Awakening

Chapter 29

Fire and Water – Part 1: Trapped

Senior Year; May, 201-; Prom Night

"I'm not sure how long it took. I'm guessing there was maybe only a minute or two between Carrie coming back and Cindy's scream. There was a lot of screaming that night, but Cindy's was the first. There was a moment – definitely no more than a minute – where nothing happened. No one said anything. Absolute silence. Then Cindy screamed, the lights went out and all hell broke loose."

- Segment from a Time Magazine interview with Rachel Spies (published November, 201-)

10:04 PM

Breathe.

They've taken everything from me. I thought I'd reached that point long ago, but they found a way to hurt me again.

STOP!

Don't cry. Don't listen to them. They're laughing now, but they won't be for long.

Breathe.

Carrie took several deep breaths as she stood motionless on the stage, roughly where she had been standing when it happened. What it was was still little more than a jumble of blurry images and sensations in her mind. She knew someone had dumped blood on her. She knew they had all laughed at her, and many were still laughing. She couldn't see exactly who was doing it, but the sound was all around her. The raw, jangling noise of her peer's cackling mingled with the chanting still repeating on the TVs. Even the chaperones – the very people who were supposed to prevent this sort of thing - were laughing. The rancid smell of the blood somehow seemed stronger than before.

Even Mrs. Rennie is laughing at me, she thought bitterly. Her art teacher stood with her hands clasped over her mouth, as if trying to cover up her mirth. Tears rolled unchecked down her cheeks.

She knew. They all knew and they're all laughing at me.

Never again, though. They'll never laugh at me again.

George Dawson and Roy Evarts who had been squatted next to Tommy's prone form cautiously stood and took a step back. Mr. McGovern simply gaped at her from where he had been kneeling. For a second or two, George looked as if he was about to say something, but thought better of it. Fear was etched on his face. It was a look Carrie was intimately familiar with.

How often have I looked just like that? I've lost track of all of the times I've cowered in fear of Chris, or Donna or just about everyone else. They used to terrify me. Not anymore, though. I'm no longer afraid.

There's nothing left for me to be afraid of.

She glanced around the gym and took note of where certain people were. The Wilson twins had been front and center when it happened and they had laughed at her, too. So was Vicky Hanscome, who now stared open-mouthed at her as if trying desperately to catch her breath. Helen Shyres was right behind her, doubled over and red faced. She couldn't see where Tina was, but knew instinctively that she couldn't have gone far. There was no way on earth she'd miss the opportunity to exalt in what she – they all – had done. Little doubt existed in Carrie's mind that Chris Hargensen was the one who had done it to her, and that all of those laughing and staring were a party to it.

I will not cry. I am not afraid.

McGovern rose and interposed himself between her and the two boys. His hands were held placatingly. His eyes were wide and his face was ashen. Carrie had never seen him look so vulnerable and suspected that he wasn't accustomed to not being in complete control. He nervously pulled at his trousers, which were saturated with blood at the knees.

That's the same blood they dumped on me. Did he know? He must have. They all must have known. Did they know that they'd hurt Tommy, too? Did they care?

She glanced back at Tommy and contemplated holding him. It was obvious to her that he was severely injured. Part of her wanted to comfort him – to make him feel protected and safe as he had made her feel; no matter how futile it might end up being. Guilt stopped her from doing so. Carrie understood that he never would have gotten hurt if he hadn't taken pity on her. They wanted to hurt her, and Tommy was simply at the wrong place at the wrong time.

They didn't care. I know they didn't care. I could feel his heart beating when he danced with me. He was so kind and gentle, and now he's… he's…

"Carrie, let me help," his voice was breathy and fragile. He sounded as if he was desperately clinging to whatever composure he could muster. Above all, he sounded insincere.

He was laughing at me while I was gone. He was laughing after Tommy got hurt. He's trying not to laugh now.

"Never again," she muttered. She could feel her lips curl into an involuntary snarl as she looked him directly in the eye. He moved back a pace while gesturing for Roy and George to do the same.

"Please," McGovern took a step to the side, his gaze lowered to avoid hers. "Let us help."

I've never been able to stare him – or anyone – down before. He knew about it. He's afraid. I think he's actually afraid!

"You did this," she hissed involuntarily, her voice low and, at least to her ears, more menacing than she had ever heard. McGovern winced and shuffled backwards. "You did this!"

Momma was right about him. He was never willing to give me a fair chance. He used to love to humiliate me in front of the class. He'd ask me questions knowing that if I answered honestly, everyone else would laugh and mock me. If anyone said anything to me, McGovern would blame me for inciting them. I was terrified of that – of him.

Carrie tensed her shoulders and took a step towards him. McGovern tried to say something, but whatever it was was lost in another burst of laughter. Even with his mouth clenched, the sniggering poured out of him.

He's still laughing at me. He looks absolutely terrified, and he still can't help laugh…

STOP.

He doesn't matter anymore. Ignore him for now. He won't be laughing for long.

None of them will.

Breathe.

Picture the doors.

Carrie scanned the gym, and made a mental map of where each exit was. At one point, she thought she had caught sight of Ms Desjardin, and for a split second, thought about flexing and wringing her neck. In the back of her mind, she suspected that there might be others, but that didn't matter. The only thing that mattered now was teaching her classmates how it felt to be her. She wanted them to understand what she had gone through year after year; to know how it felt to be humiliated and unable to escape.

There are four sets of them and they're held open by those magnet-things. Imagine how the push-bars and metal handles feel. They're cool and smooth, and kind of heavy. It takes a little bit of effort to move them. Picture your hands pulling them shut. You're holding them shut now.

Overhead, Carrie could faintly hear the suspended light fixtures creaking as she concentrated. Her heart pounded in her chest and she could feel sweat run down the small of her back.

Focus on the doors.

Breathe.

Flex.

THWUMP!

THWUMP!

THWUMP!

THWU-

"Ow!" Someone yelped from the far end of the gym. "What the hell?"

It's Cindy Yang, Carrie couldn't see her, but she was able to sense some sort of resistance. She's stuck. I think she's caught in the door.

It doesn't matter.

Flex.

10:09 PM

"Ow!" Katie O'Shea was startled out of her trance-like state by the Cindy's sudden cry of pain. She had been so fixated on Carrie since she returned that she barely registered that something was amiss.

"Are you OK?" Katie turned to see her friend struggling with the door. From where she stood, it looked as if she was trying to pry it open.

"Could you give me a hand, I'm stuck," Cindy grimaced as she tried to extricate herself. The door had shut on her forearm, about half way between her elbow and wrist. "I-I can't – OW! Oh!"

Katie could see that the gap between the doors had shrunk noticeably. She yanked the handle with all of her strength, but it refused to budge. By now, Cindy's date, Trevor Monet, and his friend Dave Norbert, had both grabbed the door by its edge and leaned back to no avail.

"P-please, help! It-it hurts," Cindy's pleading transformed into an anguished sob. Katie couldn't recall the last time she had heard her friend even complain about being hurt, let alone scream. Icy panic needled her insides as she doubled her efforts. She knew that the doors were the fire-proof type that the state mandated public buildings install. They were heavy, but she had always been able to open them with ease.

"I'm trying," Katie groaned with effort as she put her entire weight into it. With her free hand, Cindy grabbed the back of her dress. Her constant keening grew louder with each passing minute as the color drained from her face. Hopelessness knotted in the pit of her stomach as she felt her dress pumps slide along the polished wooden floor.

"Help! Please! Help me! HELP!" Cindy's grip tightened as her voice went up another octave. Katie's heart felt as if it would burst, and a cold sweat formed along her hairline.

"Watch your fingers!" Trevor shouted. His face was flushed with exertion. "Somebody help me! I can't hold it! I can't hold it!"

Why can't I open it? What the hell? It's like something's forcing it shut. Why can't I-

Katie's thoughts were cut off by a hideous shriek and a sound distressingly similar to a fresh, raw carrot being bit into as the door continued to squeeze shut. She closed her eyes tightly, and desperately tried to fight off the urge to vomit as Cindy's scream pierced deeply into her core. She didn't need to see what exactly had happened to know that it was horrible. Her friend's cry softened into a weak quavering groan and her grip on Katie's dress slackened. Overhead, the light bulbs in the suspended fixtures began to grow brighter and sway.

10:11 PM

Dale Ullman's heart had skipped a beat when Cindy Yang screamed. While several students had screamed over the course of the last ten minutes, there was an edge to this particular shriek that told him that something was desperately wrong. That long dormant protective instinct of his was now in full gear as he pushed his way through the mob. No one was panicking yet, but he knew that wouldn't last.

"Help her!" Dave yelled at him. "I think she's going into shock!"

Cindy had ceased screaming, and her skin had become pallid. She was slumped against the door, with only Trevor and her trapped arm holding her upright. As he drew closer, he could see a stain spreading along the portion of her satin elbow length glove that wasn't obscured. Although the soft mood lighting muted the color, Dale had no doubt about what he was looking at. By now, those students nearest to the commotion became more agitated.

This is way above my pay grade. What am I supposed to do? Dale tried to recall the little bit of first aid training he had been given when he was a lifeguard at college. He placed two fingers against the base of her jaw. Okay, she still has a pulse and she's breathing. We've got to stop the bleeding. We need to get her arm out, and stop the bleeding.

"I'll hold her steady," Ullman said as he placed his arm around Cindy's midsection. "You try to-"

POP!

POP!

POP! POP! POP!

Dale flinched as the overhead light bulbs briefly burned brightly then burst with machine gun rapidity, showering glass onto the people below.

10:13 PM

Erika Gogan instinctively lowered her head and covered her face after the first bulb blew. At the moment, she neither knew nor cared why the lights were exploding. The only thing running through her mind was the wordless imperative to escape. Cindy's scream sparked the urge, but the lights poured fuel on her fear. Somewhere nearby, one of the metal screens meant to protect the bulbs during gym class clattered to the floor. All around, the steady distressed murmur that had emanated her classmates became more alarmed. An almost palpable feeling of dread swept with unstoppable momentum through the gym. Erika struggled not to give in to it.

"I want to go, NOW!" Heather McKenna howled as she pulled her date past Erika. The event-lights positioned on temporary stands rattled, their brackets creaking with strain. Almost overhead, one of the large directional spotlights blew out with tremendous force, raining glass and spent filament onto her and Emma Swift.

"Erika, help" she groaned as she tried to stand. Emma had tripped and pitched forward onto her hands and knees. Up on stage, Carrie was still glancing around with wild-eyed freneticism. Mr. McGovern was trying to talk her down, but to no avail.

"Hang on," Erika kneeled next to her and helped her up. She gingerly picked a large shard of tempered lens glass out of her hair. Up close, she could see blood mixed with sweat on her friend's forehead from several pen-stroke thin lacerations.

"I saw something going on with the light, and I turned towards it." Emma wobbled slightly, but seemed okay. Her cuts didn't seem particularly deep, although it was hard for Erika to tell. "Pretty stupid, huh?"

"Don't worry about it," Erika said, her voice hollow. She didn't want to sound as worried as she actually was. The panic-rat that resided in the instinctual section of her mind was now thrashing around, urging her to leave, and she was desperately trying not to give into it. Erika was exceptionally well read for a high-schooler, and knew from the countless newspaper articles and books she devoured that panic was dangerous – that panic killed. She would not panic.

"How badly am I bleeding?"

"It's not that bad. Come on," Erika put her arm around Emma's waist to help steady her. She herself was trembling and her legs threatened to give out beneath her. "I don't know what's going on, but it isn't safe. I-I think-"

Erika didn't see who or what it was that sent her sprawling across the floor with enough force to knock the wind out of her. She didn't actually feel anyone touch her, but the result was the same as if someone had. The panic she had fought to keep at bay swallowed her whole.

10:15 PM

Heather McKenna had seen and heard enough. Since Chris and the others hadn't seen fit to include her in their little prank, she no longer felt the need to wait and see what happened. She wasn't about to hang alongside people who didn't deem her important enough to tell her what they were planning. It went beyond the mere avoidance of punishment, though. Something deep and instinctive in the back of her mind screamed at her to get away ever since the bucket was tipped. Although Heather had always lived a fairly comfortable and safe existence, free from any sort of genuine peril, the message was loud and unmistakable. Carrie's return and the malfunctioning lights and doors weren't mere coincidence. It was more than enough to quash any lingering doubts that she was in danger.

I can't stay here. I don't want to. I don't want to be here with her.

"Come on!" Heather gave Don Farnham's hand an emphatic tug as he slowed down to look back at the stage.

"Holy fuck," he gasped. "Are you seeing this? What the hell-"

"DON!"

I don't want to see it, she thought as she released Don's hand, and I really don't want to see what comes next. I don't know how she's doing it, but it's her. None of this can just be a coincidence. Carrie's doing it. She'll hurt me. I think she'll actually hurt me.

The door was close; maybe only twenty feet away. Heather had seen them slam shut on their own accord, but wasn't about to let that stop her. The gym suddenly felt stiflingly hot and far too crowded. Fear had lodged itself in her throat, and threatened to suffocate her.

I'm almost there, she thought as she picked up her pace. I just have to get out of here. I'll call Mom and tell her I'm sick or something. I just-

What happened next occurred too quickly for Heather's mind to process. Apart from a strange sense of acceleration, she was never aware that anything unusual was happening. It was an unintentional act of mercy on a night that would be decidedly short of it.

10:20 PM

Don Farnham was only a few paces behind his date when he paused to glace back at the stage and the gruesome figure standing on it. He really couldn't care less about Cassie or Corie or whoever it was that Heather and her friends seemed to have it in for, but he couldn't look away.

She's just standing there, breathing heavily and glaring at us. Maybe she's waiting for an apology? Maybe she's-

A scream filled with unspeakable anger silenced his thoughts as something unseen and indescribable struck and propelled him backwards into the yielding body of one of his classmates. All around him, his classmates fell as though struck down by a scythe. Tables and chairs were upended and hurled against the walls and the few unfortunate individuals who remained standing upright. One of his classmates, Pat Tabor, was hit in the head by a lit Sterno can from the snack table, knocking him to the floor.

"What happened?" He muttered. Did something explode? It-it was like some sort of wave. That's impossible, though. It must have been a bomb or something…

Don sat up gingerly. For a moment or two, the ear-splitting feedback from the ruined speakers was the only sound breaking the silence. The person he had landed on moaned as he shifted and tried to shake the cobwebs free from his mind. As the world came back into focus, a horrific cacophony took shape all around him. Sobbing, shrieking and moaning filled the gym as those still able to move struggled to regain their feet. Pat gave an unearthly scream as he scrambled to his feet. His hair and dinner jacket were alight. The same terror that his classmates exuded dug its way into Don's core, and drove him to move.

Okay, he thought as he mentally gave himself a quick once over. I'm still breathing. My arms and legs seem to work. I think I can stand.

Don did his best to avert his eyes as Pat's screaming reached a crescendo and abruptly ceased. Next to him, a boy he recognized as a junior who was accompanying Amanda McDermitt had his hands clasped to his mouth. Blood dripped freely down his wrists. Beyond him, a girl was laying face down and absolutely still. Her leg was bent at an unnatural angle. Already, people began to throng towards the doors, and Don had to scramble to avoid being trod upon.

This isn't good. I've got to get out of here, he thought as he sidestepped Mitch Venter, one of Ewen's varsity tackles. People are going to freak out and I don't want to be in the middle of it. I'll grab Heather and we'll both get out of here.

Heather…

Where did she go? Don frantically scanned the gym, but failed locate her. She was right in front of me before I turned to look back. She had almost reached the door…

The door!

His vision swam and his pulse raced as he tried to fight his way to where he had last seen her. Millions of grim images flooded his mind. The screams and sobs of his classmates blurred together into an indistinguishable mess that overwhelmed him. The rational part of his mind told him that he'd never be able to hear Heather over the din if she called out.

She was at the door! What if she's hurt? Whatever that was that happened back there was strong enough to knock me down, what might it have done to her?

He was close enough to see the exit she was headed for. The reinforced safety glass was spider -webbed and what look like blood ran in thick beads down its surface and a searing pain gripped his chest. Don had seen it take hits from baseballs and floor hockey pucks without even a scratch to show for it. Something - or someone - had impacted it with tremendous force.

No. No! No! Don't let it be her! Don't let her be hurt! I promised her folks I'd look after her! I was supposed to keep her safe. She was counting on me…

"HEATHER!" He called out as someone large plowed into him from behind, sending him stumbling forward face first into the metal light cowling. Before the darkness took him, he caught sight of a familiar figure wreathed in red hair, lying just beyond his reach.

10:21 PM

Nikki Wilson saw Heather's date fall and disappear from view and immediately tried to halt. The combination of forward momentum and impractical stiletto heels, however, conspired against her and she stumbled and fell gracelessly. The impact was enough to rattle her teeth and blur her vision.

"Nikki, GET UP!" Lizzi screamed as she attempted to yank her twin out of the scrum. "C'mon, get-"

Before her sister could help her to her feet, Lizzi was barreled into by Henry Trennant, knocking her backwards to the floor. Nikki watched helplessly as her head made contact with a sickening thud and snap forward.

"Lizzi!" Nikki screamed as she tried to scramble over to her unresponsive sibling on her hands and knees. "LIZZI-"

Nikki shrieked as someone stepped heavily on the back of her legs and lost balance. Soon, others tripped and fell, piling on top of her. She tried to wriggle her way out from beneath the ever growing pile forming. She clawed at the smooth surface of the basketball court hopelessly. The pressure on her chest was unbearable and it was becoming impossible for her to draw a breath normally. Every time Nikki exhaled the weight on top of her increased. Her vision began to darken and the sound of blood pounding in her ears became unbearable.

"Pl-please, get off of me," Nikki gasped as she felt her ribs compress and snap one by one. "Pl-please!"

With her last bit of strength, she reached out for her sister's hand, but it was just out of reach.

10:22 PM

"Don't panic!" Vice Principal Morton bellowed as the first wave of students bowled him into the steadfast doors. He felt a sharp, electric jolt of pain shoot from the small of his back to the top of his head as crashed into the now rigid push-bar.

"STOP!" He pushed at the students closest to him as panic engulfed him. "STOP!"

To his horror, Morton felt the weight of the crowd slide him upwards, off of the floor. On a primitive, subconscious level, he knew that if he was knocked off balance, he'd be killed – crushed to death by his own pupils. Out of desperation, he swung at the nearest teenager, hitting him under his fear-crazed right eye. The crowd continued to surge forward.

"Stop, please! Let me up!"Morton started to slip to the left and frantically tried to grab a hold of anything that would keep him off of the floor. In a last ditch effort he clutched at the sleeve of one of his charge's dinner jackets, but was unable to hold on as he slid to the floor.

10:23 PM

"Please, hang in there!" Sandra Stenfield pleaded with Heather's twitching, unresponsive form. She, like almost everyone else in attendance, had been hurled to the ground by the shockwave and didn't actually see her collide with the meshed window. However, what she saw of the aftermath was enough to tell her that Heather was in dire straits.

Blood. There was so much blood.

If I didn't recognize the dress, I wouldn't have known it was her. Her face was…

Don't think about it, just stay with her and keep trying 911. Sandra had briefly turned Heather over to see how bad it was, and immediately regretted doing so. Just keep trying and it'll go through. 911 is supposed to work, even without any bars. Someone's call will go through. It has to.

Other than trying to get a hold of emergency services, Sandra had no idea what to do to help. The bleeding was beyond anything she knew how to handle, and the puddle of vomit nearby meant that Heather had a major concussion. The rest of it didn't bear thinking about.

She's in real trouble here. If I can't get a hold of someone, I think…

I think she'll…

Sandra swore as she tapped the icon again. Her knees throbbed and although she didn't look, she could clearly picture angry friction burns forming from her slide across the floor. She had pulled Heather off to the side, away from the door and the agitated crush forming at it. The screaming and futile pounding at the immovable doors seemed to surround her. She could hear Principal Morton begging his charges to let him up. The genuine terror and agony in his voice made her arms break out into gooseflesh.

I shouldn't have moved her. I didn't want her to get trampled, but what if I might have para-

A loud clattering, far too close for comfort, startled Sandra into dropping her phone. It sounded like one of the heavy lights had detached from the ceiling and crashed to the floor below. A fraction of a second later, others joined in. She glanced over her shoulder in time to see one of the fixtures strike Henry Trennant midstride. Without thinking, she leaned over Heather and shut her eyes. Directly overhead, the heavy gauge threaded bolts holding one of those metal lamps loosened themselves.

10:24 PM

Norma Watson watched from afar as the light hit Sandra and was thankful she couldn't see the aftermath from where she was. The sounds of screaming and thundering footsteps drowned out her gasping sobs, although she no longer cared whether or not anyone saw her cry. She had pressed herself against the wall next to the right wing of the stage, and refused to move. Every breath burned and it felt as if someone had stuck a searing hot knife just below her sternum.

Either I'll have a heart attack, or she'll kill me. I'm only 16. I don't want to die. Please, I'm only 16….

"I-I can't stop the bleeding! Someone please, help me!" Myra Crewes pleaded as she tried to push herself up from where she fell. Her right hand was gripping her left forearm tightly, and Norma could clearly see blood streaming out from between her fingers and down her elbow. "Please, it won't stop. Please…"

"TINA GET UP!" Vicky Hanscome screamed as she tried to pick Blake up off of the floor.

I can't stay here. She'll eventually notice me. I can't leave, because she'll see me or I'll get trampled. I can't… I can't…

Norma had watched as Jen Petrie got up and ran towards one of the sets of doors after the wave hit. Before she had gotten too far, something had upended her and sent her careening into one of the few decorative lamp posts that remained upright. The crowd of panicked students fleeing towards the door had then thundered past where she had landed. Norma didn't actually see her friend get trampled, but the implication was clear enough to paralyze her.

"Please, stop," Norma pleaded under her breath as the screams and crashes continued unabated. "Please make it stop!"

From not too far away, the acrid smell of something burning wafted towards her.

10:26 PM

Shit, those are halogen bulbs; James McGovern had no idea why that was the first thought that crossed his mind as he struggled to right himself after tumbling off of the stage. It wasn't as if there was a lack of things to worry about following whatever it was that knocked him onto his backside. For some reason, his addled brain decided to focus on that particular detail above all others. He saw the large ceiling lights detach from their fastenings and crash to the floor without really registering what was happening.

Someone should do something about it, his rattled mind continued. He was vaguely aware of something warm running down the side of his head. It'll start a fire if it's left leaning against that mural. Look, it's already starting to smolder…

He had no idea whether or not the paint-laden decoration was in fact going up in smoke. It was too far away, but it seemed like something real and tangible that he could latch onto. McGovern couldn't – and more importantly, didn't – want to admit to himself what he had seen. He was on that stage with her when it happened.

Carrie. Carrie did it. It's her. She's doing this.

She was still standing. Everyone and almost everything else had been laid out, but she was still upright, panting and snarling. Beyond her, George Dawson and Roy Evarts were doing their best to put as much distance between themselves and the crimson prom queen as possible. James didn't blame them in the least. Every fiber of his being was telling him to get as far away as he could.

Jocelyn's outside, right? She excused herself right after Carrie got doused. You can get out of here, too. No one would blame you. Find an open exit and leave…

McGovern took a deep breath in an effort to steady his nerves. Several of the heavy lights detached themselves from the ceiling and crashed down onto the panicking people beneath. These were his pupils – kids he knew and care about. He couldn't simply run away, even if he could find a way out. A speaker launched itself off of the wall and struck down Teagan Pollack, one of his third period girls.

Carrie's killing them. She's doing this.

Along the opposite wall from the DJ booth, several students led by Kenny Garson and Monica Roux struggled to try to pull open the now smoking bleachers. The seats themselves were fire-resistant, but the decorations that they were plastered with were very flammable, and sparks from the damaged lights and the falling streamers spread the conflagration.

Get a hold of yourself. There's a rational explanation for this: there always is. You have bigger things to worry about right now. Leave the conspiracy nonsense and supernatural bullshit to the tinfoil hat club. Your wife is safe, but your student's aren't. You have a responsibility to them. Get your ass in gear before more people get hurt!

The screams of the children and the crashing of chairs cut into McGovern like an icy wind. He watched in rapt horror as a table launched itself towards a small cluster of students, knocking them down. A figure was hurled against the cinder block wall near the main entrance and slid lifelessly to the floor in a heap.

Carrie's doing it. She just gave a little flick of her hand, and off they went. Tables, chairs, people… it doesn't seem to matter. I don't know how the hell she's doing it, but she is.

From across the gym, he could see Mr. Fromm trying to extricate himself from the mangled wreckage of the DJ's booth. Joe Vreck had grabbed him by one of his arms and was trying to tug him free. McGovern's gorge rose when he realized that the last time he had seen the woman the school had hired to play music she had been standing behind it.

That was only a few moments ago.

She's dead.

She's dead and Carrie did it.

In his peripheral vision, McGovern could see sparks from exposed filaments and overturned candles take hold of table cloths and decorations. Overhead, crepe paper streamers shriveled and ignited as electricity arched between exposed cables. A loud crash and the sound of plastic and wood being torn apart caused him to flinch and nearly tumble off of the stage. At that moment, James D McGovern was certain he was going to die.

10:26 PM

"Get the latch! Get the latch!" Monica Roux shouted as Kenny Garson fumbled with the latch that held the mesh guard in place over the window. They, along with Billy De Lois had pulled the folding bleachers out in an attempt to reach safety through a set of windows set high up on the wall.

"Got it!" No sooner had Kenny hefted open the wire covering than the bench he was standing on began to shift beneath him. The bolts that secured the bleachers to the wall tore free with a sound as loud and sharp as a rifle shot. Monica yelped as she toppled backwards and tumbled heavily down the seats and onto the floor. Kenny tried to steady himself as the apparatus lurched and settled.

"Dude, get off of it!" DeLois shouted. "Hurry!"

Just as he was about to turn and jump, Kenny got his shoe caught under the lip of one of the benches and lost his footing. He screamed wordlessly as he felt the composite seats of the bleachers clamp down on his leg, just above his ankle. Over his own shrieks, he could hear bones pop out of alignment. The pain was unbearable, and flashing motes danced in front of him. For a sickening second, he hung upside down from the benches, his entire weight being supported by rapidly rupturing ligaments and tendons.

10:29 PM

"Holy shit!" Freddy Holt gasped as he watched Kenny Garson fall from where he had hung suspended. The bleachers began to collapse like an accordion as Billy DeLois struggled to pull his date out of harm's way. He had seen Carrie make an odd sweeping motion with one of her arms just before the whole works began to shake themselves apart.

Calm down. Breathe. You have a job to do. Someone's got to record this.

The viewfinder gave him a degree of separation that almost made his fear tolerable. Every fiber of his being wanted to drop his camera and run like hell, but once again, the would-be journalist in him made him stay. This was a once in a lifetime opportunity, and no matter how frightened he was, Freddy knew he had to capture it. He fought to control his breathing as he panned away from wreckage of the bleachers back towards Carrie. The would-be prom queen seemed to be fixated on someone off to her right and, with a subtle gesture sent one of the flat screens wheeling towards her target.

I'm so sorry to be doing this, but I have to get this footage, Holt's mouth was as dry as his palms were moist. People have to know about what's happening. No one has ever provided actual evidence of telekinesis before. I know how you feel about being recorded, but I have to get this.

Freddy scanned upwards just in time to catch Carrie turning back towards him. For a pregnant moment, she stared at him blankly. She blinked twice slowly, and said something he couldn't quite make out over the rest of the noise.

You're filming me? Is that what she's saying?

Carrie's expression changed from vacant bewilderment to one of snarling unrestrained anger as she briskly flicked her hand in his general direction. Freddy was so engrossed in what he was watching through his viewfinder, that he never saw one of the folding tables upend and sail towards him from just out of frame.

10:30 PM

Holly Marshall watched from her hiding place behind a pile of ruined chairs as her friend crumpled lifelessly to the floor. Her stomach lurched when she heard the sound the furniture's fiberboard surface made when it connected with him. The table landed on its edge and rolled a short distance before flopping onto its side. Freddy lay still on the floor, his head cocked at an odd, unnatural angle. From where she crouched, she couldn't tell whether Freddy was breathing or not.

I have to help him! He's hurt and I've got to get to him!

They had been standing next to each other when the shockwave hit them. Holly had been flung onto her backside and deposited unceremoniously among a couple of tables. She had briefly lost track of where Freddy went in the ensuing crush, but was able to locate him, calming filming.

What are you waiting for! He's hurt! Get up and help him before something else happens…

Get up before Carrie notices you.

On stage, no more than twenty feet away, Carrie swayed on her feet as if in a daze. The look of atavistic fury had faded, and she seemed to be focused on something overhead. Holly had always been very observant – it was one of the things that made her an excellent artist, and she had quickly picked up on the fact that something wasn't right with Carrie. It was a moot point now, though. Whatever doubt about who was responsible for what was going on had vanished. Trying to stay low and out of sight, she half-crawled towards her date. Holly wasn't sure what to do, or whether or not there was even anything she could do, but she wasn't about to leave him exposed.

Now! Go now!

Holly closed the distance quickly, praying fervently that she wouldn't be seen. She tried to shut out the cries of those around her, and the moans of her fallen classmates who she brushed against as she made her way to Freddy. She tried her best to shut out everything that was happening around her, knowing that if she didn't, she'd panic and freeze.

Just a few more feet to go! She involuntarily ducked as something shattered nearby, sending glass shards skipping along the floor. Behind her, a boy let out a dreadful scream.

He's got to be okay, Holly repeated it like a mantra as she prepared to cover the remaining distance. I'll get to him, and get him out of here. If I can get him help, he'll be okay. He's got to be.

She dropped on to her stomach and froze in place as Carrie turned towards the dance floor were something caught her eye. Holly shut her eyes and covered her head as she felt the air move above her as something passed very close by, followed by a hollow crash. Every fiber of her being was commanding her to run or scream or do anything other than remain exposed and stationary.

He's your friend. You're not going to leave him. Get a hold of yourself and help him!

Holly crawled along, ignoring the shards of broken glass that creaked beneath her as she pulled herself up to Freddy. Up close, he looked even worse and she tentatively reached for his neck, hoping upon hope to find a pulse.

She didn't.

10:32 PM

Rhonda Simard half crawled, half stumbled away from the stage. Her date was nowhere to be seen and her back hurt. The few remaining functioning lights competed with the flicker of growing flames to cast harsh shadows across the gym. A gauzy layer of smoke hung near the ceiling and the back of her throat began to itch maddeningly. The sounds of uncontrolled fear and the panicked clicking of heels and dress shoes made it impossible for her to think. The throngs that collected near the doors were growing larger and larger by the second.

"Somebody, please help!" George Chizmer pleaded as he pulled himself along the floor towards one of the exits. Rhonda noticed that he was dragging his legs uselessly behind him. "Please, somebody! I-I can't… I-I can't…"

I have to get out of here. No one is doing anything about the fire or Carrie, Rhonda felt the pit of her stomach drop as she realized that for the first time in her life, the adults she had always counted on to help when things went wrong were now completely powerless. I don't think anyone is able to anymore. They can't protect me – or anyone else. I don't think even the police-

She stumbled over a cable wandering off towards the ruins of the DJ booth. The harsh smell of singed plastic and melting insulation filled her nostrils as harsh, yellow-blue sparks danced from the destroyed electronics. Joe Vreck was struggling to pull Mr. Fromm free from the wreckage. Every now and then, a low, reverberating hum issued from the dying sound system.

"Hang on!" Joe said as he wedged himself between the English teacher and the wall. Mr. Fromm was heavier than Joe, and he struggled to get enough leverage to budge him. I've got you! I've-

Overhead, there was a high pitched whistling and a distant clanking sound. Rhonda ducked as she expected something to fall on her from above. She squeezed her eyes shut and braced for the ceiling to cave in on her.

Please, just make it quick. I don't want to suffer. I…

Water? The sprinklers…

For a fleeting moment, Rhonda thought everything would be okay. The sprinklers would put out the growing fire and give the adults an opportunity to retake control. The police and paramedics would show up and put a stop to this, and everyone would be all right. She opened her eyes and tentatively stood, letting the chilly water run down her face.

The feeling of relief was shattered by an unimaginable howl of pain. Rhonda turned to see Mr. Fromm tense in a rictus of agony as the newly introduced water served to conduct electricity from the destroyed audio equipment through him and into Joe Vreck. Vreck seemed to shudder and convulse as the voltage coursed through him and into the ground. A brief mist of steam rose from the two hapless men as the dampness was flash-evaporated from their clothing. Rhonda screamed as she backed away, the world seemed to narrow into pin-point thin specks of light dominated by the smoldering bodies of two people she knew.

Oh, they're burning up! They're burning up! Oh, God…

Mom! Dad, please! I wanna go home! I wanna go home!

Rhonda continued to reel backwards, until her foot snagged on a cable. The power cord, with viper-like speed snaked its way up her leg and cinched itself around her knee. She didn't have time to scream, or even comprehend that something was happening to her. The electricity from the live wire that entwined itself around her calf shorted out her synapse and stopped her heart before she knew what hit her. For several seconds, her body spasmed and her back arched as she completed the circuit.

10:35 PM

Vic Mooney turned away, but had already seen far more than he wanted to. Rhonda's green dress steamed and then smoked before bursting into flame. The light, airy fabric ignited in spite of the water from the sprinklers and rapidly burned away. His classmates tried to flee from the horrific scene, but were hemmed in by the raging fire spreading unchecked along the far wall of the gym. The harsh clack clack clack sound from the wire slowed and then ceased.

"Oh, my God!" He wailed as Rhonda's body, now fully alight rose from the floor and sailed across the gym towards a throng of students huddled by the main entrance. Vic watched as her corpse landed among his classmates, eliciting fresh screams and shrieks.

"Oh, God! Oh, Jeeesssuusss!"

Vic tripped over something, or rather someone, and landed hard on the ground. Somewhere behind him, back towards the stage, there was a loud metal clang, followed by the sound of rushing water. The steady rain from the daisy-shaped sprinkler heads slowed and stopped. He turned just enough to catch a glimpse of Carrie, still on the stage, looking at the ceiling with a perplexed expression. He scrambled to his feet and dashed across the gym and rounded the corner of the stage without looking or even breathing. It took every ounce of his rapidly disappearing self-control to fight the urge to turn and run towards the main entrances.

The locker room exit! He slipped and nearly wiped out on something that looked distressingly like fresh blood, but managed to keep upright. No one was trying to use it! Carrie probably isn't paying attention! I think it might still be open! Please, please be open!

"Please! Please! Pleasepleaseplease!" Vic threw his entire weight into the push-bar and sailed through into the darkened locker room. He pitched forward and slid across the cold linoleum floor, coming to rest against the leg of a bench. For a moment or two, he lay there panting. Being outside of the gym and away from her did help, but only a little. Before too long, panic again took the reins and Vic was on his feet once more.

"Rhonda's burning! She's burning up! Oh, Jesus! She's all burnt up…"

Ignoring the burning stitch in his side and his painfully battered knees, Vic hobbled his way through the gloom and away from the horror behind him. Apart from an unspoken need to find help, he had no idea where he was going. The only thing Vic knew with any certainty was that he was alive, and that he wanted to get as far away from Carrie as he could.

10:36 PM

It still hurts. No matter what I do, it still hurts.

Carrie sniffled, but made no effort to wipe her eyes or nose. She wasn't about to give them the satisfaction of seeing her cry again. She had watched Rhonda die with a strange mix of fascination and horror. For the first time in her life, she was in charge and they were at her mercy.

It won't stop hurting. Momma, why won't it stop…

She raised her hand slightly as she imagined Rhonda's burning body being lifted off of the ground like a marionette. The cable that had snagged her fell away limply; its inner works had burned through in parts, breaking the circuit. Rhonda's lifeless, arms spread akimbo as she sailed like a meteor across the dance floor. No sooner had Rhonda landed among her living friends than Carrie thought she could hear Jessica Upshaw screaming that she was burning.

She joined in when she heard me scream and beg for help. How long ago was it? A week? A year?

"Wormwood," she whispered as she hurled a chair in the direction of a congregation of students gathered near one of the other exits. The screams that followed gave her no satisfaction. "The star's name was Wormwood and… and…"

Momma. Oh, Momma! You were right! They hurt Tommy. They hurt me and no matter what I do, they won't stop laughing at me! They just won't stop!

"Momma…"

She swallowed and tried to steel herself. A tiny part of her that was buried deep beneath her outrage was screaming for her to stop – for her to step back from the edge she was standing on. Her breathing came in ragged gasps and migraine-motes danced in front of her eyes.

"It'll never stop," she muttered as she pictured a burning subwoofer flying towards her tormentors. The speaker ripped itself off of the fallen stand and

The rock shall not hide them; she recited the byline of one of Momma's pamphlets silently. The dead tree gives no shelter. The-

Carrie shrieked in surprise as a loud clang somewhere off to her right snapped her out of her reverie. She had managed to open the sprinkler heads with little difficulty, and had tried to trace the course of the pipe work. At first, Carrie had no real plan in place, but the atavistic, vindictive side of her urged her onwards. At some point along the length of cool conduit she couldn't quite picture, something had stuck and she had tried to force it.

Ohuh. I overdid it. The sound of running water was barely audible over the general clamor filling the gym. Carrie turned slightly and saw the puddle forming at the base of the leak

She watched as her classmates scattered before her, their screams only barely managed to drown out the laughter that still rang in her ears. She lashed out at them, hurling anything she could set her mind on. Even now, they still laughed at her. From where she stood, Carrie could plainly see the terror and pain on her peer's faces, but that didn't seem to be enough to silence them.

Pull it down. Burn it. Burn the sinners out of it…

Burn everything.

Notes: Sorry for the delay (sounds familiar, right…) I'm going to be splitting Fire and Water up into three parts, because it ended up being way too long for a single chapter. I've tried to make it T, but it might skirt the line a bit. It's more or less done, so I'll be posting them over the course of this week.

I really liked the bleachers scene in the remake, and wanted to incorporate it. I did alter it a bit to reflect some of the elements of the book that I'm using (Jackie Talbot survives long enough to warn Billy and Chris.) As such, I swapped him for Kenny Garson, who I thought could really use a mean death along with a couple of other bullies.

I've tried to give as many of the named characters a "fate" as possible. Whoever wasn't covered in this chapter will be in the next couple. I've changed Dale Norbert's name to Dave to avoid confusion with Dale Ullman.

I altered the timeline a bit. In the remake, the shockwave happens before the doors are shut. That seemed kind of odd given the fact that Heather flew face first into one at speed without it budging (assuming they open outwards, which tends to be mandated by fire code.) Besides, it seemed more logical that Carrie would shut everyone in before letting loose on them rather than risk some of them filtering out.

I was also looking for a more concrete cause of the fire. The book and films show or describe a fairly fast moving fire (much more so in the films.) The direct cause was pretty straight forward, but it seemed to be kind of stretch that that was the sole source – especially given how quickly it spread. I thought that event lighting (halogen bulbs burn especially hot) and a lot of flammable decorations would be a good secondary cause. I also added a few additional sources such as overturned candles and sterno-pots for good measure. Most of these things make appearances at school dances, so I didn't think it would be beyond the realm of possibility that they'd be at Ewen's prom.

Finally, I altered the scene with the sprinkler system a little bit. The source material is kind of vague about how the water impacted the spread of the fire, and I'm not entirely convinced that wet decorations – even flammable ones – would burn as quickly. The remake does show Carrie turn them off after making sure the floor is nice and conductive. I partially ran with that, but added what I thought was a somewhat more plausible possibility.

I tried to keep some of the deaths in line with the canon, but added a little here and there in order to give depth to them.