The Rebellion Era

Chapter Thirteen.

Tariq takes hold of a chair and lunges it forward, shattering it against the polished floor. "Damn it!" He shouts, his hands stroking through his hair, leaving wispy streaks lying perfectly underneath his daft muscular fingers.

"Tariq, Tariq." A soft voice full of apprehension speak into my ears. I take a second to remember I am wearing an earpiece, and another to realize it is Sarah calling for her brother. Tariq's face changes color, from bloodless blue to slumped red. He reaches for the earpiece immediately. "Tariq, it is an ambush. They knew when we were coming." She whispers.

We can't hear the conversation going down between the protestors and the soldiers, but it is summarized in a single action; the Bolts kneel down on their knees with their hands clasped behind their heads. Are they surrendering? They are clearly outnumbered. The news of a blockade must be circulating the media by now, and everyone would be terrified of stepping a foot in rescue for the protestors.

"You have to get out of there!" I snap at the air. Tariq turns to me, surprised by my act of aid rather than angry at interference. A breath of uncertainty hushes through the speaker. Sarah is taken aback by my presence too. But it wasn't her who screamed next, it was Dalia.

"Tariq! You know they could be spying on all types of communication!"

"Ours is off the radar."

"Still! She -"

"She is right, Dalia." Tariq cuts her off. "You have to leave! NOW!"

Sarah briskly stands up and hustles towards the door.

Just like thunder, so quick and fleeting, a bomb falls right in the center of the fortified group of protestors. They break into a chaos of screams and shatters. They rush to different directions trying to escape the blinding gas and smoke that erupted from the bomb, only to bind into the impenetrable circle of weapons and thick bodies of soldiers. From the still switched-on earpieces of Sarah and Dalia, I hear the desperate calls for aid shaking the crooked ground like an earthquake. I want to answer their calls, but I feel helpless. Like I have been shackled in my own potent fears.

Sarah returns and squats on her original position. Tariq swears under his breath before he starts bouncing back and forth. The tear bomb crumbled many rebels on the ground, coughing and trying to catch their breath, searching for any remnants of oxygen. I ache for their pain, not only because they are humans that don't deserve having concocted a trap for, but because I experienced the grouchy situation before, where you find yourself dealing with the extinguishing hope of survival.

The rebels yank forward, combining with the soldiers in punches and uppercuts. The regular circle of riot control breaks into a dysfunctional group of armed forces. They are taken off guard by the protestors' resistance.

A bullet almost hits Raneem, pushing her on her feet with her knives reflexively raised. She catches a sniper obscured behind the curtains of one of the flats and throws a caltrop at the targeted window. It hits the sniper's head. He somersaults out of the window and falls.

Dalia pulls an arrow from her sheath and hits the groin of one of the soldiers who almost shot a protestor. He looks up extricating the arrow out of his skin, revealing a flowing stream of blood, and points out the roof to his ilk. A group of them rush towards the building. Dalia reaches for an arrow and then another, until a gale of arrows descends upon their heads.

Sarah grabs her Nunchaku and turns towards the door anticipating their arrival.

The callous battle on the square rages on, and through the bulky figures I see more bodies falling in their midst.