Not ideal.
The truck slows suddenly.
Every muscle in my body tightens.
Voices outside.
Shouting.
Then gunfire.
Close.
Very close.
The guards outside start yelling over each other.
The truck jerks sideways hard enough to nearly tip.
Amira gasps beside me.
“What’s happening?”
I move toward the rear flap carefully and peek through a small tear in the canvas.
Smoke rises from the road ahead.
Armed vehicles block part of the route while men exchange gunfire between abandoned buildings farther down the street.
We’re entering active conflict territory.
Wonderful.
One of the guards slams the side of the truck hard.
“Stay down!”
Automatic gunfire erupts seconds later.
Bullets hammer somewhere nearby.
The younger hostage cries out.
I yank her downward just as rounds rip through the canvas overhead.
The entire truck rocks violently.
Outside, men scream in Arabic while engines roar around us.
And through all the chaos—
One terrifying realization settles cold in my chest.
Nobody is coming to save us here.
Not in the middle of a war zone.
I press myself protectively over Amira as more gunfire tears through the morning air.
