There are three quick but powerful knocks on the door. “It’s me.”
Salman exchanges a glance with me. He recognizes the voice too. Arriving at the door, Salman unbolts it before yanking it open with a heave, revealing the shop owner.
His breathing is a bit heavy. The first things I notice are his hands. They’re bloodied. There’s some dirt on his face that wasn’t there before. The shop owner is my father’s age, maybe a few years older. His face looks weary and his eyes appear old. They don’t hold any of the fear that I’ve seen on everybody else’s faces. Standing in the doorway, he looks down at the vomit and then at Fatima as she continues crying.
“Is she alright?” the man asks, his voice strong.
Salman nods.
“Do any of you know anything about nursing a wound?”
After a long moment, Fatima softens her weeping enough to reply, “I—I’ve taken some classes.”
“Good.” He looks over at Salman. “Are you her brother?”
“Yes.”
“You two, with me. There’s a boy. He’s been shot. I have him in the other room. I know how to treat the wound, God-willing, but I will need some assistance. He’s nearly unconscious from blood loss. We need to work fast.” His gaze focuses on me. “I need you to try the phone lines. See if you can get ahold of the police. Let them know where we’re holed up. If you can’t reach them, try any other number you know.”
I somehow manage a nod.
“There’s a phone upstairs. It’s in the first room on your left. Stay away from the windows no matter what you hear.” With those words, he motions for Salman and Fatima to go with him. Following him, Fatima glances back at me for a quick second before disappearing.
As I step out of the room, I hear low moans. It must be the boy. He’s calling out for his mother. He’s calling out to Allah. His voice is desperate. He’s not screaming. In fact, he is barely loud enough to be heard. But his wails drive a stake through my heart. With each syllable I hear, it’s like something has grabbed ahold of my heart and is crushing it. The shop owner’s voice rises above the boy’s as he instructs Salman and Fatima on what to do.
I quickly find the staircase in an attempt to escape it all. Climbing them, I arrive in a brown-walled corridor. I don’t go near the windows as instructed, but I still see the bright flames cutting through the darkness outside. One of the windows is shot up, its glass lying scattered on the ground. I hear gunfire. I hear yelling… and I hear screams. It’s distant now, and it’s almost drowned out by the hungry fires.
First room on the left. The open door leads into the kitchen. I don’t switch on the light, but my eyes adjust to the darkness. It’s smaller than ours, and I immediately locate the phone attached to the wall.
Not wasting any time, I punch in the police’s number just like the shop owner instructed. My heart is excited as I put the phone to my ear, expecting the ring.
It’s dead.
There’s not even a sound. That can’t be right. I must have dialed it incorrectly. I try it a second time. Again, nothing happens. No, something must be wrong. I hastily dial the number again. And again. And again. Each time is quicker and more frantic than the last. My heart pounds almost as violently as it did on the street… but nothing happens.
I bang the phone back down against the receiver. With my hand still on the phone, I stare at the framed picture next to the receiver. I can’t make out the details, but it shows a man holding a newborn baby. I pause for a long moment.
That’s it! Without thinking, I dial the phone number of my home: 21-789-5485. With each digit, the hope in my heart grows stronger. I can almost hear Abbi’s powerful voice in my ear. Pressing the last ‘5’, I put the phone tightly against my ear.
Not even a sound.
This can’t be happening. Not them too. I frantically attempt a redial. 2. 1. 7. 8. 9. 5. 4. 8. 5. My sweaty fingers quiver as they hit each button longer and harder than before. Again… no sound. Please, Allah. Please, don’t leave us here abandoned. I dial the number one more time, faster than before. Nothing happens. The phone won’t connect. It’s either our line or theirs. And if it’s theirs, then that means…
I can’t even think that!
My entire body shivers. I start punching the phone’s digits so rapidly that I might break it, but I don’t care. I need to get in touch with somebody, anybody. Abbi, Ummi, Aisha… please, somebody. 2! 1! 7! 8! 9! 5! 4! 8! 5!
We can’t be trapped here alone. Please let me hear their voice, God. Please let me know that we’re not here alone. I’ll do anything. Anything.
But the line stays dead.
Trembling, I let go of the phone. It falls towards the ground, hanging on its cord. I slump down alongside it. The realization of the truth finally washes over me. We’re alone. I’m alone. Here in this dark room, as I hear the chaos outside, I finally face the truth: there is nobody coming to rescue us.
I return to the room long after dialing the last number. When I arrive, they’re all back here as well. The vomit is cleaned up. Salman and Fatima are sitting in a corner as she holds one of his arms. The shop owner is on the other side of the room. With his back to me, he rummages through a chest that was not there before. Salman’s head is hanging low. Fatima glances up at me and I see the look in her eyes. Her cheeks are wet. I don’t hear the wounded boy in the other room. I know what it means.
Hearing me enter, the shop owner looks back. “What happened, son?”
“The phone lines were down.” My voice barely above a whisper, I close and bolt the door behind me.
“How many times did you try?”
“I lost count.”
He thinks for a long moment before nodding. “You did what you could. What’s your name, son?”
“Zaid.”
“Jari.”
Why does that name seem familiar? I finally see what Jari is digging for as he pulls it out: a pistol. He takes hold of the weapon as if he knows how to use it. I watch him pop out the magazine and inspect the gun before reloading the weapon and tucking it into his belt.
“What’s… what’s that for?”
“I lost my rifle when I rescued the boy. Until we get someplace safe, we’ll need this for protection.”
“From what?”
“I’ll do everything I can to make sure you never find out.” He looks over Salman and Fatima. “Are you three okay?”
Salman looks up at him and slightly nods.
“I’m sorry you had to go through that with the boy. Having your help was the only way I could give him a chance.”
“I… understand.” Salman’s voice is bleak.
“You three must be hungry.”
Nobody answers.
“Stay here. I have some food in the kitchen.”
Chapter 5
Valor
Jari brings in three bowls of food on a tray. They’re filled with lukewarm, yellow lentils and pita bread. He hands us the bowls one by one. I finally realize how famished I am when I take mine, triggering my stomach to go wild. I don’t care about the bland taste as I scoff it down.
All of the shop’s lights are turned off, save for one of the dim lamps in this large closet. The light softly reflects off of all our faces, and the closed door keeps the light from spilling into the rest of the shop.
As he watches us eat, Jari takes a copy of the Qur’an from the bookshelf behind us along with some rosary beads. The holy book’s cover is black and gold. It’s a worn out copy, its edges folding in. Even the pages have turned brown.