Staying Alive. Debra Webb
bird’s widespread wings and knocked it off balance.
The bird and stand crashed to the floor.
The aim of four weapons fell on her.
“I’m sorry.”
For three or four seconds, she couldn’t catch her breath. She was sure one of the men would shoot her where she stood.
As if God had been watching out for her, her cell phone vibrated against her desktop, drawing all attention there.
Relief flooded her and somehow her heart started to beat once more. She took a deep breath.
While the men focused on the call, she crouched down and started to gather parts of the damaged bird. She pulled loose one of the pointy claws and slid it into the right pocket of her slacks while keeping an eye on the terrorists. When she’d placed the broken bird back atop the desk, she stood.
Mr. Allen’s face had gone utterly white.
Even from across the room she could see the sweat dampening his forehead.
The phone was crushed against his ear so that he could listen to what the caller had to say.
He looked up at the terrorist in charge. “Representative Reimes has tried everything he knows to do but the federal authorities will not release Mr. Kaibar. But he would like to offer the four of you a chance at freedom in return for the lives of the children.”
“Tell him,” their captor said, his voice cold, “that we will not bother to wait the final fifteen minutes. His son dies now.”
Mr. Allen repeated the information, his face now going a sickly gray color.
Claire stood, unable to move, and watched this moment play out. Her mind kept recapping the same words over and over.
They were going to kill the children, starting with Peter.
Mr. Allen abruptly gagged, then gasped for air.
“Mr. Allen!” She moved toward him before her mind registered what she was doing.
Weapons took aim at her, but she couldn’t stop.
“Stay with the children,” the man in charge ordered.
She hesitated long enough to glare at him. “He has a bad heart. He could be having a heart attack! I have to help him!”
The leader nodded to his cohort, the one who’d handled the phone.
Before Claire could reach her desk, the man had shoved her chair, Mr. Allen still bound to it, into the corner. He leveled his weapon and fired.
The blast exploded in the room and left an ugly round role in the center of Mr. Allen’s chest. Blood oozed down his shirtfront.
Claire screamed and ran toward him.
One of the goons stopped her.
She fought to get free but he was too strong.
The children cried in the background. She should go to them. She knew she should but she couldn’t take her eyes off poor Mr. Allen.
The leader walked over to her. He grabbed her face in one ruthless hand. “Bring me the Reimes boy,” he snarled to the man restraining her who immediately let her go.
This was it. The moment of no return.
She had to do something…if she could just break free.
Fear and hurt churned desperately inside her. But there was nothing she could do for Mr. Allen now. She had to try and help the children.
“Not the children,” she blurted, the leader’s hard fingers still digging into her skin. “Kill me instead.”
He laughed. “So, you want to be a martyr?”
“Kill me,” she urged, scared to death he wouldn’t agree and at the same time worried that even this wouldn’t stop him from harming the children. Surely the SWAT team was prepared to take action considering a weapon had been fired. As much as she feared the results of that…it was better than nothing. At least some might survive. “Kill me instead of the boy. Please.”
The leader laughed long and loud. “We’ll let our martyr be the one to pull the trigger.”
A new surge of terror made her sick to her stomach, had her knees threatening to buckle beneath her.
The leader leaned his face close to hers. “Have you ever killed anyone, sweet teacher?”
“Stop!” She tried to get free but her attempt proved futile. “I won’t do it.”
“You’ll do whatever I say,” he growled, his voice savage.
As the others watched, the man snatched Peter Reimes from the window and moved back toward the front of the room. The children cried frantically. Claire’s heart shattered at the idea that she couldn’t protect them. There was nothing she could do.
“It’s okay, boys and girls,” she cried, despite the ringleader’s brutal hold on her chin. “I want you to keep watching out the window.”
Her heart squeezed painfully when every last one obeyed. Still, their soft whimpers made her want to kill these four men with her bare hands.
By the time the man dragging Peter shoved him toward the leader, her entire body trembled violently. She couldn’t make it stop.
Oh, God. Oh, God. Please don’t let this happen.
As the leader released her, the man who had brought Peter forward manacled her around the waist with his left arm and slammed her hard against his body. He forced her hands onto his rifle.
“Please,” she cried. “No!”
The leader gripped Peter’s shoulder with his left hand and used his right to manipulate and then press the barrel of his comrade’s rifle against the boy’s forehead.
“Wrap her finger around the trigger,” the leader ordered. “Make her do it! Now!”
“No!” The word tore out of her throat on a wave of anguish.
Tears slipped down Peter’s reddened cheeks. “I want my mommy,” he pleaded, then cried out as his captor wrenched his shoulder harder.
There was nothing she could do to stop this.
The man restraining her with his left arm used both hands now to force hers to do as his leader had ordered.
“That’s better,” the one in charge said softly, lethally as her finger was stuffed into place.
Her teeth ground together and she wished more than anything in the world that she could kill this subhuman creature.
“I’m going to count to three, teacher, and then we’re going to do this. I want you to have time to look into the boy’s eyes before you kill him. One…two…”
“Screw you!”
In a move the man restraining her had not anticipated, she pulled back hard on the rifle’s stock, jerking the barrel out of the leader’s hand. Without missing a beat, she twisted left with all her might as her right forefinger coiled against the trigger. The weapon fired, sending a bullet straight through the chest of the man holding Peter. His gaze held hers for one eternal instant before he crumpled to the floor.
“You stupid bitch!”
The man restraining her yanked the rifle free of her reach. Her right hand dived into her pocket and grabbed the metal claw. As he tried to shove her away, she jammed the claw into his thigh with every ounce of force in her body.
He howled with pain.
She threw herself onto Peter, taking him down to the floor.
Glass shattered and some kind of foul-smelling smoke suddenly filled the room.
More shots echoed in the air.
She