Small puffs of dust erupted from the sand as the rapid-fire pops of bullets whizzed around Mena, pelting the ground.
Screaming, she didn’t dare look behind her as a symphony of gunshots rang out. Ducking low, she tumbled down the hill, barely keeping her footing as she raced toward the small concrete building ahead.
“Go, go, go!” Rahim shouted from behind her as he returned fire at the gunmen chasing them.
The angry shouts grew louder and more insistent as the gunshots continued. Mena ran closer to the low stone fencing, her eyes drawn to a large tree in the corner with tangled branches, curving and broken into a nearly perfect heart-shaped hole near the top. The sun peeked through the heart, casting bright rays on the pale blue painted concrete house looming in front of her. A beacon to safety if she could just make it there.
A deep, guttural moan arrested her movement. Mena turned and watched as Rahim’s body shook violently from the force of dozens of bullets. He returned fire, sending his shooter to the ground as he fell, his body jerking and twisting as it rolled down the hill toward the stone fence.
Another gunman rushed past Rahim’s body. Arm raised toward her, he pointed the barrel of his semiautomatic rifle toward her head.
Mena froze.
The air became quiet and still as the gunman descended upon her. Mena glanced down at the rose gold charm bracelet on her wrist. Sweat rolled down her face, dripping from her chin onto the red dirt below. The heart-shaped charm bracelet glowed in the sunlight. She took one long slow breath, which would probably be her last.
Gunfire rocked the air.
Mena shut her eyes, squeezing tightly as her body fell to the ground.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Intense gunfire blazed above Mena, sending a flurry of birds skittering across the sky. A brief moment of silence was followed by more rounds of fire. A spattering of blood rained down on her legs as the gunman wobbled and collapsed onto the ground.
“Get up! Go into the house now!”
A man’s voice, concerned and insistent, spurred her into action.
Mena stumbled to her feet and rushed toward the sprawling one-story concrete house stained a faded robin’s egg blue. White curtains adorned the two small windows on opposite sides of the door. Sprinting up the concrete steps, she stopped short, glancing at the mosaic-tiled cross that hung above the door. Thinking about the disaster that had been averted, Mena said a silent prayer of thanks, then turned the knob.
Struggling to adjust to the darkness, she ran a hand along the smooth concrete walls until she found a light switch. Moments later, the room was bathed in a soft yellow glow. To her left was a neatly furnished living room. A dark brown couch accented with lavender pillows was flanked by matching chairs.
Mena darted across the room and kneeled down behind the couch, pressing her body flat against the thin, threadbare tan rug covering the floor. She wasn’t sure what to do. The gunshots had ceased, but she was afraid to go near the windows. The man out there had helped her. He’d saved her life.
Heart pounding in her chest, Mena rubbed her fingertips against her temples, trying to soothe the jackhammers beating against her skull. Exhaustion settled in her like a dead weight, draining her of the adrenaline that had fueled her escape. She craved water and rest.
The door opened.
Mena pressed up from the floor, peering over the edge of the couch.
Time stopped.
Heart racing, she shook her head, unable to comprehend what she was seeing was true and real.
“Is it really you?” Her voice was barely above a whisper as she watched him walk inside and shut the door behind him.
Slipping the helmet from his head, he dropped it on the floor and ran a dusty hand through his dark hair, slick from sweat.
The soulful brown eyes she’d fell in love with stared back at her.
“It’s me,” Julian said, resting against the door.
A canyon of distance separated them. Mena trembled.
In three strides, he was helping her up from behind the couch. Mena took shaky steps toward Julian, staring at him.
“Did they hurt you? Are you in any pain?” He assessed her for injuries, his hands gentle, his eyes canvassing her body.
“My head hurts, and I’m tired, but I’m okay,” Mena said, swallowing past the hot mass in her throat. Now that she was safe, her thoughts drifted to the one she left behind. “I’m fine. I can’t say the same about Wangari. When I left, they were beating her … I think they—”
