by HJ Lawson
Now I sit on the edge of an apartment floor, looking out at the once-bustling city which has turned to ruins. The entire front wall of the building I’m in has been demolished. It's as though the skin has been ripped away from its body, revealing nothing but a skeleton.
When I came to the city with my parents, we’d walk past the high-end luxury apartments, admiring its glory. It was one of the oldest buildings in the town and had just recently been converted into homes for the rich people in the city.
But today it is my home; people fled before the bombing began. At least that’s what we assume, because there are only a few bodies. If they had not fled, there would’ve been thousands.
I try to shield Tilly’s eyes from the sight of the corpses. She is too young to see this horror. I let her choose our room for tonight. Like an open chocolate box, all the apartments are uncovered and exposed, and you can see the grand details inside. My only conditions are that it has to be on the second floor so I can have a good look-out view, and that it has two exits. One is clear, with the front of the building ripped off; the second exit is inside the building, so we are not trapped if anyone comes. And finally, it needs to have a clear line of vision toward our second group.
When Tilly goes to choose a room, it’s like she’s her old self, before the trauma.
A twinkle appears in her eyes, and a smile grows across her sweet face. I choose the street off the main area, but with a clear line in and out of the town. It’s easier than I think to get a clear view, due to the demolished city. It looks like the soldiers came in with their tanks, because there is a path through the city with tracks, overturned cars pushed out of the way, and a few shells on the ground.
Tilly walks up and down the street on our side, and one of the little children in the other group does the same. Early on, the older children decided we’d let the little children choose where we all slept as long as they followed our rules. Really, we limited the options to the safest choices, but they’re too young to understand what we're doing. But with everything else being taken away, we wanted to give them something, something as trivial as this, and it is helping.
I guess which apartment she’ll choose - the one with the crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. The morning sunshine will hit it, creating a beautiful show before they go to sleep. There is a large bed that looks like it can fit four children.
It looks comfortable, with its white lining, and so inviting, like we’ll have happy dreams even after the horrors we’ve seen. There is space on the floor for extra beds so we can all be together. It looks like a room out of a Hollywood story… very different than what I’m used to back home.
But I would sell my soul to go back there. We all would.
Tilly’s eyes glitter with excitement when she spots the apartment. “This one, this one!” she squeals, jumping up with girly joy. “It looks perfect for us, and we can all fit. I wonder what goodies are in there for us.”
The first day we left our village, she didn’t want to go into any other people’s houses. She said we were stealing, even though everyone was gone. But when she started to get hungry we had no choice… we had to go into someone’s home and take some food.
The village was empty and we waited, watching the house to see if anyone came in or out. But no one did. The front door was open. I knocked, but no one answered. We entered. We looked around the house, but it was clear. No one was there. We had some sandwiches – they tasted so good. Food always tastes best when you are starving.
After a bit, we realized no one was coming back, so we decided to stay there. Tilly did not want to sleep in anyone else's bed, so we made beds on the floor in the front room. Things got easier as the nights went by. As we traveled from village to village, Tilly began to understand that no one was coming back, and needed to eat the food in the abandoned homes to survive.
After a few days, we finally started sleeping in the beds. We were always so tired from the day of walking that we would collapse right away.
Once we felt comfortable in each house, we would start to look around for supplies.
When we left our village, we had nothing but the clothes on our backs. Tilly began telling me to get some clean clothes every time we arrived at a different home.
The first time she finally loosened up, she ordered me around like she was my mother. “Go change your pants and T-shirt, and don’t forget your socks and underwear,” she said.
“Yes, boss,” I playfully yelled to her, raising my right arm to my head, saluting her. She laughed.
“Now go and get changed!”
I did as instructed.
Since that day, Tilly would always look for a girl’s bedroom in each "new" home and see what new clothes she could get.
We didn’t have much when we were growing up, but we were happy. It was interesting to see what things other kids had. Tilly looked for nail polish and jewelry, and she loved girls' clothing and colorful tutus.
“Give me a hand,” Tilly says. She’s excited to get into her new room for the day. Stepping up on the rubble beneath my feet, I carefully make a path for the young kids. Tilly has her hand stretched out, ready to go first. She likes to be the leader.
Cement crumbles from the building as I carefully lift her safely into the room, trying to prevent her from scratching herself on the metal poles that stick out of the rubble.
“Yikes,” Tilly squeals with excitement. “Zak, Zak.”
“One second.” I hoist the last of the children into the room. When I climb inside, Tilly is spinning around like a princess who has just put on a gown for the ball, like in those silly movies she loves to watch.
The room is truly beautiful, with a huge chandelier hanging there just waiting for the sunshine to hit. God, Ali would punch me if I said that out loud!
Tilly takes the hands of the younger kids and spins them around, laughing. I take Tilly's hand and twirl her around. We all giggle uncontrollably, just like kids again.
“Good choice, Tilly,” I say, and everyone agrees.
I leave the kids to enjoy the apartment, as I wander to a window and look up and down the road for strangers. I nod at Haytham.
Watching the sun rise, I angle my mirror to find the sun and turn it to the direction of Haytham, reflecting the sunbeam onto him so the bolt of light hits his face. This is our signal to warn each other of danger, and also to keep us awake on our shift. We all know how important it is to stay awake. Everyone’s lives depend on it.
“Yes, I got him first!”
Haytham shines the light back at me, smiling. Carefully placing the mirror on the ground where he sits, Haytham picks up his camera and spies me through the lens.
Haytham has dreamed of being a photographer since the day his mother gave him his first digital camera. When the war began, she told him that this was his time to document the events through a child’s eyes. He hopes one day his photos will make him famous so he can get his family out of this hell.
The horizon creates waves on the ground, and my eyes burn and become blurry from staring so hard. I hold them closed for several moments, and when I reopen them the horizon has changed. There is a silhouette in it.
I blink a few times and shake my head. Then I look again… it’s still there. Silently and quickly, I pick up the mirror, find a ray of sunshine, and beam it over to Haytham.
Haytham is a good lookout who protects his mother, younger sister and the other children. He’s already alert and has also spotted the silhouette.
I can’t tell what the mysterious shape is, but it seems to be moving closer. Then it splits in half in front of my eyes. I squint for a better look, placing my hand over my eyebrows to create a shield from the sun.
It is a person and a dog. Shining the mirror to Haytham, I hold up one finger to indicate that it is one person. Haytham shines it back to confirm the same.
Haytham and I planned for events like this and what we’d do. We hoped it wouldn’t happen; it was like fire drills at school, where
we learn to be ready just in case. I watch Haytham as he gently nudges his pregnant mother. Rest is important to her, but she’s the only adult, so in times like this it is important that we wake her.
She stands up and moves next to her son, watching the dark silhouette on the horizon.
Chapter 20
Picture of Hope.
GERARD
I knock on the hospital door. “Can we come in?” I need to see Faith. I thought I’d lost her in the hospital bomb attack, the same way I lost Mia… just the thought sends a shiver through my spine.
Yet, after all this time, I find out that until just recently, Mia’s been alive and with León. How could they fucking do this to me? My best friend and girlfriend together all this time, making me think they were dead!
I cannot tell Faith. She’ll ask too many questions about me and my past. I’ll lose her once I tell her everything, so she must never know.
Anis pushes me out of the way. I take a step back as he runs through the door straight to his sister. Anis was silent in the truck before. He kept his head down and his eyes to the ground. He was the smart one of the group, looking away from the nightmare images all around us.
I stared out of the window on the way back to the hospital, still in complete shock at seeing Mia. There were bodies piled up on the roadside.
The villages were like ghost towns. From the corner of my eye, I could see movement, but just as fast as I’d seen it, it was gone. It was people hiding in the shadows, terrified of being seen.
Anis hugs his sister, and she smiles at him as they whisper to each other. “Bye, Faith,” the little girl says, and then they are both gone. I guess they want to leave us alone together. Had Anis seen me break down at Jada’s house?
“Did you find Jada?” Faith asks. “Was she there?”
“No, sorry, she wasn’t.” I frown. “But I’m not giving up. I have photos of her, and I called --” Before I finish my sentence, as if on cue, she walks in.
“Hi, Faith,” Laura says as she enters with her cameraman. “Gérard called me and told me about Jada. I’m here to help.”
Faith looks a bit puzzled. “Hi, Laura. How exactly are you going to help?”
I stand next to Faith and hold her hand. She is still recovering from the attack, and this is a lot to take in.
“I’m going to the refugee camp in the next town. Everyone is leaving their homes and heading there. Gérard, do you have the photograph of Jada?”
I hand Laura some pictures, but I keep the one of the family hidden in my pocket.
“When we get there, we’ll see if we can find her. They have everyone register when they arrive. I just hope she hasn’t already left. The camp is full, so they’re moving people to other places.”
“Thank you, Laura. It means the world to me. I just cannot live with myself, knowing that I sent her out there…” Faith stares out of the hospital window. I can see smoke in the sky from villages on fire, but we are safe here for the moment.
“I’ll do everything I can, I promise you,” Laura adds with a caring tone. She can see the guilt eating away at Faith. Maybe Victoria was right. Faith is not strong enough for war.
“Faith, I have a favor to ask of you,” Laura says.
“Anything.”
“I would like another interview,” Laura says. “The public needs to know what is happening. You did a wonderful job last time. Everyone is talking about it. You made a difference all around the world.”
“I’ll do it!” Faith replies without hesitation. “What do you want me to speak about?”
“Can you talk about the hospital attack? And we’re going to do it now, if that’s okay, because we have to head on to the refugee camp.”
Faith sits up straight and brushes her hair flat with her hand.
“Okay, let’s go. The quicker you do it, the quicker you leave. I mean that in a good way,” Faith adds, smiling.
The cameraman comes over, and the light goes on. With his fingers, he signals three, two, and one.
“Laura Leeming, reporting from a hospital in Syria. Today I am here with Dr. Faith Miller. She was injured in the latest hospital bombing attack. Faith, do you have anything you would like to say to President Obama?” Laura turns to Faith and holds out her microphone.
Faith looks directly into the camera. “Hospitals and medical personnel are being deliberately targeted. People are being denied medical care. This is one of the most alarming weapons of war that I have witnessed in the Syrian conflict. The Syrian government and anti-government groups are taking over hospitals, turning them into military bases. President Obama and all other leaders around the world, I plead for you to send in troops, peacefully, and help the innocent people trapped in this bloody war. They need your help. Do not stand by and watch, or you are as bad as they.” Faith looks angry as she speaks.
“Thank you, Faith. That was perfect.” Laura smiles. The cameraman puts down his camera and leaves.
“Did you get everything you need?” I ask.
“Yes, thank you. People want to know what is happening. I’m going to go now. I’ll call you if I find her.” Laura reaches over to Faith and hugs her goodbye.
I just hope Faith can find Jada.
Chapter 21
God Bless my Beautiful Daughter.
JADA
I can feel eyes on me. Great. I'm walking down the wrong road. Out of all the streets in the city, I selected the quietest one. How stupid of me. Now I’m an easier target for them. Their eyes are burning into me like a hungry hawk waiting to eat its prey.
“How am I going to get out of this?” I mutter to myself. I’m in the middle of their sights; I have no choice but to keep walking. I’ve come this far. I cannot give up; I refuse to let them kill me! My gun is tucked into the back of my jeans, and I am ready for them.
Slowly, I continue on through the once-glorious city that is now all but destroyed. Entire facades of buildings have been ripped away -- they look naked. I used to like cities -- I felt like I could get lost in them as if I were invisible, hidden amongst the sea of people. But today there is no one to hide me. I am all alone.
I try to keep my eyes low, focusing on my feet and the rubble beneath them, and clearing out any noises other than that of a human. As my father taught me, it’s all about focus and blocking everything else out.
A glimmer of rainbows fills the floor in front of my eyes. I look up to the source of the light show – it’s a beautiful crystal chandelier hanging in the middle of an apartment. Overwhelmed at the unexpected treat, I just stare at it dreamily. My eyes trail down to the rest of the room. I haven’t slept in so long, and the bed looks amazing. I can practically see myself curling up in it right now and falling fast asleep.
My gaze travels farther down and locks in with another pair of eyes. I gasp in shock. I hadn’t expected to see someone there.
She looks a little older than Lucas, and seems just as surprised to see me as I am to see her. She has lovely brown hair flowing down her face. She is sitting up in the bed beneath the chandelier. Was she like me, tired from walking and hiding in the only pretty place left in the city? She cannot be on her own… she looks too young.
Maybe it’s a trap.
Panic washes over me, and I frantically glance around to see if anyone else is here.
I do not need to look far. Standing at the end of the bed is a tall, slim boy around my age, with big brown eyes boring into me.
He’s protecting her the same way I would’ve protected Lucas. They must be brother and sister.
If only my brother was alive. The boy and I are having a staring competition. Who will win? I can’t help noticing that he is kinda cute.
He blinks. Yay, I win. He looks away to another room of the apartment, across from the one he's in. There are more people here than I was expecting. I see another boy in the corner and a woman who seems to be his heavily pregnant mother.
They are all staring down at me. Jesus, I feel really uncomfortable. What should I do
? What if they have weapons? They look like a group of scared kids, but I know I shouldn’t underestimate them.
Lowering my backpack to the ground, I’m very conscious of everyone’s gaze on me. Slowly, I take off my cap; they may be less concerned if they see I’m a girl. I’m cautious not to make any sudden movements, as I don’t want to give them any reason to attack me.
My brown hair falls free, and I reach over and give Liquorice a quick pat. Gradually, I raise my hands up to the sky as a sign that I am surrendering. The same way Father did when he was taken.
The air is silent; tension is mounting.
What will they do?
“Child, what is your name?” the mother addresses me with her soft, caring voice.
“My name is Jada. My dog’s name is Liquorice.”
“Hello, Jada. My name is Sahar. This is Haytham, my son.” She looks over to the boy and smiles back at me.
I know I’m no longer in danger. They want to help me. Thank God, I finally get a break from this nightmare. It’s about bloody time!
“Over there is Zak, and his sister Tilly is in the bed.” I look over to the boy, Zak, and he smiles and gives me a wave. He is really cute. Tilly looks over at me and her face lights up with a big smile and twinkling eyes. This pretty little girl looks happy; I feel safe.
Sahar holds out her hand and signals me to come forward. I pick up my backpack, place it over my shoulder, and walk over to her.
“Child, have you eaten? Do you need to rest? We have room here for you.” Sahar has the loving and reassuring voice only a mother could have. I can already feel the stress moving from my shoulders as she speaks.
“I am hungry and tired,” I say. “I would like to rest here, if that is okay with you.”
I look up toward Haytham, and he nods with approval.
I climb up to the second floor room, and Liquorice follows me. Haytham is standing there. He looks younger than me, a bit shorter and a little overweight. But he looks strong.
