I hadn’t pissed myself in years, but I couldn’t deny the ooze trailing down my leg.

All three hundred of us huddled on the floor in the middle of the school auditorium, in various stages of distress. The invaders stood around us in a loose circle, guns held tight in trigger-ready hands. Nenye let out a whimper beside me. I pulled her in, more for my sake than hers. She buried her face in my chest and I twisted, angling my legs in the opposite direction. I couldn't let her see. Not when she needed me to be strong for us both.

The thick walls muffled the sounds coming from outside the school premises, but they were still clear enough to discern. Sirens. Lots of them. The police gathered, hours after the armed men attacked and herded us into the auditorium.

“Chachi,” Nenye said, huddling even closer. “I want to go. I want to go home.”

The action figure she had been holding—one of the local Heroes—slipped from her grasp. Something crumpled within me as the toy clattered to the floor.

What should I say? What could I even say? Soon? It will be alright? I glanced at our captors and their grim scowls revealed a truth I hadn't been willing to admit.

No, it wasn’t alright. We wouldn't be going home soon. My arms tightened around my sister. We probably wouldn’t be seeing mom and dad ever again.

The emergency exit swung open. Two men walked out of it. A tall, reedy man entered first, beard hanging down to his chest. An immaculate headdress flowed down his head, clashing with the rifle strapped over his shoulder. He whispered to his larger escort, who sported an evil glare in his eye that scorched all he looked at.

“We've deployed the charges,” the escort announced in a gravelly voice. “The perimeter has been secured. If any bastard tries to sneak up on us, they will wake in heaven.”

His companions, about ten in number, nodded.

The reedy man separated from his escort and moved to the front of the hall. He sat on the base of the podium and smiled, showing rotted teeth.

“Good afternoon, everybody,” he said, looking out over us. “I hope you have been having a pleasant day. Some of you might have questions, yes? Questions like: Who are these men? What do they plan to do to us?” His smile widened. “You won’t be getting any answers. All I can say is, things might start to worsen a little from now.”

He fell silent and dampness seeped into my thighs.

“Principal,” he said, “stand.”

Mrs. Idalo rose. A demure woman, she had a voice which never carried over a crowd. However, none of her actions were subdued now. She stood with feet spread apart, chin high, glare leveled at the terrorist perched upon the podium.

He nodded. “Vice.”

No one moved.

The terrorist leaned forward, right hand twitching towards his gun. “I asked for the Vice Principal.”

“I don't have any,” Mrs. Idalo said.

The man glowered at her for a few moments then chuckled. His buddies followed suit. “Brave,” he said. “Brave and stupid. If you knew who you were dealing with, you’d think twice about wasting my time. Look at the children around you. Is this worth it?”

Mrs. Idalo frowned, clenching her fists. Then she unclenched them and turned in my direction. “Get up, James.”

I peeked behind me at Mr. James who also glanced behind himself, sweating bullets.

The gunman closest to us gestured. “Are you James?”

“Ah, me? No o,” Mr. James said. “I don't know who that—”

Fluid slapped against my cheek. At the same time, Mr. James tumbled to the floor. Nenye shrieked and like clockwork, her cry triggered the crowd, sending the other kids into a frenzy.

“Shut it!” one gunman barked. “Shut your dirty traps!” He gestured to his colleagues and they advanced on us, threats hurtling out their mouths.

I cupped Nenye's mouth before any of them could find us and forced her to look my way. “I am alright, see?” I mouthed. “No one's hurt. Stop crying.” The blood, which was not mine, snickered as it trickled down my face.

Long minutes passed before the terrorists got the crowd under control. They hauled Mr. James to his feet. I kept Nenye’s face focused on mine, even as the sounds of fists hitting skin started. Even as I sobbed in time with Mr. James' cries.

They dragged the Vice Principal to the front of the crowd, dumping him beside Mrs. Idalo. Blood cascaded down his face in rivulets. So much . . .

“That was irritating,” the terrorist leader said. He crossed his arms. “I have changed my mind. All staff, academic and non-academic both: stand. Be careful that you do not annoy me.”

The staff leaped to their feet. Every single one of them, from the janitor, Yusuf; to Miss Sade, the receptionist; and P.E.’s Maurice who preferred going by Don. They stood above the crowd, some of them drenched in sweat, others shaking like they would bowl over at the slightest breeze.

The gunmen prodded all thirty of them out of the crowd and organized them in a single row. They bound the staff with a long length of rope, one ankle for each, tied to two others in the line.

“File out!” one of the terrorists yelled, gesturing towards the double doors leading out of the auditorium.

Mrs. Idalo went first, a wobbly Mr. James stumbling after her. Our science teacher, Mr. Akintoye brought up the rear. His unsure gaze met his son’s, Dare, who watched teary-eyed from his spot on the ground. Mr. Akintoye's lips moved, inaudible from where I sat.

Five gunmen joined the staff on their way out of the hall. After a whispered conversation with the leader, the burly man with the evil glare followed after them. Relative silence permeated through the auditorium as the last of their footsteps receded.

“Chachi,” Nenye said, and I had to strain to hear her, “are we going to die?”

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“What?” I said. “No! You don't even know what that means.”

“I do,” she replied. “I don't want to die. I don't want you to die.”

She pulled on my hands until I lowered them from her face. Then she smiled at me with those big eyes of hers. Too big for a kid her age and dimmer than I remembered.

“Stop it,” I muttered. “No one's going to die.”

A loudspeaker blared beyond the walls. It preceded a bunch of shouts and more blaring. Someone screamed. A single gunshot resounded. The echoes hadn't even subsided when more shots followed. Multiple shots, lasting for over a minute. Then silence.

The silence pressed down on my shoulders, forcing the breath back down my chest. Oh no. Oh no.

“Daddy!” Dare screamed, leaping to his feet. “What did you do to him? You bastards! I'll kill you!”

“Oh?” the man at the podium said. “Your father was among them?”

“Damn you!” Dare cried, mid-charge. He made the journey halfway when a geyser erupted behind him, dying the floor crimson in his wake. He yelped and fell on his back, convulsing. A gunman in one corner of the hall lowered his gun. The shot hadn't even made a sound.

The terrorist leader chuckled. “You should have let him reach me.” He unholstered his rifle and stepped down from the podium, taking the time to count his steps. “Let this be a lesson to all of you,” he said in a loud voice. “Nothing works if we do not have order, and for far too long, this country has raised you to be disorderly.”

He stopped beside Dare, placing a boot on the boy's chest. Dare let out a sound, half-groan, half-whimper.

“I will help you correct that,” the terrorist said. “Should any of you survive this, you would come to see why it is important to hold the dogs that govern us accountable for their actions. But first”—he leveled his gun at Dare—“we must learn to be accountable ourselves.”

A bang resonated throughout the auditorium, but it didn't come from the gun. A portion of the wall had exploded in a shower of dust and debris.

“That's one of our charges!” a gunman said. “Someone's trying to get in!”

Someone did get in. He came flying through the hole and was greeted with a hail of bullets before crossing a few feet. Only he wasn't an intruder. He was their comrade. The burly man with the evil glare.

“Baskalad—” the leader swore, moments before a figure materialized behind him and snapped his neck.

I averted my gaze. Gunfire erupted like a drumbeat in one corner of the hall.

Around us, kids scattered in a panic, heedless of the ongoing gunfight. Nenye tugged at my hand. I couldn't zone out now. I hauled her to her feet, struggling to keep my heart from leaping out of my chest. We needed to hide, away from all the metal and death. But where?

“Hostages!” a terrorist called. “Use them!”

A grey-haired man in a dark costume battled the terrorists. He vanished from one corner of the hall and appeared in another. Two terrorists crumpled facedown.

“Chachi!” Nenye cried.

One of the combatants had snuck up on me, a wide look in his eyes. I shoved Nenye aside before he grabbed me, and pain exploded like an iron spike in my side. The gunman held me aloft in a chokehold, interposing me between him and the Super that had come to our aid.

“Don't move, fucking bastard!” the gunman said. “Disappear again and I will kill this boy.”

The Super stopped in his tracks. Calm, black eyes found mine, set in a face hidden behind a domino mask. His potbelly heaved in exertion, protruding from a costume that seemed cobbled together from pieces he could find. A cape, cut out of a length of Ankara, floated behind him, held in place in a knot around his neck.

I had heard of Supers—watched a number of them on television. But they tended to operate out in the bigger cities where all the action happened. Here in Ado-Ekiti, we were lucky enough to glimpse one from afar.

“Don't hurt the kid,” the Super warned.

“Shut your mouth!” the terrorist said.

Around the hall, the shooting had stopped. The unwounded kids streamed out the hole in the wall. All except one.

“Leave my brother alone!” Nenye said, kicking at my captor’s shins.

The man lashed out with his boot, catching her in the face. Blood streaked through the air.

“No!” I screamed, bringing my teeth down on his arm.

The gunman yelped, tossing me aside. He swung his gun in a wide arc and colors scattered across my sight. The ground rushed up to meet me. I closed my eyes and fireworks went off in my skull.

“You should feel better now.”

I cracked an eyelid. An adult leaned over me, massaging my temple with a cold cloth. It was the Super: the old dude with the wonky cape and potbelly.

His chapped lips broke into a smile. “Great. You're not crying anymore. You did good, boy.”

“Wha—?” I said, the thoughts jumbling around in my head.

“You did good,” he replied, sitting on his haunches. “I'm Pa Edeh, by the way. Yeah, I know, not as fancy a moniker as the other big Heroes. But I wanted a name to show I’d answered the call to Heroism late. Pa fits nicely for that.”

“My s-sis . . .”

“Your sister? She's another brave child. We can't move her, not until the medics arrive, but her condition is looking better than first feared. Still breathing! The other boy's going to make it too. He’s lost a lot of blood but I think the bullet only clipped his shoulder.”

I craned my head, trying to find Nenye.

The Super nudged me. “Hey, don't try moving yet. You're still out of it. Concussion, maybe. Gonna hurt a bit for the next few days.”

I followed his instruction.

“The police are combing the premises,” Pa Edeh continued. “Searching for any bombs I might have missed. Gotta make the terrain safe for the medics to enter when they arrive. They will take care of you kids . . .” He grimaced. “. . . and the bodies.”

My eyes rolled around in my head. Pa Edeh steadied me, guiding me with his voice. Tribal marks lined his face, three deep grooves visible on each cheek. He had to be a regular person outside the costume. A retired police officer? A trader? Maybe a teacher? At the thought of the teachers, my eyes widened.

“M-Mrs. Idalo . . .” I said.

“Your principal?” Pa Edeh’s shoulders fell. “Yeah, I couldn't save them.”

He picked an item off the ground. A toy. The one mom had gotten Nenye last Christmas. Pa Edeh studied the action figure, running wrinkly fingers around its form.

“Wow,” he said. “This is highly customizable. What's this Hero's name again? Saver? Yeah. If he’d been here, I’m sure no one would have died today.”

More sirens resounded, blaring from some distance away. My head pounded with a vengeance. I closed my eyes. Opened them. Closed them again. Pa Edeh spoke, his words gibberish to my ears. On my third sleep cycle, a tall figure approached.

“Ah, officer,” Pa Edeh said. “What about the medics?”

“Less than five minutes away,” the newcomer answered. “They ran into some problems with a flattened tire. They will be here soon.”

“Great! I was starting to worry about the kids.”

“That's good, my friend, but we have other things to discuss. You are a new Hero? Not yet registered with the SIRC?”

“Not yet,” Pa Edeh said, chuckling. “Can't afford the registration fees at the moment.”

“Hmm. Well, it doesn't matter. Your timely intervention saved these kids. One of the pupils has an uncle who is a Legislator in the State House. The good Legislator is awarding ten million naira to the man who rescued his niece.”

“Oh!” Pa Edeh’s voice rose a pitch.

“I was wondering if you would like to come with me to discuss the specifics?”

“Of course! Sure thing, Officer. Lead the way.”

The two men went elsewhere, leaving me with my pain. Cold water trickled down the cloth on my head, running in rivulets down my neck. I gave in to sleep, welcoming the onset of bliss.

And then I heard it—a gunshot.

Pain, white and searing, blossomed at the base of my neck as I craned in the direction Pa Edeh had gone.

Footsteps thudded around me. The medics swarmed the hall. They fussed over me, asking rubbish questions and pawing my eyelids. One of them placed a brace beneath my shoulders and then they lifted me into a stretcher.

“Wait!” I said. “Pa Edeh . . . the Super. Someone, check on him!”

No one replied.

I lashed out with my foot, scoring a solid hit. Multiple hands reached to restrain me. I fought them off, employing teeth.

“Pa Edeh. Gunshot!” I grunted. “Please, help.”

“Hold him down,” a medic commanded.

“No!” I yelled. “You have to help him. They took him someplace. Got shot—!”

A belt went across my torso, pinning me to the stretcher.

Across the hall, in a stretcher of his own, Dare glanced at me. He turned his head, a tear rolling down his cheek.

“You can't do this,” I moaned. “You're killing him. They're killing him.”

The medics wheeled me out of the school building. Their commands rang strange, compounding my wooziness. Darkness encroached on my vision, reducing my surroundings to pitch.

I raised a hand to my chest, the toy Pa Edeh had dropped clutched firmly in it.

I didn't let go.