The Girl in The Green Scarf

F o r t y - n i n e | Hamsa

C H A P T E R

49

– H a m s a –

"Sometimes you have to choose between a bunch of wrong choices and no right ones. You just have to choose what feels the least wrong."
—Colleen Hoover.

My heart continues to pound as I reach the end of the street and cross the junction, my mind running at full tilt.

The sound of gunshots comes from everywhere, fading in and out.

The sirens don't though. They pierce through the twilight like a sharp knife.

Far ahead of me an English soldier pushes a man to his knees and points a gun at his head.

I freeze in my place, body prickling like I'm being stuck with needles everywhere. I struggle against the impulse to attack the soldier.

I want to stop him, to do something, but if I move any closer I'll be caught and what good would that do anyone?

The man stares up at the soldier dauntlessly, but his face is pale and his hands are shaking—he knows he's going to die.

Allahu Akbar.

locking my jaw, I push my legs forward, steering a right and diving into a narrow street between two houses, out of sight.

In the distance behind me, I hear a gunshot and I almost burst into tears.

Keep running.

I launch across the street and cut a hard left into a yard. There, another soldier is holding a woman up by her neck. She struggles to breathe, her feet kicking around in the air aimlessly.

A little girl lies on the ground, blood gushing out of a hole between her eyes which are open and sightless.

My feet falter and stop.

Something gets stuck in my throat, and I feel bile rising up.

Ya Allah. Ya Allah. Ya Allah.

The anger boiling up in me is a shredding feeling.

My fingers coil around the rifle and without knowing what I'm doing, I lift it up and squeeze the trigger. Fire bursts and I stumble back, the rifle smacking me on the chest.

The air is momentarily knocked out of my lungs and then I look to see the bullet hit the soldier's leg. He growls baring his teeth like a wild animal, and lets go of the woman to clutch his thigh with both hands.

The rifle clatters to the ground and I kick it away like it's a poisonous snake. I clench my hands to stop them from shaking.

I just shot a man—no, a monster.

The woman crawls to where the little girl lies, hands hovering over her face. I sprint to her, take her hand yanking her up and run.

She is crying, shouting at me to stop, but I know we can't because I hear footsteps behind us.

I squeeze her hand, pulling her forward. She stumbles behind me, but I don't slow down.

"Come on, we have to move," I urge her.

If we just turn the right street corner we can lose the soldiers.

"But my daughter!" She screeches.

I swallow against the lump in my throat. "She's dead. There's nothing you can do for her."

I hear a gunshot and whip my head over my shoulder to see the woman stiffen, her shoulder arching. Her face contorts into a horrible scream.