by Schafer, Ben
Omar deftly extricated himself from his friend’s embrace. “I’m afraid that second rumor was true, Walid. I am no longer a Muslim.”
“Oh.” Walid appeared crestfallen. He tried another grin, but his heart was no longer in it. “It’s still good to see you. Did you see Sharif?”
Omar nodded. “I did. He’s actually the one who sent us your way.” He hesitated for a moment as if realizing something. “Though he didn’t mention you would be stationed here.”
“Probably forgot. He’s so busy, you know? But, yeah, I’ve lived here with these guys for the past two days, ever since the tanks first showed up near the dam. We’re the first line of defense,” he proclaimed proudly.
Omar looked around without comment. “Yeah, I know it’s not much too look at,” Walid admitted. “But we don’t have the men or material to build an actual wall. So Sharif came up with the idea to place checkpoints like this one all around the city. We’re armed and supplied to hold back any scouts that try to pass through. If the army comes with too many men for us to handle, a quick reaction force from the main base in the hospital will be no more than ten minutes away from any point in the city.”
“That’s where the vehicles were last night,” Omar said.
“I’m surprised he didn’t commandeer ours,” I replied.
Walid rubbed his forehead. “I’m being such an idiot! Here,” Walid stretched out his arm toward the table. “Have a seat.” He began herding us to the table. “Abu! Get these men some chairs. This is the commander’s brother!”
The other man at the table, who must have been Abu, eased to his feet and waddled over to the wall behind the man who was still on his phone. Phone-guy shot Abu a dirty look for encroaching on his personal space, then moved with a dramatic sigh. Abu grabbed two collapsible metal chairs and set them up around the table at a leisurely pace.
“It’s okay, Walid,” Omar said. “We were just passing—”
“No need to thank me, Omar. You are my guest, and as your host I am duty-bound to take care of you.” Walid practically shoved us into the chairs. I tried to smile politely, acutely aware that we were wasting precious time here. Still, this would be Omar’s last chance to talk to his friend, so I owed him a brief moment. Very brief.
“Can I get you something to eat or drink?” Walid asked. “Coffee, tea, water?” Omar opened his mouth, but before he could speak Walid said, “That’s okay. We only have tea.” His head snapped up to Abu, who had returned to his seat. “Abu. Tea. Now.”
Abu sighed, then stood once more. There was a small porcelain tea pot resting on a camping stove. Abu picked it up, along with a pair of clear plastic cups, and returned to the table.
“I’m sorry we don’t have real cups for you,” Walid said as he poured a pale greenish-grey liquid into the cups. This is the best we could dig up all the way out here.”
“It’s fine,” Omar replied. “But, Walid, this is urgent. Have you heard from or seen Mosab lately?”
Walid considered the question. “Well, no. He’s still running his auto shop. Don’t know if he’ll be there in this battle, though. Then again, I’ve never known Mosab to have any sense. He’s probably still hanging around somewhere. From the reports we’ve been getting, the army isn’t leaving many men behind as they march toward us. Maybe he avoided the fighting altogether. Why do you need him?” His eyes brightened. “Did Sharif send you on some sort of secret mission?”
Omar pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a calming breath. When he opened his eyes, he gave Walid his best toothy smile. It needed work. “Yes, Walid. Sharif needs me to recover a car or a truck from Mosab’s garage. I need to get out of the city. It was only an accident that I was here at all.”
Walid leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Omar, don’t try to fool me. You know I’m too smart for that.”
Omar’s smile wavered. “Uh—”
“You’re Sharif’s backup plan.” Walid said confidently. “In case things go wrong here, he needs you to get the word to the rebels in other parts of the country. He’s a clever man, your brother is.”
Omar started to roll his eyes, but caught himself. “Absolutely. Do you know of any safe routes out of the city?”
Walid frowned. “Let’s see. You could go south.”
Omar grimaced. “Sharif actually wants me to head to the coast. If everything goes wrong, I could take a boat to Egypt or Turkey where the people are sympathetic to our cause.”
“Gather support from the outside and return at the head of an army,” Walid concluded.
Omar shrugged. “Sure. Let’s go with that.”
Walid rubbed his beardless chin thoughtfully. “Well, the roads directly west are still open. The army is sweeping south first, then will spread east and west. You’ll have to hurry, though. The army is bound to have more troops moving to seal those roads nice and tight.”
“We’d better get moving, then.”
“Sure, sure,” Walid’s head bobbed up and down. “But you can at least finish your tea. After all, it’s not like the war’s going anywhere, is it?”
I resisted the urge to say, “It’s coming right here, you idiot.” I kept my professional smile pasted on my face and took a sip of my tea. It was horrible, somehow scalding and too cold all at once, and I began choking on it when it touched my tongue. I covered my rude behavior by raising a fist to my mouth and coughing. “I’m sorry. I think I may be getting sick.”
Walid tilted his head. “Well, warm tea is the best thing to clear up a cough. Finish what you have and I’ll have Abu pour you some more.” Abu shot daggers at Walid but didn’t say anything. I was beginning to think the poor man was a functional mute until the radio on the table chirped.
Abu swiped the radio before Walid could get to it. Walid crossed his arms and pouted while Abu gave him a smug smile. “Checkpoint Seven, go ahead.”
Abu held the radio close to his ear, so I couldn’t quite make out what was being said. The message got through to Abu, though, because he practically dropped the radio and yelled, “Boss! Soldiers incoming from the northwest!”
Mr. Sunglasses grunted in acknowledgement. “Everybody gear up and get ready.”
While the other men dropped whatever they were doing and picked up the rifles that had been haphazardly strewn around the checkpoint, Walid clapped with excitement. “Finally! Some fun for a change. I know you have an important mission, Omar, but you should stay for a little while longer. I know you don’t like the rough stuff too much, but I think if you’d like it if you tried it. You might even get the chance to shoot a soldier!”
“Wow, Walid, that’s certainly, uh, generous. But we’ve imposed on your hospitality for too long as it is.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Walid replied. He started walking toward the last remaining rifle, which was propped up next to the camping stove.
Walid stopped mid-stride and pivoted on his heel. “What am I doing? You’re the commander’s brother, Omar. I should let you have the first shot at—”
His words were drowned out by an enormous fireball that filled the intersection, engulfing everything inside in smoke and flames.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
THE shockwave of the blast threw me to the pavement. My head struck the ground an inch or two from the crack that had almost tripped Walid. Between the sunbaked pavement and the heat wave from the explosion, I felt like I was being roasted alive. My ears rang and my vision swam. I also found myself short of breath. The fireball must have sucked up a lot of oxygen in the immediate area. “I’ve got to stop finding myself in this position,” I slurred.
I rolled over onto my back to assess the damage and immediately regretted it. Tiny flecks of stone, cinder block, and wire had been flung into my back. My jacket absorbed the worst of it. None of numerous cuts or bruises were severe enough to warrant attention, but all combined they spread a solid wall of hurt from my lower neck to my waist.
Someone once told me that pain has a great way of reminding a g
uy that he’s still alive. I was certainly feeling alive right about then.
I rubbed a layer of soot away from my eyes, then pushed myself up off the pavement. When I did, something snapped under my left hand. My vision was still blurry, but when I moved my hand I saw a warped and half-melted pair of aviator sunglasses. I came to the realization that none of these men would feel mortal pain ever again. And it had happened so fast, like a bolt of lightning out of a clear blue sky.
“Omar!” I yelled, or at least tried to yell. My throat was raw. “Omar!”
“Kyle, are you all right?” someone beside me asked. It was a woman’s voice, a sweet voice.
“Azima?” I took a step forward and stumbled.
“Easy, now. That’s right. Omar’s okay. The table flipped over on top of him, but it looks like it shielded him from the worst of it. I’m more worried about you.”
I flashed my most reassuring smile, then felt bile rise in my throat. Combined with the lingering aftertaste of Walid’s terrible tea, it made for a distinctly unpleasant experience for my esophagus. I managed to fight the nausea and tried smiling again. From the look on Azima’s face, it was anything but reassuring.
“The others,” I croaked. “Are any of them . . .” I let the thought trail off as I clamped down on another bout of nausea.
“Doesn’t look like it,” Jamil said. His voice was solemn.
“The blast was intense,” Nadir added. He was standing over Omar, who was just beginning to get to a seated position. “They never stood a chance against firepower of that magnitude.”
“Tank?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Could be. Your guess is as good as mine.”
“We need to get going,” I said. “Army’s still headed this way. I don’t want to be here when they arrive.”
Nadir and Jamil nodded in acknowledgement. Omar wobbled to his feet. “What about survivors?” he implored.
I shook my head. “They’re gone, Omar. We only survived that blast by the thinnest of margins and we were at the very edge of it. If we stay here any—” I stopped talking when I heard a barely audible groan from behind me. I turned around slowly and scanned the wreckage. There was a pile of scrap metal and burst sandbags a short distance away. As I watched, it began to shift.
I pointed to the spot. “Jamil, help me move this!”
Jamil hopped over a piece of the shattered barricade and grabbed a side of the metal sheet. I took hold of the opposite side. “Okay. One, two, three!” We pulled the twisted panel aside and flung it onto the pavement.
“Is it Walid?” Omar asked.
I looked down at the bloody face below me. “I can’t tell. But this is about where he was standing when that shell hit.” I knelt down to do a more thorough examination. Walid, if it was him, was in bad shape. He had been closer to the blast than I had been and did not have the protection of my reinforced jacket. There were cuts and bruises covering his face, neck, and arms, including a particularly nasty gash just below his hairline that stretched around from his earlobe to the middle of his forehead. His eyes were closed and his breathing was shallow and rapid.
“There’s nothing we can do for him,” Nadir said.
Omar stumbled through the debris to join us. “If we leave him, then he’ll die.”
“And if we don’t leave him,” Nadir countered, “then we will all die.”
I frowned and considered our options. They were extremely limited. We had neither the time nor supplies to care for Walid’s wounds. It gnawed at my guts, but if we didn’t leave none of us would make it out of the city. “Omar—”
He whipped his head toward me and tottered to the left as he temporarily lost his balance. “What? Kyle, you can’t expect me to abandon him in the street.”
As if on cue, Walid started coughing and his eyes snapped open. “What? Oh, Omar, I don’t feel too good.”
“You don’t look too good, either,” Jamil snorted.
“You’re okay,” Omar comforted his friend.
“Can you move your arms and legs?” I asked.
Walid experimented with each appendage, then nodded. He staggered to his feet and almost immediately began to topple. I caught him as gently as possible and slid under his arm to support his weight. “Whoa, easy there.”
“I think I need a doctor,” Walid stammered.
“Sharif said that there are hardly any doctors left in the city,” I said.
Walid shook his head. It was a jerky, unsteady motion. “There are still a few brave men who volunteered to stay for the cause. There are small, hidden clinics all over the city. The closest one is in a basement two streets east.”
“Can you walk?” I asked.
Walid shrugged. I took a cautious step away from him and let him stand on his own. He tottered a bit but stayed upright. He took one step, then two. But on the third step, his balance failed completely and Walid plunged toward the pavement. Omar stepped in the path of his fall and returned his friend to a standing position.
“I’ll help him,” Omar said. “But we have to get out of here before any soldiers arrive.”
Walid cocked his head to the right as he remembered something important. “My gun!” he shouted. “I need my gun!”
“Leave it,” I replied.
Omar looked from his friend’s pained expression to me. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? What if we run into trouble?”
“We must fight!” Walid thundered.
“We must run,” I responded quietly. “We’re hardly a crack infantry squad. If we encounter soldiers they would wipe us out in short order.”
“You managed to take care of the men at Imady rather well,” Nadir said.
“With some help,” Jamil added.
I shook my head. “Those weren’t soldiers, and they weren’t expecting much of a fight. This is a war. The army isn’t just prepared for a fight, they want one. Let’s not give it to them. An unarmed group with women and a child represent no threat to them. Our only hope is to pass beneath their notice.”
“I don’t like it,” Walid said.
“I don’t care,” I replied.
Walid, to his credit, did not argue any farther. So our little group, with one extra member, continued our march through the city. The incident at the checkpoint had seared the dangers of the battlefield into our minds, and I could see everyone carefully scanning the roads and rooftops for hazards.
We never saw a tank that could have fired that shell into the intersection. That led me to believe that it may have been a mortar, instead. The threat of having explosives raining down on our heads at random did little to calm my nerves, but there was nothing that could be done to prevent it. We had to keep moving and keep praying.
The faces in the windows were gone. Apparently the threat of random explosions was enough to deter even the most determined observers. Out of the corner of my eye, I could still see people darting between buildings. None of them ever spoke to us or opened fire, so I could assume that they were simply civilians trying to get out of the crossfire.
After a few agonizing minutes, Walid lifted a trembling arm. “There, the building with the green awnings.”
I squinted at it. “Is that a hotel?”
Walid nodded weakly. “It has been closed for over a year. Business is not what it used to be,” he joked.
We approached the doors with caution. There were no people in sight, and the only sound was the ever-present thunder of distant artillery. “Are you sure this is the right place?” Nadir asked.
“The man who built and owned this place was very paranoid. He built a bomb shelter under the hotel because he was certain that the Israelis were going to invade any day now. There is a central courtyard between these buildings here,” Walid said, indicating the row of businesses on either side of the abandoned hotel. “The access stairs will be back there. The owner didn’t want the door to be blocked if the hotel collapsed on top of it.”
The door to the hotel was unlocked. Then again, every window on th
e ground floor was shattered, so any would-be intruders would have no problem getting inside if they wanted to do so. The interior of the hotel was dark and quiet, but that didn’t mean no one was home. If this place was a secret rebel medical center, as Walid claimed, I felt certain that there were a number of eyes and guns trained on us at all times. I made a mental note to stay as unthreatening as possible. I hadn’t come this far to be killed by some dumb kid protecting a field hospital.
Pieces of glass crunched underfoot as we marched through the weather-beaten carpet. There were still patches of the original deep red, but most of the color had faded to a light brown. Omar looked at the front desk, which still had an open log book displayed on the counter. “What did the owner say when you took it over?”
“Not much,” Walid smirked. “He died of a heart attack six months ago.”
“Maybe the Israelis did it,” Jamil quipped, waggling his eyebrows.
Walid didn’t seem to appreciate the joke. “The man was lazy and fat. He didn’t need anyone to push him into the grave.”
We exited through the back door and entered the central courtyard Walid had described. It was a perfect square, surrounded by two- and three-story buildings on every side. The weeds were overgrown, some of them as high as my waist. As I took in the details, I noticed that Azima had lifted Hashim and was carrying him on her hip. I guess she didn’t want him wandering off into the brush. There was a cleared path a short ways to the left of the rear entrance to the hotel. I didn’t even see the stone stairway until we were practically on top of it. It led to a rusty steel door that was slightly ajar. I don’t know if it was left open for circulation or simply because it was so rusted that it wouldn’t move.
We were a handful of steps from the stairwell when an off-white Toyota Hilux pickup truck careened through an opening between the hotel and the adjacent building, scraping off more than a fair amount of paint along the way. It fishtailed around the corner and made a bee-line toward the bomb shelter. I did a double-take as the truck pulled to a stop. It was identical to the trucks I had encountered in the valley near Spin Boldak, down to the armed militants seated in the bed.