The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2891 by Angharad Copyright© 2016 Angharad

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This is a work of fiction any mention of real people, places or institutions is purely coincidental and does not imply that they are as suggested in the story.
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Sister Maria led us all into the school, the police were on their way. I was shocked but trying to hold it together for the sake of the girls. I think every window in the car had been broken except the front and back windscreens. I felt really scared at the moment it happened, possibly because I couldn’t do anything to prevent it or even engage our enemy in however futile the effort might have proven.

The children were all holding each other and crying. It was one complete mess. Once seated in the school we had a group hug while some strong coffee was being made—I’d be twitchy later, but I’d still drink it.

We all calmed down and a couple of police officers arrived. Trish wrote down the number of the van—probably stolen—for them, she didn’t even mention the photo of it she had. I explained what had happened and that we were powerless to do anything except scream at them.

“This isn’t the Lady Cameron who is something of a legend according to my colleagues.”

“Yes it is, enjoy your gloat, I’ll be prepared next time.”

“Don’t do anything you’ll regret.”

“Thank you for the concern but it isn’t you who will have to deal with the nightmares for goodness knows how long.”

“Yours or theirs?” he nodded at the girls talking to a woman police officer.

“Both I think. I was scared and helpless—now I’m angry.”

“Well in which case don’t do anything you’ll regret.”

“Do you have children?”

“Two boys.”

“What would you do if you were attacked like that?”

“I don’t honestly know, apart from change my underpants.”

I smirked and he smiled. He was human.

After he left I called our car repair man to come and collect it. He tutted when he saw the damage and shook his head. The rear bumper was all twisted and there were scratches and small dents on the sides and doors of the car. He’d need at least a week to ten days. I spoke to Simon who’d come out of a meeting to speak to me. He was very angry—not at me I hasten to add—and I had to talk him down from driving straight down to Ingrid’s place and breaking her legs and then the rest of her bones.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Yes, so are the girls but the car is damaged.”

“The car can be replaced, you can’t nor the children.”

“Talking of which?”

“I’ll get then to send you one of those VW people carriers.”

“An army personnel carrier, Warrior, or whatever they call them might feel safer.”

“They’re a bit thirsty, would you really fancy driving one?” Damn, he was calling my silly bluff.

“Not really.”

“So it’s a VW then?”

“Thank you, darling.”

“How many cars is this?”

“Well, my husband is too mean to buy me a new one every week.”

“Try that one and I suspect he’d soon be your ex-husband.”

That took my breath away for a moment. “My rather poor ex-husband you mean?”

“Ouch—yeah, him.”

We were all sent home by taxi and I spent the rest of the day talking with them and making sure they were okay. Stephanie said she’d come by later and I invited her to dinner, again. Mid afternoon arrived and so did a seven seater VW Sharan. The man showed me the controls and then dashed off. I was slightly worried that the rear doors slid open rather than opened on hinges. He reassured me that if they were locked they’d be as strong as conventional doors. I wondered if they did them with bullet proof glass, or maybe ask Simon for a Hummer, or whatever they call those ridiculous things the US army use—do about ten gallons to the mile.

I had a text sent me. ‘Not so clever now, supergirl – ha ha!’ That had me almost climbing the walls in anger until the rational bit of me—some 5%--realised that was what it was meant to do. Then in a fit of pique I very nearly called James and asked him to arrange for one of his sniper friends to perforate her in several places. That would make me as bad as her so instead I called him for some advice on not having it happen twice.

Basically, unless you drive like James Bond does, viz like some lunatic regardless of who else is about on the roads or pavements, there isn’t much you can do. The powder fire extinguisher might have been effective but nothing else would do much that was legal—he meant handguns. If I’d had one would I have used it? Probably but I’m not sure if I’d have shot anything and the thought of shooting one of the girls accidentally made me shiver with horror. I don’t care what they say about training for use of guns, I reckon in my situation, 95% of people would admit to needing a change of knickers and the other 5% would be lying.

Trish had taken a photo of the car after the environmental interface controllers were removed—yeah the windows—and Si became angry again. “James will drive you to school tomorrow.”

“I doubt she’ll try it two days running, besides we’ve got the guns and stun grenades ready.”

“Were I to think you were remotely serious, I’d have to tell you that the stun grenades are not designed for use in enclosed spaces when you’re in the same enclosed space, or it will be you who goes deaf and disorientated as well as the guys you’re trying to deal with.”

“Hadn’t thought of that?”

When I thought about it the same happened when I thought back to the use of that cannon he had in his pocket, some Smith & Wesson thing he shot through the engine of the car with. I was deaf for several minutes afterwards and I wasn’t facing the same way as him, I was running away from the noise and the threat.

They say the same would have happened to Pistorius when he murdered his girlfriend. That was a powerful gun and in an enclosed space would have deafened him temporarily. He wouldn’t have heard her cries after the first shot, but he certainly should have done before he fired.

“James told me what to do if they try anything again.”

“Like what?”

“Like reversing at them and pushing the van out of the way.”

“So any van that follows you into a cul de sac will be rammed by you charging at it backwards?”

“No, that’s if they are trying to attack us, drive at them.”

“The police will still do you.”

“Yeah for multiple murder.”

“Cathy, grow up will you?”

“You weren’t there—it was terrifying.”

“I’m sure it was but killing people won’t help.”

“It might not, but at this moment it could make me feel quite a bit better.”

He simply rolled his eyes and shook his head—see men can multitask—sort of.