Someone is laughing maniacally while firing his weapon.
“Three! Now! Go!” I yell, and we run toward the bathroom. “Stay low, stay low!”
People are bumping against each other. Some are trying to flee while others to take cover, and a few others are trying to fight back. Adrenaline gushing through a person’s veins will turn the weakest into a goliath of sheer strength. We need to keep moving and make sure no one shoves us.
We make it to the end of the hallway, a small, square room at the end that has two doors. One is the bathroom and the other our exit, which is barred with a few wooden boxes.
We frantically start to remove the boxes to clear the doorway. “Are you good?” I ask the Frenchman.
“Yes, I’m okay, let’s hurry!”
I turn my head and look back to where we were sitting. A man there is lying on the ground gazing at me his hand extended, begging for help.
I’m sorry. I can’t do anything to help you.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
A man fires his gun at us as he exits the bathroom. The Frenchman ducks, and dodges back to the hallway. I fire on reflex, put two on his chest and one in his head.
He drops dead.
“Fuck. That was close!” the Frenchman shouts.
“Sure was. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
“After you,mon cherie,”he says with a relieved tone.
We smirk at each other, clearly thinking the same thing. We’re a good team.
“Watch out!” I yell. A man in uniform stabs the Frenchman in the back. He manages to shift his body after my warning, thereby avoiding a fatal wound.
“Get out!” he yells at me. “Go!” He grapples with his attacker.
“No! I can’t leave you here!” I don’t have a clear shot, if I fire I might hit him.
“Just go! I can’t hold him for much longer.”
“Fuck!” As I’m opening the door, I turn to see the knife stabbing his throat, then he drops to his knees.
No!
No!
No!
I empty the clip in that motherfucker like a maniac and watch him die, cold as ice. When the body looks like a sieve, I run to The Bedouin and hold him, putting pressure on his neck. “Bedouin! Bedouin! You are going to be okay!” I babble with tears in my eyes. Despite the positivity in my words, there is so much blood coming out of his body. I can’t lie to myself – the Frenchman is dying in my hands.
The blood gushes from his mouth, “Go… Survive.” We lock gazes for a second then starts to drift into nothing.
“Stay with me!” I order as I keep pressure on the wound. “Bedouin!”
My efforts are futile, he’s already dead.
Fuck, why did he have to kill him?
The grunting of a man fighting another armed man, breaks my mourning state. The man in question is wearing a tunic and a shemagh covering his face. His body is close to The Muttawa, smart, that way he can’t get shot. A mob follows them in, trying to flee the premises, just like me.
The smell of gunpowder engulfs the air and the screams still echo through the hallway. I put a fresh mag in and try to shoot The Muttawa, but I can’t get a clean shot. I have no idea who the man with the shemagh is, but I don’t want to kill someone who is fighting for his life, just like Frenchman did.
