The soldiers fan out, strutting between patients, whacking the occasional one across the face or digging the butts of their rifles into their injuries.
“Does that hurt?” they mock. I pray the FSA gets here before the rest of the military joins them.
Kenan’s arm tenses under my hand and I know he’s thinking of Lama and Yusuf. They’re just down the hall and will have definitely woken up with the other children.
He slowly pulls me closer. “Take off your lab coat,” he whispers so quietly I barely catch the words.
Terror freezes my blood. Being a girl and a pharmacist makes me a special kind of target. I’ll be accused of helping and healing rebels. I’ll be tortured with the very tools I use to save people. I’ll be raped.
Kenan shifts deliberately until I’m behind him, his back covering me. I grasp at my sleeves and pull them down ever so slightly.
But as I do so, my eyes catch on a little girl of about seven cowering against the wall as one of the soldiers advances on her. Her arm is in a sling, a set of old bandages wrapped around her head, and her eyes are bulging with fear. In her face I see Ahmad. I see Samar. I see how this will happen to Lama and Yusuf. I see a girl whose last minuscule shred of innocence is about to be torn to pieces.
And without thinking, I move.
I grab a discarded basin and fling it at the soldier’s back. It promptly hits him and clatters to the floor. Silence settles over the atrium, broken only by the soldier’s grunt of pain. My arm shakes as the soldier turns slowly.
Better me than the little girl.
His gaze rolls over me and the trembling spreads all over my body.
“Didyoujust throw that?” he barks.
At his tone, Kenan immediately clamps his hand in mine and pulls me back, but the soldier is faster. He grabs my other arm, yanking me out of Kenan’s grasp, and I turn to glimpse the shock and terror in Kenan’s eyes as I’m suddenly slammed against the wall.
The soldier’s forearm presses against my throat, holding me tightly in place, a squeeze away from being strangled.
“You think you’re real brave, huh?” he says, spitting the words.
From the corners of my eyes I see Kenan restrained by two soldiers. His face contorts with fury, curses spilling from his mouth. One of them slams the butt of his gun against Kenan’s face, and blood spurts from his cheek. I try to get to him, but the soldier shoves me back against the wall. Hard enough that I can’t breathe for a bit.
“You work here? You’re healing these rebels? All these traitors?” he sneers.
“Get off me,” I snarl, not knowing where the courage is coming from. But I don’t fear death. Khawf has shown me the worst outcomes. And what stands before me is no man, only an animal in human skin.
The soldier laughs and lets go of me. Before I fully comprehend what’s happening, a sharp pain shoots through the side of my head and I’m slammed against the wall again. I groan, eyes closed, trying to get my bearings through the hammering in my brain. It takes me a few seconds to realize he’s hit me with the metallic part of his rifle. I wipe my arm over my lips and find them coated with blood. It hurts to breathe, the air coming in and out in wheezes. It hurts even more to look at Kenan and see pure fear in his eyes.
“You don’t tell me what to do,” I hear the soldier snap.
“I’llkillyou!” Kenan bellows, blood dripping to the floor.
The soldier turns toward him, raises his gun right at Kenan’s temple, and I scream.
“No!”
He stops, the gun still pressed against Kenan’s forehead. Kenan’s face betrays no fear. Not for himself. Only for me. The soldier glances at me. “No?”
I stare at him with hate-filled eyes that are dripping with tears.
“Then how about this?” His gaze gleams. “I let your boyfriend live so he can watch this, huh?”
Anger chokes my throat.
“We don’t have time for this,” his friend says in a low voice, yanking Kenan back as he struggles. Kenan swears and the soldier hits him in the face. “The rebels could be near. The military won’t make it here. We need to buy time until they—”
“We have time,” the soldier interrupts, and he grabs at me. My mind snaps as soon as he touches me, and I twist against him, kicking.
The patients behind us watch the macabre spectacle unfold with terrified eyes, not one of them daring to move. To say anything. And I don’t blame them.
