Staying Alive Read Online Free PDF Page A

requested. There really hadn’t been anything else she could use as a weapon. Getting into her desk was out of the question.
    What could she use as a weapon? Her gaze skimmed the array of projects the children had turned in last week. A miniature volcano. A papier-mâché dinosaur. A Pterosaur complete with nest and hand-painted eggs. The model of the prehistoric bird was fairly large with pointy metal claws about the size of ink pens attached to its feet. Thebird was mounted on a stand as if flying over its nest. If she could pretend to knock it off the desk, she could pull one of the claws free as she picked up the mess. Then use it as a weapon, if she got the opportunity. It wouldn’t be much, but it was better than nothing.
    Claire checked on her students. They were getting restless. She moved from one to the other and urged them to keep their eyes on the police cars no matter what happened and to stay quiet. When she’d again reached the row of desks where the Pterosaur sat she backed up a couple of steps and started to turn. Just as she’d planned, she bumped into the 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 thedamaged 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