There was never any doubt in his mind. He sprinted toward the two girls, grasped their arms firmly, and tumbled them to the ground. Then he lay on top of them, pressing their bodies tightly. Bullets whined over his head, just inches away. His eardrums hurt. His body was trembling and so were the girls shielded beneath him. He was almost sure he was about to die. “It's all right, babies,” he whispered.

Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the firing stopped. A hush of silence hung in the air. So strange and eerie, as if the whole world had stopped to listen.

As he raised himself, his eyes fell on an incredible sight.

Slowly, everywhere, the children struggled to their feet.

There was some crying, but he didn't see any blood, no one seemed to be hurt.

“Everyone okay?” Winslow called out. He made his way through the crowd. “”Is anyone hurt?"

“I'm okay, I'm okay,” came back to him. He looked around in disbelief. This was a miracle.

Then he heard the sound of a single child whimpering.

He turned and spotted Maria Parker, only twelve years old. Maria was standing on the whitewashed wooden steps of the church entrance. She seemed lost. Choking sobs poured from her open mouth.

Then Aaron Winslow's eyes came to rest on what had made the girl hysterical. He felt his heart sink. Even in war, even growing up on the streets of Oakland, he had never felt anything so horrible, so sad and senseless.

“Oh, God. Oh, no. How could you let this happen?”

Tasha Catchings, just eleven years old, lay in a heap in a flower-bed near the foundation of the church. Her white school blouse was soaked with blood.

Finally, Reverend Aaron Winslow began to cry himself.

Part I.

THE WOMEN'S MURDER CLUB--AGAIN