by HJ Lawson
“Dad, Dad, call Gérard. She’ll have survived. He’d protect her, so call him. I know she will be okay. He will protect her.”
Chapter 7
Fear Cannot Dominate My Life.
JADA
The war is unfolding in front of me, and it will not stop. “Jada, keep running,” I chant to myself.
Darkness is fading, and nighttime is meeting morning. It’s probably around 6 am. The freshness of a new day fills my nostrils. Birds begin to sing their morning songs, so chipper, blissfully unaware of last night’s massacres.
I’m tired and hungry, but I have to continue. I am close to home. But what waits for me there?
Before the war, when I was younger, whenever we heard a jet or helicopter above us, we’d all run out on the terrace in excitement to wave at them. Then they started bombing in nearby towns, and everything changed. When the jets flew above our school, the alarm would ring. Our teachers would round us up and take us all to the ground floor to the security room.
At first it was all fun — a bit like a fire drill. Everyone would line up, hold hands with their partners, and then two-by-two we’d walk downstairs, chatting with our friends. As time passed, we became bored of the interruptions.
We’d be playing in the yard, and the alarm would go off, ringing in our ears, leaving a buzzing sound. The roar of the jets became a normal part of life. We heard them all the time, but mainly at night. The sound upset Lucas, and he’d sleep in Mother’s bed. I didn’t blame him, and at times I’d jump in as well.
The teachers tried to make it normal for us by singing songs or putting music on when we got to the safe room. Once I got older, I knew what the sound was – they were bombing towns like ours.
One day, on the playground, my friend told me that her cousin went to another school where three kids had been killed in the schoolyard. It had become normal to talk about killings, but when my friend told me about this one, I got scared. They were killing children – it all became very real.
At night, I’d dream about the jets firing down on the school and about snipers ready to kill us. I’d wake up soaking with sweat, sometimes screaming. Mother would come in to look after me. The dreams felt so real… I can still remember them vividly. They still feel real, even to this day.
Once my mother heard about the murders at the school, she stopped me from going. At first I was pleased – what child wants to go to school? I was thinking about sleeping in and catching up on my favorite TV shows.
But after a week I was bored out of my mind, and all I wanted was to go back to my normal life – back to school to see my friends.
I begged Mother to let me go back, but she refused. Eventually, Father began teaching me at home, and it helped take my mind off things.
Now as I walk up to the charred wreckage of the two-story building, I am grateful Mother kept me away. They bombed my school. There is still the fresh smell of explosives lingering in the air. There were one hundred children here; the attack must’ve happened at night, because there aren’t any bodies. A lot of my friends stopped coming here when I did. Their parents were also scared, and they were obviously right to be… their nightmares have come true.
Shattered glass covers the rubble on the ground. None of the windows are left – they’re all blown out from the blast. The force of the explosion created heaps of rubble. There is nothing but debris left.
I wonder if I’ll ever go to school again. Before the war started, my plan was to go to the university near the city. I wasn’t sure what to study, but I always wanted to do something that would enable me to travel. I've just never felt at home in Syria. I’ve never belonged here.
I make my way through the rubble.
I can see the silver legs of a classroom desk sticking out of some trash. The blast must’ve been so strong that it blew the furniture out. No one would’ve survived if they’d been in there. Thank God it happened at night. Was He watching over us? Mother said, “He’s watching over us,” but I think it’s all a lie. How could God stand by and watch this happen while doing nothing?
I get to the back of the school; there is no roof left. This is where the bomb must’ve landed. Right here, in the middle of the building.
There is a half-burnt book among the smashed glass. I pick it up and decide to keep it as a memory of this place and what happened here. This may be the last textbook I have.
Why would they bomb a school? What does a child have to do with this war?
Chapter 8
Bridge to Hell.
ZAK
It becomes clear that the captain wasn’t lying; thick black smoke bellows up and into the sky above the trees. First they kill my brother, and then they burn my village! Taking a deep breath in, my lungs filling with smoke, I sprint toward the blaze, praying my mother and father are at work.
Like a scene straight out of hell, my house has completely burned down. The smell of blood has been replaced with putrid stench of melted paint and scorched wood.
I step onto my chargrilled front door, which is now a bridge over rubble and burning destruction. Thump, thump, thump… my heart beats uncontrollably.
My once happy home has been reduced to a pile of smoking cinders. How could they burn it down, erasing everything in my life? Where are we going to live now? Fragments of glass lie on top of the smoldering debris, reflecting the sun to create a light show. As fast as it was created, it is gone. The black smoke in the sky blocks out the rays of hope. The darkness becomes a blur, as my brain tries to understand what I am seeing.
Cautiously, I step along the door to what was once my living room. There’s a black pile of smoking charcoal where the sofa was, with melted plastic mixed in. White fragments dust the top of the sea of black beneath my feet. A soft summer breeze flies in through the glass-less window, lifting the white fragments, making them dance off the ground and up into the sky. I think of my mother and how devastated she’ll be when she sees the destruction.
The thick smoke is turning gray as the blue sky tries to push through the horror. The roof of my house is gone. It must have collapsed from its own weight, and the walls crumbled. All that is standing in the front room is the fireplace.
Even the stairs have nowhere to go. My bedroom is gone. I glance down and see an object sticking up where the kitchen once was.
Hesitantly, I step towards the shape. It’s the sole of a shoe… my mother’s shoe. One of her favorites. It must’ve come down from her bedroom in the explosion. I reach down to pick it up, but it’s stuck. I give it a tug. Nothing.
Finally, I give one last yank and it comes free, only to reveal a foot.
I gasp in horror. No… Mother isn’t here.
She’s at work. This is not her. This cannot be my mother.
The whiteness of her skin gleams out from the blackness around me, with her candy pink toenails, which Tilly did for her just last night. A knot fills my stomach. I grab my chest and let out an anguished cry.
“Mother, please do not die on me. Mother, please wake up!”
I frantically start digging around her. I lift a brick, the last thing covering her face. Falling to my knees in a daze, I rest my mother’s head on my lap and brush the black soot from her eyes, leaving a smudge trail. “Mother, Mother, wake up!” I scream as I shake her. But I know she is dead.
“No! Why did you have to kill her? You fucking bastards, you killed her!”
Grief and shock have not hit me yet. I’m frozen in panic, and my body has shut down. Where is my father? Is Tilly okay? What about Hamal? Father is at work, right? Shit, did he go to work? Frantically, I look around for a sight of my father’s body. But after an exhaustive search I find nothing.
Phew, thank God his body is not here! But I can’t find my dog Hamal either. I call out for him but don’t hear anything. I sit with my mother’s head in my lap, brushing the dirt and soot from my hair.
“Please God, no… not the rest of the family. I cannot be alone.”
Moving my mother’s he
ad off my knees, I carefully set her down. I lick my fingers to wipe the charcoal off her face, leaving her looking beautiful. “Goodbye, Mother. I will find the men that did this to you. I love you.” Then I slowly rise to my feet.
“Hamal, good boy, come here,” I yell again, as I head toward the back of the house. The back garden area is completely covered. It looks like the sky has, quite literally, fallen
I run over to Hamal’s tree; he is just lying there, not moving. I lower my head to get a closer look, and I recoil in shock.
They shot him!
No! How could they? Why?!
Hugging Hamal close, I weep uncontrollably, unable to understand what is happening.
I cannot handle this anymore. I need my father. I have to get him and Tilly. Poor Tilly.
Chapter 9
Goodbye Father.
JADA
Walking through the woods to get to my village, I’m reminded of the times Father and I would come here for training practices. It was always fun, like a real life adventure. I knew it wasn’t a game, and that the training was important, but I couldn’t help but enjoy it. I loved hunting rabbits; they were so fast! Mother made the best rabbit stew.
But today the woods just remind me that I’m alone, and of the day my father was kidnapped.
That day began like any other. Mother was making breakfast. I was reading in my room, and after breakfast Father and I were going to train. Reading and hunting were the only things I had to fill my day.
Bang, bang, bang!
Extremely loud gun shots filled the road outside my home, causing me to jump in surprise. I headed toward the hallway to a window that overlooked the main road. Terrified, I snuck a peek, hoping no one could see me.
The soldiers were in my village! They stood in front of the garden gate with black scarves covering their faces. I could only see their eyes.
Lifting their AK-47s in the air, they fired another round in the sky. Bang, bang, bang! Time stood still as I watched them. They turned to each other and laughed.
There were more soldiers with the AK-47s slung casually over their shoulders, and a black flag in their hands waving in the summer breeze. The horizon changed, and it filled with rows of soldiers carrying their guns and flags. There was a sea of darkness heading to my home.
“Jada, Jada,” Father yelled frantically as he ran up the stairs. But he wasn’t scared of anything!
“What’s happening? Who are they?” I cried out. Mother and Lucas followed Father up the stairs.
“Jada, it’s the army… they are going to take me.” Father pulled me into my parents’ bedroom by my arm. He lowered his head in shame.” I thought we’d be safe here. I’ve failed all of you, and for that I am sorry.”
“It is not your fault. You saved me, and I will always love you,” Mother said, and she hugged him.
What did she mean, ‘you saved me’?
“Father, we can fight. You don’t have to go with them!” I protested.
“Jada, I know you and your mother are both strong, but we are outnumbered.”
He was right. Tears rolled down my face; I couldn’t protect him, and if we ran they’d kill us.
Bang, bang, bang!
Lucas and I both jumped, hugging each other and crying. They were at our door. They were going to take him. Each bang on the door ripped my heart into pieces.
“Men, it is time to leave your families and join our fight. Come in peace and no one will be hurt. This is your only warning!” yelled the soldier.
Father placed his arms around us and hugged us. Then he kissed the tops of our heads.
“I must go now. These men are not joking, Jada. Stay away from them… protect your little Lucas.” Father turned to my mother. “Protect them all for me. I will return. We will be reunited again.” He gave her a kiss as he left.
Tears streamed unchecked down my mother’s face, and before I even turned around, I heard the front door close.
He was gone.
Running back over to the window, I saw Father being handcuffed and blindfolded as the soldiers pushed him into the back of a truck.
Remember every detail, Jada, remember everything… I told myself that day.
Helplessly, I watched as the truck disappeared, taking my father with it. My eyes filled with tears.
I will find you.
Chapter 10
The Devil is Calling.
GERARD
“Faith will be okay, Charles. Tell Victoria not to worry,” I say.
“Gérard, Victoria wants to speak with you. Good luck. Keep Faith safe, or you’ll have Victoria to deal with,” Charles jokingly informs me.
Great. All I want is to be in the middle of a war, and now Victoria also wants one. I don’t know how Charles puts up with her. She’s a selfish woman, always going on about how we should be home, that this is not our problem. Every time Faith speaks to her, Victoria makes her feel awful. So bad, in fact, she’s stopped taking these calls.
Victoria is telling Charles off in her phony, high-class voice. Faith sounds nothing like her… even though I’m sitting in a moving truck, I still hear Victoria barking orders in the background. Charles needs to divorce the evil bitch! I know he’s only with her because of Kyra, but really, I can’t think of anything worse than coming home to that every night. Faith and Victoria are complete opposites, thank God.
“Give me the phone!” she yells at Charles.
Poor guy really needs to grow some balls and get out of there.
“Hi, Victoria. How are you?” I ask her as politely as possible. This is going to be a fun call.
“Don’t give me that bullshit!” Victoria yells. “How is Faith? Was she hurt in the bombing at the hospital? Was she there? I need to speak to her now!”
“She’s okay. She cannot speak, since she’s sleeping right now. We’re in a truck on the way to another hospital. Yes, we were at the hospital that was bombed,” I explain to her. I notice she doesn’t ask if I’m okay… bitch.
“Wake her up!” Victoria demands.
“Mom, calm down. Let Faith sleep,” I hear Kyra say softly in the background. Kyra is a sweet girl; she looks like a mini version of Faith, always able to calm her crazy mom down. Kyra is very much like Faith, and I know Victoria hates that. Almost as much as she hates me, but I don't really care what she thinks.
“Hi, Kyra,” I yell. I know Victoria will hate that, but I can’t resist.
“Shut up, Gérard! It’s your fault Faith is there! She would never have gone there if she hadn’t met you. Get her home! I don’t understand why you people are there anyway… It’s not your war!”
I’d never intentionally put Faith in danger after losing Mia. She was the first person I cared for. After Mia died, I couldn’t let anyone else in. But Faith somehow found a way into my heart. I thought it was impossible to love again until I met her.
Faith was the one who told me about this hospital; she forced me to come. I would never let her go on her own, and we had many arguments about coming here. But in the end, she won. I knew if I was here with her, I could keep her alive. I had to.
“Victoria, you’re breaking up on me… I think we have a bad line.” I pretend the phone is no longer working and hang up on the meddling witch.
Chapter 11
Black as Liquorice.
JADA
My beating heart gets stronger and stronger with each step I take. I can hear it pounding in my ears, ringing out the song of a thumping drum. My heart longs for them to be okay. What horrors am I going to face when I reach my village? I pray to see my mother standing in the kitchen asking me if I’m hungry, and to see Lucas playing in the garden. What if Mother and Lucas were in the hospital and I left them?
As I step into the village boundaries, the sun begins to peek out from behind the hilltops. I see the first rays of the sun grace the village before my eyes to announce the new day… a day that I’ll remember for the rest of my life. A day that will be more horrific than my father could ever prepa
re me for.
I will never be the same again.
My heart grows cold, and the icy chill flows down to my bones. My eyes widen at the sight in front of me, of the town I once loved.
I am alone.
Shapes of bodies lie on the path in front of me, leading me to my home.
I feel myself tighten up and my feet cement to the ground, unwilling to move forward. I stand there trembling with rage… I want to kill them all! Every last one of those animals!
Compose yourself, Jada!
I look away from the horrific sight, trying to contain my anger. Instead, I focus to the side of me – it’s a village store, perfectly intact, the windows still in place and unbroken. No rubble on the floor. It looks perfect…just as I remember. There’s even a table outside filled with fresh shining fruit and vegetables.
My body stops trembling and my muscles relax as I take a step forward, no longer frozen to the ground. I Approach the fruit stand and the fresh, sweet smell of citrus fills the air for a split second, then the air changes to nauseatingly rancid, almost putrid. The smell is so thick and rich, I can almost taste it.
Without thinking, I take one step forward. Oh, God no!
Mohammad, the store keeper, was a very old man who’d been out of town when the other men were kidnapped. Poor Mohammed was saved from the kidnapping attack, but now he’s dead!
He lies in the doorway of the store with one side of his face burnt beyond recognition.
His flesh is seared to the bone with angry blisters around the edge of the wound.
Parts of his skin are gone, leaving nothing but charred and blackened chunks. He looks like he died in excruciating pain, the poor man. His mouth is gaping open, and I can see a flash of something green inside. An apple.
