Al-Raqqah, Syria
Amira groaned. Every part of her body was in pain. Her head throbbed, her mouth was dry, and she could see nothing. Or almost nothing. There was a dull orange glow surrounding her, though that was it. She tried to move but couldn’t. As her eyes adjusted, she realized she was lying on her stomach, something heavy pressing down on her back.
The girls!
“Maya! Rima!”
A whimper to her left, another to her right had her breathing a brief sigh of relief. They were alive, though what condition they were in she had no clue. There were shouts nearby, the sound of men running back and forth in confusion, but she didn’t dare call out for help.
Allah may not have answered her prayers the way she wanted, yet he had delivered them from evil, at least temporarily.
She sucked in a deep breath and felt whatever was on her back move.
So she could lift it.
She drew her arms in then pushed up, whatever was on her back rolling off and painfully hitting her leg.
She yelped.
The girls whimpered.
“It’s okay, Mommy’s coming.”
She sat up on her knees, looking about. She was surrounded by rubble, the building behind her apparently having collapsed on them or around them, it a miracle from Allah that she was still alive. Gingerly testing her arms and legs, she could feel no broken bones.
She turned, searching for her youngest, Rima, barely eight years old. “Rima, honey, where are you?”
“Over here, Mommy!”
The girl began to sob and terror rushed through Amira as she realized someone might hear them, and their misery continue. “It’s okay, dear, just be quiet, we don’t want anyone to hear us, okay?”
“O-okay.”
She groped in the dark, her eyes adjusting to the dim light, most of it provided by the fires burning around them and a quarter-moon overhead. She spotted the corner of her daughter’s dress and quickly removed the rubble lying atop her. Before she had a chance to check her over, Rima had leapt into her arms, hugging her tightly.
“Are you okay? Do you hurt anywhere?”
“I’m thirsty.”
Amira smiled, squeezing her tightly then letting go, quickly checking for broken bones in the dark, squeezing everything, listening for a gasp or a cry.
Nothing.
“Let’s find your sister.”
“I’m here.”
Amira turned to see the shadow of Maya standing behind them. “Are you okay?”
Nothing.
“You have to speak, honey, I can’t see you.”
“I’m okay.”
Amira rose, taking both girls by the hand. “We must leave quickly and quietly, understood?”
“Yes, Mommy,” replied Rima.
“What about Daddy?”
Amira looked back and could see the tires still burning in the village square. She squeezed her eyes shut and turned away.
“He is with Allah now.”
“Can we go with Allah?” asked Rima.
Amira bent down and gave her a kiss on the top of her head. “Not today, sweetie, not today. Today Allah watches over us, and we must not waste His gift. Now let’s go. Quickly and quietly.”
She picked her way through the rubble, toward the edge of town, knowing that this was her one chance of escaping the clutches of those who had killed her husband, and those who would happily turn them all into sex slaves.
Even her precious little girls.