The arms of the windmill spun round and round, lazy against the grey winter sky.
The body of the lost special child hung there relaxed, silent, finally at peace. Trying to run was not a option. The battle was here, not on the road.
He stood and stared and felt all their eyes boring into his back, waiting for answers. He didn't want this; not this death. He wanted them all to live, to go home but the dead face high above was the only sure answer he knew.
Fight or flee and die; that was all that they had.