What his eyes were seeing was so completely unexpected that his brain couldn’t makes sense of it. He might as well have been looking at an elephant in a jaunty straw boater playing boogie-woogie on the piano. That kind of thing just didn’t happen, not in any sane world.
His feet went slack on the pedals and the VW rolled slowly down the street toward the school, Whistler still trying to understand everything that was taking place before him. Even as he looked away from the firing squad in the trucks, staring at the school in disbelief, he saw a window break as a chair flew through it and more smoke ribboned into the air. Then a woman, a teacher he guessed, tumbled through the empty frame and onto the ground. She sprang to her feet and reached back into the room. She hauled out a small coughing kid, basically tossed the boy to one side and reached for another. Her hair was smoking as she reeled another one of her students up onto the window frame.