I drove slowly, keeping my eyes open for a makeshift hospital, a sign, or someone I could ask.
After ten minutes of driving in circles, I saw a tattered flag fluttering in the wind, and I felt my heart leap with relief. The flag was green with a white star and crescent, and the letters ‘MSF’ printed boldly below. As I turned the corner, I saw several large canvas tents the size of marquees, and I knew that I’d found the new base of the temporary hospital.
More soldiers guarded the perimeter of the canvas buildings, and I saw ambulances parked nearby—several looked like they’d been strafed by machine guns. My dormant anger was reawakened, flashing into fury in seconds. Who fires on an ambulance?
The soldiers stared me down as I approached, but I didn’t drop my weapons. I didn’t point them at the armed guards either—I was desperate, not suicidal. Getting killed this close to finding Amira was not part of the plan.
“Salaam-Alaikum,” I said cautiously. “Al’iinjlizia?”
I asked if anyone spoke English, and hoped like hell that someone did.
One of the soldiers nodded.
“Little English. What you want?”
“I’m looking for Amira Soliman. She’s a nurse at the hospital. You know, a nurse? Medic? Doctor?” I stumbled on as he stared at me. “Her parents are worried about her and asked me to look for her. Do you know where I can find her?”
He scowled, and I knew that he was wondering about our relationship—Muslim women weren’t supposed to be friends with a man they weren’t related to, not if they were devout, not in this part of the world.
I tried again.
“Amira Soliman. Nurse—a medic. Her parents haven’t heard from her since the bombing. They’re concerned. Her father sent me. Can you help me find her?”
They muttered amongst themselves, gesturing with their rifles, which was somewhat disturbing. It was clear that the man who said he spoke English didn’t understand most of what I was saying.
I stood helpless and impatient as they argued amongst themselves.
Their conversation grew more animated by the second, and then one of them gestured for me to go with him. I wasn’t happy leaving the Jeep and cans of petrol with them, but if he was going to take me to Amira, that was all that mattered.
I took a step forward to follow him, but one of the soldiers who’d been doing the most shouting blocked my path, clearly wanting to take my rifle, too. I was not happy about that. In the end, it seemed like a deal breaker, so I gave it to him reluctantly. He didn’t try to pat me down—amateur—so he didn’t know that I still had a pistol tucked in the waistband of my jeans.
The first soldier was waiting impatiently for me to follow, and strode off at a fast pace until we were in the centre of the canvas city.
He pointed at a spot near the entrance to the largest tent, indicating that I should wait outside.
Excitement and anticipation ballooned inside me, and I could already feel the smile hovering on my face, thinking of Amira’s surprise when she saw me. I’d probably get a weapons-grade bollocking from her, too, but damn if the thought didn’t make me smile.
I waited with increasing impatience.
Ten minutes passed, and annoyance turned to frustration.
A thin drizzle began, turning the tents gunmetal grey, and frustration turned to a fear that churned in my gut.
After half an hour of clawing desperation, a thin woman with pale skin and blue eyes walked towards me. Her hair was covered with a hijab, but her eyebrows were blonde.
It wasn’t who I wanted to see, but I sensed that she’d be able to tell me something.
“Yes?” she asked warily, glancing at the soldier who’d escorted her.
“I’m looking for Amira Soliman. I’m a friend of her parents.”
“Do you have a name, friend?”
She had a Northern Irish accent and a glare that reminded me of my first drill sergeant. And I realized how dodgy this much look, so I tucked my sunglasses into my pocket and pulled the scarf from my head.
“My name is James Spears. I’m a friend of hers. I, um, met her in America last summer. Maybe she mentioned me?”
The woman shook her head, her eyes narrowing.
“I met her parents and her sister, Zada,” I hurried on. “Her dad’s name is Ammar.” What else? “We have a mutual friend, a guy called Clay, maybe she mentioned him?”
She gasped, her hand flying to her throat.
“Clay? Amira’s Clay?”
That wasn’t what I was expecting to hear, and jealousy uncoiled restlessly inside me.
“Yeah, I know Clay. So is she here? I’ve been going crazy when I couldn’t get through to her. I thought her phone must be out of action, and her parents are really worried. Clay asked me to come here and find her.”
She didn’t smile back.
“How did you get here?”
My smile fell as I sensed her evasion.
“It wasn’t easy,” I admitted.
“No, I’d imagine not.”
“So, is she here?”
She sighed and rattled something in rapid Arabic to my guard who gave me a disdainful look, then ambled off.
“You’d better come inside,” she said, ducking back into the tent. “We’re doing the best we can, but it’s chaos. I’m Michelle, by the way.”
I nodded, even though I was walking behind her and she couldn’t see me.
Unease prickled under my skin.
“Not trying to be rude here, Michelle, but what aren’t you telling me? Is Amira hurt? Was she in the hospital when it was shelled?”
“No,” she said hurriedly.
“No, she wasn’t hurt or no she wasn’t in the hospital?”
My voice rose, and I saw her wring her hands.
Finally, she led me to a corner of the tent where a couple of medics were writing up notes on what looked like a picnic table. Their faces were etched with exhaustion, their eyes red, their scrubs stained with blood. I turned away and studied Michelle.
She sat down, composing herself, but her hands were shaking. Then she looked up at me with tears in her eyes, and wretched certainty filled me as I saw my future spinning into nothing.
“I’m sorry, James. I’m so terribly, terribly sorry. Amira was hurt in a car bombing. She’s not here anymore—she’s being repatriated to a military hospital in Germany. An ambulance took her to the airport earlier this morning. I’m so sorry, but you’ve missed her.”
James
I CLOSED MY eyes, trying to take in what I was being told. Amira was hurt, but at least she was on her way out of here.
“How bad is she hurt?” I asked harshly, winding my emotions back tightly.
Michelle sighed and shook her head.
“She’s well enough to fly, so that’s positive, but she needs another blood transfusion and we simply don’t have enough.” She hesitated. “We suspect there’s internal bleeding somewhere, but we can’t be sure without the correct equipment. We have to risk moving her now.”
Michelle held my hands, painting a vivid picture.
They’d been out to a small café to eat. They were laughing. Amira was happy. They were all happy, relaxing after a long shift.
Michelle dropped her fork and had been under the table when the car bomb detonated. Being clumsy had saved her life. Four of the others had been killed by flying glass. Dead. Men and women who’d volunteered in this shithole because they wanted to make the world a better place. Dead.
Michelle had held Amira’s hand as her blood pooled around them.
“So much blood,” Michelle said softly. “We managed to get her stabilized for now, but we don’t have the resources to help her here. The phone towers were damaged, too, and MSF Headquarters only managed to send an email to her parents last night.”
I nodded, trying to take it all in.
“When was her flight?”
She gave me a tired look.
“Who knows? Flights don’t happen on time around here. When’s
it’s safe, I suppose,” and she shrugged. “I’m sorry, James, but that’s all I can tell you. It’s possible her flight hasn’t even left yet. If you leave for the airport now, you might make it in time to see her.”
I thanked her and stood up quickly.
“If you don’t make it in time,” she called after me as I strode away, “would you come back and donate some blood—we sorely need it.”
I promised that I would, but I was already running and I don’t know if she heard me.
The hospital’s armed guard was very reluctant to let me take the Jeep, and it was only when I pointed my pistol at the leader’s face that I was allowed to drive away. I had to leave the rifle.
I kept expecting to hear the sharp crack of a bullet behind me, but nothing happened.
I grabbed my phone, cursing when I saw it was nearly out of juice. I just hoped that it could direct me to the airport before it died.
I’d never been to Raqqa before but as it turned out, it wasn’t that difficult to find the airport. I followed a line of trucks bearing the logo of various charities, all heading in the same direction I was travelling, and I figured they were going to the airport, too. But when I arrived, I didn’t have the correct papers, and the perimeter was circled with barbed wire—all very well guarded.
It took the rest of my petrol cans and almost all of the cash I had with me to bribe my way inside.
I could see a large American transport plane parked close to the main runway. If I’d had any spare cash, I would have bet that this was the plane Amira was on.
I growled with frustration as the bureaucrats and administrative staff refused to let me know if she was on the plane or not. In the end, I used the last of my precious dollars to be able to see inside.
The whole plane was filled with MSF staff and charity workers being evacuated. Several of them looked in critical condition, and all of them had wounds of one kind or another. My eyes skipped desperately as I prowled between the rows, searching for Amira.
Until finally, near the rear of the plane, I found her.
Her eyes were closed and there were streaks of blood on her face. She looked so pale and still, I was almost afraid to touch her.
“Amira,” I said softly. “Amira…”
Her eyelids flickered and she opened her eyes slowly, her expression bewildered.
“Ja… James?”
“Yeah! I’m here, thank God.”
“What are you doing here?” she asked faintly.
“Your dad called me—he was worried because he hadn’t heard from you. Comms are down all over the city and the news was bad.”
She nodded slowly.
“But … how did you find me?”
“I ran into your Irish friend, Michelle. She told me you were being flown out. That’s good, really good.” My gaze dropped to her bandaged hands. “You’re okay though, yeah?”
She blinked wearily.
“You shouldn’t have come.”
Her words were so intensely painful that I couldn’t breathe.
I swallowed twice.
“Your parents were worried … Clay was worried, I was worried…”
A ghost of a smile hovered on her lips.
“Always worrying about other people, James.” Then she sighed as her eyes began to close, and I could tell that she was heavily sedated. “I can’t believe you’re here. I can’t even imagine how you managed it, that you put yourself in such danger. But it’s so good to see you. Are you really here? I’m not dreaming this?”
I took her hand and it lay limply in mine.
“I’m really here. There’s nowhere else I want to be.”
“I’m so sorry about what I said last time, when we were at JFK. So many times I wanted to contact you, but I was scared. That seems so stupid now. I’m so sorry…”
“It’s okay,” I said, my heart lurching. “We can talk about it later. You’re going to be okay and…”
“Hey, dude,” called a man in the uniform of a U.S. Marine. “You gotta get off—we’re going wheels up in ten.”
“Can I stay with her?” I asked desperately, and he shot me an incredulous look.
“We’re not a taxi service, buddy! We’re overloaded as it is—we’re not taking anyone who can walk on by themselves.”
I turned to Amira, crouching down next to her, still holding her small hand in mine.
“There are so many things I want to tell you,” I said, my voice breaking. “I love you. And I know that the timing is terrible … but I’ve missed you. These months without you have been shit. I’d do anything for you, you know that, right? Anything. I’d give you the world, if I could, and every star in the sky.”
Her eyes opened briefly and she brought her bandaged hand up to my cheek.
“Sweet James. I don’t deserve you…”
Her eyes closed again and I carefully placed her hand in her lap, reluctant to leave, desperate to stay.
The Marine glared at me and I knew it was time to go. The sands of time had finally run out. I’d played my final hand, and I’d lost.
But at least Amira would be safe.
I stood up stiffly, surprised to find that my face was wet with tears.
“Please,” Amira said suddenly, staring up at the Marine as she grabbed my hand to stop me from leaving. “Please let him stay. I need him. Please!”
“Ma’am, I can’t authorize…”
“Please! Please!”
“Damn it,” he swore softly. “Okay, he can stay,” and he turned to me, “but don’t get in anyone’s way.”
“I won’t. Thank you!”
He stalked away mumbling to himself and shaking his head.
James
THERE WAS NOWHERE for me to sit except on the floor next to Amira. Every time someone needed to get past, I had to squeeze out of the way. Being here was probably breaking a hundred rules, but I didn’t care.
I held Amira’s hand and talked to her, but I was seriously worried how weak her pulse felt and her skin was cool and clammy. I couldn’t tell if she was sleeping or dipping in and out of consciousness. I wasn’t a trained medic, but even I could tell that she was fading.
The overworked doctors on board, did what they could for all the injured, but I saw one man die in front of me. I didn’t tell Amira when she asked me; I told her the guy was sleeping.
“Maybe we can try and get to see Clay when you’re better,” I said, squeezing her hand.
There was the slightest uplift of her lips.
“He’s a great guy,” she said, her words so soft that I had to strain to hear her over the plane’s engines.
I had a lot of time for Clay, but I felt a surge of jealousy when Amira talked about him.
“He’s going to marry Zada,” she said.
“Your sister? Seriously? I didn’t know! That’s great.”
“He tried to tell you,” she whispered, her quiet words blasting me with guilt.
“I should have replied to him,” I said stiffly.
“I know why you didn’t, and I’m sorry. So sorry. All my fault.”
I held her hand in mine carefully.
“Well, you’re not getting rid of me now. Maybe you could come and see me in England, or I’ll come and visit you.”
“Sounds nice,” she said weakly. “So tired.”
“Don’t try and talk, Amira. Save your strength. We can talk when you’re home.”
“So tired. James…”
“Yes?”
But she was asleep. I held her hand as the miles passed, but she was so cold.
“Hey,” I asked one of the crew, “can I get her another blanket? She’s really cold.”
She frowned at me, then leaned over, pressing her fingers to Amira’s neck. Then she lifted one of her eyelids, before glancing at me quickly.
“I’m sorry. She’s gone.”
My world spun.
“What?”
“I’m sorry, her injuries were too bad. She didn’t make it.”
�
��But … that can’t be right! I’ve been sitting right here.”
She laid her hand on my shoulder.
“I’m sorry. She has no pulse, and her pupils are fixed and dilated. There’s nothing you could have done.”
EVEN AFTER WE arrived in Germany, I sat with her until they took her away.
I didn’t remember leaving the plane. A wrenching sensation scoured my chest as if someone was pulling my ribs out one by one.
I was outside, on my knees, retching my guts out.
My fingers sank into the mud as vomit spattered the dirt in front of me. My stomach heaved again, but there was nothing left, and it was with a bizarre sense of surprise that I realized I was crying.
The last time I’d cried, I’d been taken into foster care. I’d promised myself then that nothing would ever hurt me again.
But here I was, covered in mud and puke, and crying like a damn baby.
Everything was gone: my hope, my future, the love of my life. My shitty, stupid, pointless life. I’d come charging over here to save her, but I wasn’t needed and I couldn’t help. It was a cosmic joke, and I was the punchline.
“Why?!” I raged at the sky. “Why? Why did you take her away?” I screamed. “You’re a bastard, God! A devious, lying fraud! You’re nothing but a sideshow trick! You’re the greatest con of all! You’re a cheap suit, God, with your holy words and your promises! You’re a dammed liar! You can go to Hell! Because I’m already there!”
I screamed again, rage and despair tearing my throat.
My hands shook as I pulled the old Russian pistol from my waistband, my hands slick with mud. I put the gun against the side of my head, staring up accusingly at the rain-racked sky.
“FUCK YOU, GOD!”
I pulled the trigger, waiting for the bullet that would end my life.
But all I heard was a dry click.
I pulled the trigger again and again and again, but nothing happened.
“Useless piece of Russian shit!” I yelled, dropping it in the mud.
I started to laugh as rain and tears poured down my face, and I collapsed into the dirt, lying on my back, my eyes closed.
TICK TOCK (EOD (Explosive Ordnance Disposal) Book 1) Page 26