When Pia regained consciousness, she was strapped to a gurney. Even in the twilight, the tower loomed over her like a monster. Recalling the last thing she could remember, she spoke to anyone around her. “Are the children safe?”
“You’re awake?” Tania asked from somewhere behind her.
Pia twisted around. A lightning bolt of pain shot through her. The gurney was tilted up slightly at her head. She could see people milling about, but heard no gunfire. There were no medics nearby that she could see. Braving the pain, she twisted farther and saw Tania behind her, pushing her gurney.
“What happened?” Pia said.
“You passed out. Blood loss,” Tania said. “You have a bullet in your thigh. But don’t worry, I won’t say ‘at least it didn’t hit the bone’ like you said to me back in Vienna. I’m not that kind of person.”
“What happened to the children?”
“They’re safe,” Tania said. “The Syrians surrendered a few minutes after you passed out. The locals are all over the kids with food. Mostly candy.”
The distinct whumping of helicopters grew in the distance.
Tania pushed her gurney across rough ground and stopped at the back of an open ambulance. Pia gave her gurney to an old woman with a head wound. Tania helped her onto the hood of a nearby car.
Primar Grigore hobbled toward her, a massive bandage around his torso and his coat draped over his shoulders.
“You do good thing,” Grigore said in his halting accent. “You open Romanian eyes to Prime Minister’s ethics.”
“You were brave, Primar. But your people paid a high price.”
“Price is yet to pay.” Grigore pointed to the horizon where the helicopters’ noises grew steadily louder. Four black dots swept low over the ridge, barely visible in the gathering twilight. “My people say, two American and two Romanian.”
“The Americans are coming for me. Are the Romanians coming for you?”
Grigore nodded with a sad smile. “Whatever fate of you and me, it was the good fight.”