of the broken flesh.
The tyres slammed and bumped over the rubble and torn bodies and burst through to the Stepford-like streets of middle American suburbia.
Women in pretty flowered tea dresses dashed to and fro incongruously between swarthy uniformed Saudis.
The two Mercedes diverged left and right, the heavy clatter of machine guns beating a staccato tattoo of destruction. There was a smell of burning rubber, mingled with the stench of cordite, as the tyres struggled for grip on the hot tarmac.
Bullets sprayed in every direction, making a ‘thock thock’ sound as they slammed into the concrete walls. Interspersed with this was the heavy meaty thud as bullets ripped into guards and civilians alike.
In horror, Jessica saw one of her friends from the café throw up her arms before crashing back on to the ground. Blood was cascading from the back of her neck. Jessica pressed herself against the wall of the villa. She might have slid round and in through the back door. On the other hand, how could she hide safely away, knowing that the children were outside and in immediate danger? But what could she do to help them? The only thing she could think of was to get to them in time to warn them to turn back and hide. But how could she accomplish this? She was almost too afraid to breathe in case one of the terrorists saw her.
Brian would be safely in his office panic room and so she didn’t need to worry about him. But oh, the children, the children.
They too would be shot and killed. Even if the terrorists had mercy for children, the danger would still remain of them being caught in the crossfire in the blinding smoke. Jessica was in hell. She felt hysterical. The smoke, the overpowering noise fuelled by hatred, the fires. Buildings were crackling with flames.
Paralysed now, she couldn’t move. She believed her death was very near.
Heavy machine guns from the towers finally sighted on the cars and a terrible crossfire of bullets tore through the metal of the cars, destroying everything and everyone inside. The sudden absence of sound was in strange contrast to the ringing in Jessica’s ears as she stared wide-eyed in stunned paralysis at the devastation around her. Dust and smoke partially blanked the scene as dazed, zombie-like figures staggered aimlessly, seemingly unsure if they were alive or in some nightmare.
Now when she opened her eyes, she could see dead bodies. She began to sob and cry. She didn’t know how long she stood like that before Brian came racing towards her, caught her in his arms and led her into the villa.
‘Darling,’ he said, sitting her down on a chair. ‘I thought you were safely in the panic room. God, what I’d give for a couple of stiff whiskies but we’ll just have to make do with a cup of tea.’
As if the words were magic, the houseboy suddenly appeared and cried out, ‘Me make tea’ before rushing off to the kitchen.
‘The children,’ Jessica managed. ‘I wanted to get to the children and warn them.’
‘Good God! Weren’t they in the school panic room?’
‘No, the teachers had taken them out on a walk to explore the far end of the compound.’
‘Where are they now?’
‘I hope and pray they’re still at the other end of the compound. Probably the teachers heard the noise of all the gunfire and kept them there. But we’ll have to go and find them.’ She struggled to her feet. ‘Right now.’
The sights outside the villa made her feel sick but she ran through the dust and dead bodies, shouting at Brian, ‘You go that way and I’ll try this side. Hurry, for God’s sake.’
It didn’t take too long, although it seemed like an eternity, before she found the children and their teachers safe and sound. She stopped, almost fainting with relief but worried then about what to do next.
Tommy and Fiona started happily chattering to her. Tommy said, ‘We saw lots of lovely trees and flowers and shrubs and Miss Donaldson said there’s a small army of Indian,
The tyres slammed and bumped over the rubble and torn bodies and burst through to the Stepford-like streets of middle American suburbia.
Women in pretty flowered tea dresses dashed to and fro incongruously between swarthy uniformed Saudis.
The two Mercedes diverged left and right, the heavy clatter of machine guns beating a staccato tattoo of destruction. There was a smell of burning rubber, mingled with the stench of cordite, as the tyres struggled for grip on the hot tarmac.
Bullets sprayed in every direction, making a ‘thock thock’ sound as they slammed into the concrete walls. Interspersed with this was the heavy meaty thud as bullets ripped into guards and civilians alike.
In horror, Jessica saw one of her friends from the café throw up her arms before crashing back on to the ground. Blood was cascading from the back of her neck. Jessica pressed herself against the wall of the villa. She might have slid round and in through the back door. On the other hand, how could she hide safely away, knowing that the children were outside and in immediate danger? But what could she do to help them? The only thing she could think of was to get to them in time to warn them to turn back and hide. But how could she accomplish this? She was almost too afraid to breathe in case one of the terrorists saw her.
Brian would be safely in his office panic room and so she didn’t need to worry about him. But oh, the children, the children.
They too would be shot and killed. Even if the terrorists had mercy for children, the danger would still remain of them being caught in the crossfire in the blinding smoke. Jessica was in hell. She felt hysterical. The smoke, the overpowering noise fuelled by hatred, the fires. Buildings were crackling with flames.
Paralysed now, she couldn’t move. She believed her death was very near.
Heavy machine guns from the towers finally sighted on the cars and a terrible crossfire of bullets tore through the metal of the cars, destroying everything and everyone inside. The sudden absence of sound was in strange contrast to the ringing in Jessica’s ears as she stared wide-eyed in stunned paralysis at the devastation around her. Dust and smoke partially blanked the scene as dazed, zombie-like figures staggered aimlessly, seemingly unsure if they were alive or in some nightmare.
Now when she opened her eyes, she could see dead bodies. She began to sob and cry. She didn’t know how long she stood like that before Brian came racing towards her, caught her in his arms and led her into the villa.
‘Darling,’ he said, sitting her down on a chair. ‘I thought you were safely in the panic room. God, what I’d give for a couple of stiff whiskies but we’ll just have to make do with a cup of tea.’
As if the words were magic, the houseboy suddenly appeared and cried out, ‘Me make tea’ before rushing off to the kitchen.
‘The children,’ Jessica managed. ‘I wanted to get to the children and warn them.’
‘Good God! Weren’t they in the school panic room?’
‘No, the teachers had taken them out on a walk to explore the far end of the compound.’
‘Where are they now?’
‘I hope and pray they’re still at the other end of the compound. Probably the teachers heard the noise of all the gunfire and kept them there. But we’ll have to go and find them.’ She struggled to her feet. ‘Right now.’
The sights outside the villa made her feel sick but she ran through the dust and dead bodies, shouting at Brian, ‘You go that way and I’ll try this side. Hurry, for God’s sake.’
It didn’t take too long, although it seemed like an eternity, before she found the children and their teachers safe and sound. She stopped, almost fainting with relief but worried then about what to do next.
Tommy and Fiona started happily chattering to her. Tommy said, ‘We saw lots of lovely trees and flowers and shrubs and Miss Donaldson said there’s a small army of Indian,
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