Free After the First Death by Robert Cormier

the beginning.”
    He released her, and she groped for the steering wheel for support. She realized the truth now. They were still trapped here despite the helicopters and the policemen and the soldiers.
    The children began to cry, awakened violently by the sudden gathering of sounds. Kate looked at them with dismay as they sat up, cheeks tear-stained, clothing rumpled, eyes frightened.
Mommy
, they cried, and
Daddy
, and other words Kate could not discern, words that were the special vocabulary of childhood to express whatever fear or terror they felt, sensing finally that something was askew in the small and safe world they had occupied until this morning.
    Now one small child pointed to Artkin’s masked face and a howl of terror issued from his small body. Hishowl touched off a chorus of screams and cries that rivaled the cacaphony outside the bus.
    “See to the children,” Artkin called to Kate. “That is your job. If you cannot do this, you are of no use to them. Or us.”
    Kate’s panties had dried against her body, the weak bladder not having betrayed her for the past hour or so. Now the moisture began to spread and her chafed thighs stung as she walked down the aisle toward the children.
    Miro pressed his face to the window, looking out through the narrow opening. Excitement raced in his blood as he observed the scene. He could feel his heart accelerating, pumping energy into every part of his body. This is what he loved: action, movement, things happening. Across the ravine, police cruisers with blue revolving lights had arrived at the building, sirens making the vehicles sound as if they were maddened animals. Two helicopters wheeled in the sky, dipping and slanting, and they, too, were like wild things: birds of prey circling their victims. But we are not victims, Miro thought; they are, everyone out there. Now three army vehicles arrived, two jeeps and a truck. The men in the jeeps bounced forward as the vehicles stopped abruptly. Three men leaped from each jeep, all in uniform, and they ran, crouching, to the building, scurrying, looking as frightened as the children here in the bus. The army truck lumbered to a halt. From beneath its canvas covering soldiers jumped to the ground and then dashed toward the woods. Twenty-five or thirty soldiers, sleek and quick, garbed with camouflage uniforms so that they could blend with the woods and become part of the bushes and trees and scrub brush. Miro knew that these were the snipers.They disappeared into the protection of the woods so swiftly and easily that one could almost doubt their appearance a moment before.
    As abruptly as the sound and movement began, so did it cease. The helicopters wheeled away from the scene, lifting high into the sky as if sucked by a giant’s invisible mouth, the sound of their motors fading. The siren howls also faded, then died. The silence was suddenly immense. Even the children became quiet. Miro looked to see the girl moving among them, soothing them, talking gently to them. They reached for her with pleading hands, and it seemed there was not enough of her to go around, to supply them with the reassurance they needed. But that was not Miro’s concern at this moment. He looked out at the scene again, searching the woods for movement. He saw, here and there, a branch snapping, a bush jostled. The snipers were already in position, waiting, waiting. The snipers always played the waiting game. Miro spotted two of them.
    Artkin positioned himself at the next window.
    “The snipers have arrived,” Miro said. “They are out there now.”
    Artkin scanned the scene with an unerring eye. “I know. I have seen five.”
    Miro was abashed. Why is it when I see only two of something, Artkin always sees three or more? Will I always be the student? Will he always be the teacher?
    “At this point,” Artkin said, “the snipers are the real danger. Later we must watch for an attack, but for now the snipers are their most potent weapon.”