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The school was as silent as a morgue. No students’ voices, no footsteps, no distant sounds of choir practice or basketballs dribbling.
The few people in the main office seemed nervous beneath their quiet exteriors, as if waiting for a storm to hit.
Suddenly, there was sound. Ker-plop. Kerplop. Ker-plop. Like a horse galloping in padded slippers. Then panting. Through the glass in the door, the mother saw a black Labrador straining at his leash, pulling his handler as the dog ran with his nose pointing toward the lockers.
In moments, another dog and handler followed.
Under other circumstances, they might have been cute. But in the abandoned hallways — all students and teachers had been ordered to stay in their rooms — they looked ominous. The handlers, who were state troopers, wore navy blue jump suits and black boots. They were armed and they looked serious, completely unlike the friendly fellows who visited the elementary students for DARE Day.
When the search was over, about 20 minutes later, Principal Jack Raines proudly announced, “The school was clean, which is what we expected. We just want it to stay that way.”
The dogs were trained to sniff for drugs and explosives or weapons.
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