Seven-year-old Sara stumbled breathlessly into the front door of her school. Falling and getting up in haste she ran crying and screaming toward the only place of safety she could remember—her classroom. Flinging open the door, the bruised and bleeding child fell into her stunned teacher’s arms. 

“Mrs. Miller! Mrs. Miller!” Then the sobs overtook her again and she collapsed onto the floor.

With instinct born of recent school safety training, Mrs. Miller leapt for the keypad on the wall and dialed a hasty “911.” At once the school emergency alert system started to shriek over the intercom, while classroom and outside doors were automatically secured. Teachers, secretaries, and janitors joined the security staff and principal in accounting for all students.

The system simultaneously dialed the nearby police station and within seconds police and emergency vehicles were arriving at the now locked-down campus.

Educated in the school of terrifying experience, the state educational system and police departments had opted for an “act first, ask questions later” approach to perceived danger. The all-too-real specter of school violence, kidnapping, and murders of children loomed large in the minds of everyone and the question flew from nearly 500 mouths—“What is happening?” 

Motioning to her students to lie quietly on the floor under their desks, Mrs. Miller flicked off the light switch and gathered little Sara into her arms, scooting under her large teacher’s desk.

In the quiet dark comfort, Sara began to tell her teacher a story that brought tears—and a cold fear—to the seasoned educator. Reaching for the cell phone, required to be on each teacher’s person at all times, Mrs. Miller dialed the next code, which would connect her with the command center she knew was being set up both inside and outside the locked-down school.

The instant the phone rang, two buttons were pushed: one inside a bunker-like room in the school, where the principal and security head were monitoring—the other in the armored police vehicle just outside the perimeter of the grounds. Relating the story just told her by Sara, Mrs. Miller heard the reactions of both parties as police and security issued commands to their respective forces to look for a small black car with two occupants dressed in black hooded sweats—considered armed and dangerous.

With repeated proof of the effectiveness of the “Amber Alert” in Oregon and other states, a bulletin was now issued to all police and media in the state—with the highest urgency level. Even though Sara had managed to bite, fight, and kick her way to freedom against the would-be kidnapper, authorities knew the next child might not be so lucky. 

Now a second system was put into operation. Part of the armored police vehicle began to separate from the rest and move rapidly toward the front door of the quiet building. Arriving at the bottom of the stairs, the body of the vehicle reared up on its wheels and proceeded to climb the stairs. Reaching the entrance, it expanded right and left until it formed a sealed cover over both doors. Heavily armored and armed militia punched numbers into an electronic keypad to one side and took a defensive position as the doors swung open. 

They spread out over the whole school, advancing and securing each area. Three officers—two bearing the red emblems of medics—headed directly for Mrs. Miller’s classroom. The recent innovations included a computerized map with camera feed-ins for instant information of any problem area. Reaching the room indicated on their palm pilots, the medics again disarmed the lock on the door and entered.

Mrs. Miller now brought Sara out of cover and briefed the medics on her physical injuries. Sara clung to her teacher, fearfully eyeing the two, until they took off their riot helmets revealing two women officers—one with flaming red hair the color of Sara’s own. Fascinated by the gentle manner of this medic, who said her name was Arella, she let them examine her injuries, then place her on a small portable stretcher. Once strapped on, they covered her with a clear plastic dome to protect her head and a sheet of Kevlar to guard against any possible further attack.

Sara tried to reach for Mrs. Miller’s hand, but was tucked securely into her little cocoon. Her teacher briefly reassured her, adding that her parents would probably beat her to the hospital. Now the process was reversed—don the riot helmets, disarm the lock, and enter the hallway where the third officer had remained on guard. Toting their tiny cargo, the three advanced to the entryway and into the waiting vehicle.

The stairs were descended in a moment and soon the vehicle was rejoining the command post recently left behind. A waiting ambulance backed up to the access closest to the street and Sara was transferred directly into its doors. Once she was safely inside, the EMT’s carefully removed the protective covering, tucked a teddy bear in beside her, and began their triage.

Rushing through their city, sirens wailing, they glimpsed a large American flag painted on the side of a building. With a pang they remembered when it was put there—after 9-11-01. The 21^st century had begun with terror. It wasn’t getting any better.