over the PA system, “Lockdown, lockdown, lockdown. This is not a drill. Everyone get to the nearest lockable— “
This had become a very bad day.
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