by S A Tameez
Suddenly, the butterflies in his stomach were back, and they had brought friends. Malik! He was still out there, somewhere! He stood up, abruptly, remembering the promise that he had made to not give up until he found him – he had broken enough promises.
His knees were wobbly. Antonio stepped forward and grabbed his arm. “Easy there my friend...” he said. “I think you need to rest, now Ahmed, don’t you?”
8
The next two days were like a dream. Hours of searching, asking people if they had seen a boy called Malik. The endless walking, covering every corner of the camp had made the blisters on Ahmed’s feet burst. But it didn’t matter where he went, which rock he overturned, Malik was not there.
Jane had forced him to eat and drink, he agreed only to eat enough to give him the energy to keep searching. This, along with his body forcing a shutdown, may have contributed to him finally falling asleep. It wasn’t long before the familiar nightmare came. He felt himself drowning, and this time, a huge invisible hand had grabbed him by the throat, lifting him into the sky, slamming him viciously back into a black sea.
A distant sound of a diesel engine woke him. He rolled off the bed and fell to the ground. His back was so stiff that he cried out as he forced himself to get up.
He looked out of the window, but it was too dark to see anything. He opened the door, ran out frantically, still barefoot. He could see two golden headlights in the distance. Could that be the vehicle that left behind the tracks at the orphanage? There were never any vehicles around the camp at this time, he thought. He had no choice but to run after it. Like a limping zombie. He was too afraid to run to get his shoes in case he lost sight of the truck. He knew his feet were going to hate him for it.
Although the truck moved faster, he had the advantage of the alley ways and short cuts. He managed to catch up and even got close enough to see the back of the vehicle clearly. It was a red Toyota truck, a 1989 Toyota Hilux. One of his friends, back in Syria, had the exact same one but in black. The windows were tinted and it had TOYOTA printed in large white letters at the back.
He noticed a man sitting in the boot of the truck and dived to the ground. He wasn’t sure if the man had seen him, it was difficult to tell in the dark, and the scarf wrapped around the man’s face didn’t help either.
Ahmed hid in the shadows and behind walls, careful to not let himself be spotted, but keeping the truck within sight. His feet ached and the ground was hard underneath them. His choices were to run fast and hurt his feet, or risking losing the truck. It was not a difficult choice.
It was probably just past 2am… Why would someone be driving around the camp at this time of night in the dark? And why were they hiding their identity? He was positive that finding out who these people were, was the key to finding Malik. He was sure they were the same men that came to the orphanage and took that little boy. Which meant that they didn’t want to be seen, and were, most-likely, very dangerous.
He kept on their tail until they stopped. Unsurprisingly, they pulled up outside the orphanage. The truck’s engine turned off and the headlights dimmed. Ahmed stood behind some trees close by, watching as the man in the back leapt out and stretched as if he had just woken up. He calmly walked in through the open doors of the orphanage.
Who are these men? Ahmed thought.
So, what now Ahmed? Think… think…
They took that boy Abdul and now they must be back to take another boy, or more than one… the doors are open and there is no one there to stop them…
I must do something... But what?
Fear and adrenaline rippled through him. His breathing was so loud and heavy that he thought it might give him away. He crept forward, with no clear plan in mind. He crouched down as he got near the truck. He could hear the radio playing and could see a hand holding a half-smoked cigarette out of the window. It was a muscular arm with a gold wristwatch wrapped around tightly like a snake choking a small animal. The arm was so heavily tattooed that it was almost impossible to identify the colour of his skin.
Ahmed suddenly crouched lower when he saw his own reflection in the truck’s side mirror.
OK don’t panic, he didn’t see me… The man was humming along to a song on the radio, lost in his own world. Ahmed moved slowly to the other side of the truck and crawled as low as he could. The pain in his feet seared through him, leaving him wishing he had stopped to put on his shoes. He got flat on the ground and shuffled like a soldier towards the entrance of the orphanage. The fear that the man in the truck would notice him slithering across the ground, crossed his mind. It’s dark, the lights on the truck are dim and thankfully my trousers, and shirt, are both black… it’ll be fine… I’ll be ok, he reassured himself, but deep down thinking it was a stupid idea. He kept his head down until he could see the open doors directly in front of him, nearly there… just keep going… just a little further.
He heard a loud coughing. He put his head down, believing he’d been spotted, but it was just the man’s lungs telling him to stop filling them with smoke.
He lifted his head and continued like a caterpillar to the entrance. He was astonished that he didn’t get spotted. It didn’t even make sense, either they were complete morons, or they were so accustomed to these abductions going smoothly, that they didn’t feel the need to be vigilant.
Ahmed sighed in relief when he got inside.
It was dark. The only light inside was coming from the combination of the truck’s dimmed lights and the moonlight. Ahmed kept his head down and crept through the corridor and into the room where the boys slept.
Ahmed nearly tripped over a mattress that was on the floor, but managed to stay on his feet. The light from the truck’s dimmed headlights allowed him to see the outline of the man as he crept around. He was looking at the boys, searching. It was like watching the BFG, except this man was not blowing dreams into children ears, he was there to steal them.
Why was he searching? Why didn’t he just take the first boy he saw
Ahmed watched the man carefully. After a few seconds, the man stopped and stared at one of the boys, like a lion catching sight of its prey. He had a quick glance around at the others and then back at the boy he’d first had his eyes on. He removed something from his pocket, it looked like a bottle. He reached into his other pocket and removed a white cloth. It must be chloroform or something of the sort, he’s probably going to use it to knock the kid unconscious and then grab him! Ahmed thought with adrenaline running through him. What now? Should I make a noise and alert the children? Should I try to stop him?
But Ahmed knew that alerting the children would mean alerting the man in truck as well. And the chances were that wouldn’t end well. There wasn’t much time to think, the man had already begun carefully pouring contents of the bottle onto the cloth. It wouldn’t be long before he had that cloth over the boy’s mouth and have him out of there, like a thief in the dead of night. Ahmed crept forward, with no clear plan in mind. He had to stop him from taking this boy, he had to stop him from taking any boy. But more than anything else, he wanted Malik back and this man and his friend in the truck were the key to unlocking his whereabouts.
As the man put the cloth near the boy’s mouth, Ahmed leapt towards him and wrapped his arm around the man’s neck, forced him into a headlock. He put his hand over the man’s mouth to stop him from making a sound and pulled him away from the boy. The man was lean and slightly shorter than him and Ahmed surprised himself, as he dragged the man away from the room into the corridor. He had no idea where his strength had come from. Ahmed kept his arm securely around the kidnapper’s neck and kept his hand over the man’s mouth. Ahmed was glad that in the commotion, the kids didn’t wake up and the driver didn’t get whiff of what was happening to his comrade. Within moments, the man stopped fighting and became limp. Ahmed put him on his back with his hand on his neck, and sat on him. What the hell are you doing? Ahmed asked himself.
He stared into the man’s large hazel coloured ey
es. Strangely, they didn’t look evil. Unlike the guard at the office, these eyes were filled with shock and fear.
“Where is my son?” Ahmed demanded in a hoarse whisper. The man didn’t respond. Ahmed’s grip was hardly allowing air to pass through. He released his grip slightly when he saw the man’s eyes beginning to glow red and bulge out of his sockets. Ahmed ripped the black scarf from around the kidnapper’s head. Underneath, was the pale face of a man no older than twenty. The soft hair under his nose and above his lip made him appear even younger. And Ahmed couldn’t help but to notice that he was a good looking young man – nothing about his demeanour or appearance came across as a child abductor.
“Where—is—my—son?” Ahmed whispered again, this time slower and more aggressively.
The man gasped for air and then suddenly went to scream, and Ahmed quickly covered the man’s mouth with his hand.
“Shut up!” He looked around in panic. Checking to see if anyone heard it. “I’m not going to ask you again – where is my son? Where are you taking these boys?” Ahmed didn’t know whether the man would give an answer or just scream.
“I am going to release my hand and you will not make a noise, do you understand?”
The man stopped struggling and nodded. But soon as Ahmed released his hand, the man screamed. This time Ahmed panicked, put both hands around his neck and squeezed.
“Shut up! I told you to shut the hell up!” Ahmed bashed the man’s head on the floor. It was clear that the man wasn’t going to tell him and Ahmed knew if he let go of his neck, the guy would shout for help. The accomplice would come barging in and probably kill Ahmed, and take the boy anyway.
Ahmed couldn’t let this happen. His grip tightened. He could feel the man’s pulse throbbing. Ahmed felt his eyes widen in fear, but all he could think about was finding his son.
The man kicked and made a few frail attempts to remove Ahmed’s hands, but Ahmed continued to squeeze. He wanted to stop, but there was no stopping now, it had gone too far. Letting go now meant never seeing Malik again and he couldn’t let that happen, regardless of what he had to do.
He wanted nothing more than to wake up and look back at this as a horrible nightmare; one of those awful nightmares where you do something horrendous and there is no coming back from it. And then you wake, realise it’s just a dream, and feel thankful that it never happened, after all.
The man stopped struggling, but Ahmed couldn’t release his grip. His hands were clamped like a vice around the neck of the kidnapper. The man’s eyes rolled up until only the whites were visible and the tense muscles around his neck loosened. His lips turned dark blue and white frothy saliva bubbled out of his mouth. His trousers began to soak with urine and his body gave a few sudden shakes, as though he were receiving an electric shock.
Ahmed finally let go, then leapt back suddenly. He held out his trembling hands, staring at them as if he didn’t recognise them. They didn’t feel like they were part of him. “What–have– you–done!” he said to himself as he stared at the lifeless body of the man on the floor. The guy’s neck was swollen, and bruised, and his face was ghostly. He was dead.
Ahmed hadn’t wanted to kill him, he didn’t even want to hurt him. He did what he had to do to stop him from taking that boy — and to find Malik. The sudden urge to vomit overcame him. He couldn’t look at the dead man on the floor any longer. He couldn’t think about what he had done anymore, he had to stay focused. He paced around the dead man, not looking down, thinking about what he was going to next. How would this help him get his son back? He questioned. He suddenly stopped pacing and froze in thought. A plan came to him.
He knelt and opened the buttons on the man’s black shirt, and then took it off his hairless body. Although he was desperately trying not to look at him, his eyes were immediately drawn to a tattoo he had on his arm, the name “Mariya” written in beautiful calligraphy.
Who was Mariya? Maybe a lover, one that he had made promises of an eternity together. Or maybe it was the name of his daughter – an innocent little girl that wouldn’t understand why her daddy was never coming home. Ahmed stood up, his head was spinning and he could no longer stop himself from vomiting.
When he had spewed all he had in his stomach, Ahmed put the man’s shirt on over his own. It was a good fit. He dragged the dead man’s body across the cold floor and opened the door to a cupboard. He used all his strength to stuff him inside. The man didn’t weigh much, but sweat began pouring off Ahmed like rain slithering down a windowpane. He took the man’s scarf and wrapped it around his own face and then took his shoes – a good job of resembling the man. He made sure that the body was fully inside before wedging the door shut. He bent over and took a few minutes to get his breath back. Still trying not to put too much thought into what he had done.
He walked to the door, hoping his plan would work. He stopped and thought for a moment, this was such a stupid idea... but not as stupid as killing a man and stuffing him into a store cupboard.
He dashed back into the area with the boys, who were, surprisingly, still fast asleep. He grabbed a blanket from one of the beds and rolled it up.
Ahmed walked out, making sure he made no eye contact with the driver, who was still engrossed in the music coming from the radio. He tried to behave as confident and as naturally as he could when he put the blanket into the back of the truck, even pretending it was heavier than it was, in case the driver was studying his movements and body language. He climbed into the back of the truck.
He couldn’t believe it; the truck began to drive off. His plan had worked. Ahmed thought back to how and where the man was sitting on the way there and tried to mimic it exactly. There was a wooden box at the back, just behind the diver, he must have been sitting on that. Ahmed was shivering uncontrollably and the sharp cold breeze didn’t help. This was the worst time to need a pee.
The driver peered his head to the back, and glared at Ahmed through the glass panel. He wasn’t wearing a scarf or anything to cover his chiselled face. Ahmed’s heart began to race. He was certain that the man had figured him out. Maybe he saw what Ahmed had done from the window and was just biding his time, waiting for the right moment to kill him. Maybe he’d figured out that this was an imposter when he came out of the building taller and a bit wider than when he went in.
“You’d better have one with fair skin and brown hair,” the man growled, “or else the boss will have our balls.”
Ahmed, not wanting to give away his identity, just nodded. By some miracle, the driver fell for it and continued driving. And although Ahmed was relieved that he had pulled it off, he knew that any second the man might ask him a question, and then the game would be over for him.
The uneven road made him bounce around in the back. He began to wonder how the man, the dead man left stuffed in the cupboard, managed to keep his composure so well. He must have had lots of practice he thought, he had probably done this route hundreds of times — lord only knows how many boys he had already taken and what they were doing with them. Well, he wouldn’t be able to take anymore… he wouldn’t be able to do anything, including see Mariya, whoever she was.
The driver kept looking back at him. “What the hell is wrong with you? Sit still!”
Not knowing what to, Ahmed stuck his thumb up. Idiot… idiot, Ahmed called himself. He sat as still as he could, trying to stop from bouncing around.
The driver shook his head and then continued driving.
How long can I keep this up? He thought. And what now? Judging by the size of the driver’s arms and shoulders, he was a regular at the gym. There is no way I can overpower him, Ahmed thought.
They must be going to where they hide the boys that they abduct and that’s where Malik will be… he must be! But what do I do when I get there? And God knows how many more of these damned criminals would be there.
After a short rocky drive, the truck stopped outside the metal gates. The driver looked over at the guard standing near the office and nodde
d. The guard approached the truck. Ahmed thought about alerting the guard, but then, what would he tell him? That these men were going to abduct a child and he had stopped them… and oh, by the way, he had killed one of them and stuffed his body in a cupboard? For some reason, he didn’t think he would be hailed as a hero, especially by the guards that secured the office.
The guard walked past the truck, “Have a good night,” he said and then proceeded to open the gates. Ahmed wasn’t surprised the guards were in on it. Judging by the way they behaved, they didn’t consider refugees as humans. They gave them the same rights as animals. Maybe less. With the pushing and shoving, the disgracing, humiliating and the constant searching, gun pointing and threatening. Less rights than animals, he thought.
The truck pressed on outside the camp and eventually on to a main road. The car picked up speed dramatically and although the ride was no longer bumpy, the high speed made Ahmed hold on tightly for his life. The pressure of the wind blowing in his face took a while to get used to.
He was now a long way from the camp. He made a mental note of the roads and turnings they took. Where on earth are we going? He thought, and what the hell am I going to do when we get there? He looked around at the back of the truck. There were a few tools, a hammer, a chisel and a few screwdrivers. A few random boxes and a crushed can of pop. Ahmed began to wonder whether that can may have belonged to the man stuffed in the cupboard. Was that the last thing that he drank? Ahmed’s head began to spin again. He couldn’t get the haunting image of the young man, with urine-soaked pants and a lifeless body, out of his head. What had he done? He had killed, for the first time ever. He had taken a man’s life with his bare hands, literally with his bare hands. He tried convincing himself that it hadn’t been a man, but a monster that stole children from their beds. But it felt like he was behaving just like the guards. Treating refugees like they were less than human. Taking away the rights of a person because he was the moral do-gooder. Taking a man’s life away with no fair trial. Being the judge, jury, and executioner. It was wrong. It was wrong from every direction that he looked at it. But would he have not done it if he had the chance to go back in time? No chance; of course he would.
