Beth looked away. Then she said, “No, she quit last year.”
Herman nodded. His two men looked at him.
“Get your weapons out,” he said. “I think we’re going to be hit. You go to the kitchen—”
“Oh, God—” said Beth, “Oh, God, the girls, don’t hurt the girls, I tell you, please—”
Bean began to cry. She was older than her sister and may have just understood it all that much better. She didn’t like the guns, because they made people dead on television.
“Herman, I’m scared,” said Poo. “I don’t want to be dead.”
“Please let us go,” said Beth Hummel. “We didn’t do anything to you. We never did anything to anybody.”
Herman looked at the woman and her two terrified children. He tried to think what to do. He hadn’t come all this way to make war on children and women. Little Poo came across the room to him and put her arms out, and Herman swept her up.
“Don’t go away, Herman. Please don’t go away. Don’t let the firemen make you dead.”
“Nothing’s going to happen to Herman,” he said. “You and your sister, you go upstairs, you stay in your rooms no matter what. No matter what!” he finished savagely. “Now, run. Run, Poo. Take care of your sister.”
Poo scrambled up the stairs, pulling Bean along. The younger one was the stronger one.
“You, lady, you’re grown-up. You gotta take your risks with the rest of us.”
“Who are you? What is this?”
“Here they are,” said the man at the window. He had an FAL, not a house-to-house weapon, with an utterly worthless Trilux night sight. “Should I fire?”
“No, no,” said Herman. “Maybe they are just firemen. Get up on the st