Fight

    

  “FIGHT.” The young policeman repeated the singly-worded message, which initiated an immediate response as the station house became a hive of frenetic, yet orderly, activity. All the civilians were herded toward the rear of the building. I remained hidden, curled up under the desk, as our defenders began to barricade the windows and doors, using boards, screens, bars, furniture, and materials of every kind to block the entrances to the station.

     After securing the building to their satisfaction, the officers, whose extreme fatigue could be seen clearly on their faces, stood in silence as they awaited the inevitable. The momentary quietude was unsettling. 

     Suddenly, the riotous mob descended upon the station all at once, smashing at the barricaded windows and battering the main entrance door in an attempt to break it down and murder us. As the crowd hurled stones and screamed horrible epithets while battering at the openings, I thought I could discern the voices of children among them, screaming the same horrible oaths as the adults.

     Charge after charge the mob made against the station. One policeman warned that the marauders would try to set the premises on fire, just as they had destroyed the orphanage!  

[TO BE CONTINUED.]