Chapter 28
T om felt the searing heat before he even reached the front entrance.
“It’s a no go!” he shouted, backing up. “We’re going to have to find another way in.”
They ran around the side of the house. Here, the walls were less scorched.
“Jamal,” called Tom, spotting a window. The glass had been blasted out during the impact, but the frame remained intact. More importantly, the fire hadn’t reached this side of the house yet.
The rebel fighter joined him, and they climbed through the window, landing easily on the uneven floor on the other side.
It was smoky, visibility was next to zero. Tom secured his bandana over his nose and mouth. Jamal did the same. Without them, they wouldn’t last five minutes.
Jamal called out in Arabic.
They heard a faint groan, but it didn’t sound like it was coming from this room.
“Come on,” said Tom, heading deeper into the gloom. They didn’t have long. The heat was intensifying and soon the smoke would overwhelm them.
They ran into the next room, which looked like a study, although what little furniture had been there was now smoldering in broken pieces on the floor.
A sob came from beneath a pile of fallen tiles and concrete where the roof had caved in.
“Over here.” Tom began pulling tiles and concrete off the top of the pile and throwing them behind him.
There was a hot gust of wind as the fire spread into the room. Its hungry, hot fingers drew ever nearer to where they were standing. The smoke was becoming unbearable.
“Hurry,” coughed Jamal, helping him.
Another sob, louder this time. A small hand reached up through a gap in the debris.
“It’s a child,” spluttered Tom, throwing debris out the way to get to the boy.
Jamal dislodged the last few tiles and they stared down at a small, tear-stained face. He must have been about ten or eleven, with scorched eyebrows and hair, and bleeding from a gash at his temple. But he was alive.
Tom scooped him up in his arms. It was hard to see through the dense smoke. “Which way?” he choked.
Jamal grabbed his arm and led them back into the room they’d come from. The smoke was less thick in here, but all three of them were coughing now. The boy seemed to be lapsing in and out of consciousness.
Tom carried him to the window. Jamal leaped out and Tom handed the child over, before climbing out himself. They stumbled away from the billowing building, gasping and coughing to clear their lungs.
“Thank God,” Hannah said, as he collapsed beside her. Jamal laid the boy carefully on the ground. “Is he okay?”
“I think so.” Tom gulped down lungfuls of fresh air. He could still taste the acrid smoke in his mouth. Jamal was doing the same, leaning back against the barricade, his eyes shut.
Hannah inspected the boy. “He’s breathing.”
His eyes fluttered and he coughed, gasping as he fought for breath. Hannah stroked his back. “You’re okay. You’re safe now.”
The man who’d run towards the blaze earlier rushed over. His wayward curly hair was held back by a red bandana, his brow furrowed in concern.
“I don’t know how to thank you,” he said, bowing profusely and pumping Tom and Jamal’s hands over and over again. “You saved Hamez’s life. My sister will be extremely grateful, as will my father.”
“Your father is fighting up ahead, is that right?” asked Tom.
“He’s leading the defense,” the young man said proudly.
Tom gave a curt nod. “Then, I look forward to meeting him in person.”
“I’m coming with you,” Jamal said. “You’re going to need backup and I want to talk with Abu-al-Rashid.”
Tom gave a quick nod. Jamal didn’t say what about, but he guessed it involved their defenses and their plan to fight back.
Jamal went over to talk to his men. It looked like he was issuing instructions in his absence. When he came back, he said, “Let’s head for the buildings on the northern side of the block.”
Tom consulted his map, which he had folded so that he could see where they were without having to open it all the way up each time. Unlike Hannah, he didn’t have a visual in his head. “The warehouse?”
Jamal nodded. “Yeah, if we get separated, we can regroup there.”
“Gotcha.”
Hannah glanced up. “We’re moving out?”
“Yeah, you ready?”
She nodded but Tom sensed her reluctance. He didn’t blame her. It went against every human instinct to run into danger. He’d been trained to do it, while Jamal and his men had gotten used to it, but it sure as hell wasn’t natural.
He reached down and pulled her to her feet.
Jamal unclipped his rifle, checked the magazine, and made sure it was cocked and locked. Barrel pointing forward, he nosed out from behind the wall.
“Clear!”
He sprinted around a small apartment block and disappeared into the dim interior of what looked like an abandoned school.
Tom nodded at Hannah. “Your turn.”
She took a deep breath, then dashed after Jamal, a fleeting, black-robed figure amongst the dust and debris.
Tom glanced up and swept the rooftops for the glint of a sniper’s rifle. The sun had risen now, drenching the rubble-strewn streets in a soft yellow hue. Hoping for the best, he ran after them.
It was dark inside the school. Long shadows stretched across the floor.
Lots of hiding places. They moved quickly through it and out into a playground.
The ground was pockmarked by explosions and pieces of the jungle gym hung at haphazard angles like broken limbs.
A pair of swings were no more than burned rubber globules hanging off a chain.
A metal pole was all that remained of a merry-go-round.
It resembled a post-apocalyptic movie scene.
“That’s so sad,” Hannah said, as they ran across the yard to the fence on the other side.
Tom gave the gate a firm kick and it fell outwards onto the street. A woman ran past, dragging a grubby child by the hand, while a group of unarmed teenage youths ducked down behind a low wall, surveying the action.
They reached an intersection and ducked into a shop whose frontage had been torn off. The cave-like interior would offer protection from stray bullets. Tom glanced around. It was filled with rubble, wires, and broken shelving. All the merchandise had long since been looted.
“See that burned-out bus.” Jamal pointed across the road. “That’s where Abu-al-Rashid and his men are.”
Tom studied the ragtag group of freedom fighters, all armed with semi-automatic and automatic rifles, hunkering down behind the bus. They took it in turns to fire back at the government forces who’d surrounded the territory. This was their forward operating base, and their most dangerous position.
Ironically, the bus had a rainbow painted across it, still visible beneath the fire damage. There wasn’t much hope here, Tom thought grimly as a volley of shots pinged off the rusty bonnet.
“What are we doing?” Hannah stared up at him, wide eyed.
The sporadic gunfire was disconcerting, and the road was impossible to cross. The ground at their feet was littered with shell casings.
“I need to talk to Abu-al-Rashid.” Tom focused his narrowed gaze on the bus.
“You can’t!” She gasped, horrified. “You’ll be killed.”
“I’ll cover you,” Jamal offered, peering out into the street. “The shots are coming from the north.”
“Tom, no,” she pleaded. “It’s not worth your life.”
“I’ll be fine,” he told her tersely. “We need this. We need his help to get out.” He gave her hand a quick squeeze. “Wait here. Whatever happens, stay undercover. You got that.”
She nodded, biting her lip.
“Back soon.”
He nodded to Jamal, who leaned out of the shop, and opened fire. It was now or never. Tom crouched low and ran across the street.