“No! Of course not.” Her racing heart argued. “But the last time I used a phone, he was shot.”
Zaki’s thick black eyebrows lifted. “I must knoweverything!”
So Kasra launched into the story, keeping no secret from the man who had been her best friend since they were children. Told about the escape, then seeing the Americans, then being captured, pretending to be Fatina, then being discovered, escaping and everything going wrong.
“There you have it,” she said, tucking cheese into her mouth. “It has been only a week, but it feels a month. And truly, I am more exhausted than I have ever been.”
Shaking his head, Zaki smiled. “That story is both amazing and terrible.” He arched one of those thick eyebrows. “But why come to me, Kasra? You vowed—”
“We need documents …”
He gaped. “Doc—” Shoving back, he wagged his head. “No! You know it is illegal. If I am caught, I risk everything.”
“And if you do not help us, you risk our lives!”
“That is not fair to put that on me.”
“I know, Zaki, but …” She lowered her face to her hands and rubbed hard. As if she could rub away the sleep, guilt, and blame. “You know what—whoelse is in jeopardy.”
Distress pinched his normally smooth features. “Fakes are too dangerous.”
“Zaki, we have to get out of the country. Taweel took every piece of identification I have, so I could not escape.” She cradled her mug of tea in her hands. “If you do this for me, you will give me a new life. And I know how much you want to help do that after …” It was unfair—cruel even—for her to ply his guilt against him. “I beg you—help us.”
He looked down. After a long sigh, he looked up, his dark eyes probing. “You are sure, Kasra? Withthisman, you are sure? He isAmerican.”
“It is the only way. He is as desperate as I am to get somewhere safe. I have to take this chance, this opportunity.”
“But him? This American—”
“What about me?”
At Range’s irritated voice, Kasra came out of her seat and turned toward him. Was glad for those blue eyes to see her again but he looked so very pale. “What are you doing? You should be resting! That wound—”
“Whatabout me?” he demanded. Arm on the wall, he watched them, sweat beading on his brow and upper lip.
Kasra drew him around, surprised when he let her. “We were only talking about the documents. Zaki is surprised I am willing to help you. That is all.” She led him back to the room.
He dropped heavily onto the edge of the mattress. “Why do I feel … whacked?”
“The bullet angered the organs around it, and your kidney was especially angry, so, I operated.” Zaki said from the door. “You need rest and antibiotics to fight off the infection.”
Range scowled at him. “You a doctor?”
“YouTube,” Zaki said, all too happily. “You can learn anything with Google.”
Range struggled off the bed. “Are you kidding me?”
“It is abadjoke.” Kasra nudged him back down. “He is a fool that way.” She sat beside him. “Zaki’s dad was a doctor. Together, they treated a lot of the villagers.”
“Until one of those villagers killed him,” Zaki said, perturbed. “Everyone always killing everyone else.” He clucked his tongue and wandered back down the hall toward the kitchen.
“Zaki is … unusual but a good man,” Kasra said softly.
He tried to reach for a backpack, but froze and grimaced. Irritation scratched into his face as he lifted his arm, studying the gauze that hugged his abdomen.
“You were unconscious for quite a while. Zaki said infection set in pretty quickly.”
“Gut wounds are tricky.” He went to the mirror and started unwinding the bandage.
