Ashur paused, looking over his shoulder at her. “Are you okay?”
She clung to the rope, shaking. She wasn’t okay.
“Layah,” Hud yelled. “Don’t panic. You’re almost there.”
“I can’t do it,” she shouted back.
“Wrap your legs around the rope and slide down to me slowly. I’ll catch you.”
She followed those instructions for the last few meters, until she was in his arms. When her feet hit the ground, her knees buckled. She collapsed in a heap next to Hudson. He kept his gaze on Ashur, who finished the climb without trouble.
They were on a narrow strip of land at the river’s edge, exposed to anyone who glanced down the cliff from the plateau above. The only shelter was a deep depression in the sandstone. She dragged Ashur that direction and put her pack down inside. Then she stood by Hudson while the others made their descents. Nina accidentally kicked Yusef in the head, but he held on. So did she. Oshana needed the most help. She didn’t even get halfway down before she started to slide. This resulted in rope burns and a minor fall at the bottom.
Layah and the others scrambled into the sandstone cave to wait for Aram and Hudson. Aram joined them first. Oshana clung to him, sobbing. Hudson pulled down the rope so the horsemen couldn’t follow them. Then he squeezed in next to Layah.
“Did they see you?” he asked Aram.
“I don’t think so.”
Although Hudson spoke in English and Aram replied in Arabic, they seemed to understand each other. Ashur put his ear against the sandstone to listen for the sound of approaching hooves.
“They are here,” he said quietly. “They stopped.”
Aram drew his rifle. Layah prayed the horsemen didn’t have their own ropes. If they came down here, there was no escape. There would be an ugly gun battle, and her people would lose.
“Where is your pack?” Oshana whispered to Aram.
He pointed up. Layah’s stomach dropped as she realized what had happened. In the rush to get down the cliff before the horseman spotted him, he’d left the pack behind. She prayed the strangers would not disturb it.
Her prayers weren’t answered.
Seconds later, the pack landed in the middle of the river with a huge splash. Layah and the others watched in horror as it floated to the surface. The pockets were unzipped, as if the contents had been ransacked. No one moved.
Then the men on the cliff above them opened fire.
Layah clapped a hand over her mouth to smother her scream. Hudson put his arms around her and Ashur, shielding them with his body. Bullets tore through the canvas pack in a chilling display of gun power. The pack jumped and flipped from multiple impacts. Then it sank into the water and didn’t resurface.
“They can’t get down here,” Hudson murmured. “They’re just trying to scare us.”
“It’s working.”
The men continued to fire, peppering the surface of the water and the shoreline. Mud and pebbles sprayed up from the ground. Layah closed her eyes, plagued by flashbacks of horror. She’d heard the sound of gunfire too many times. Too many battles, too many bombs. Too many mangled bodies.
She took a deep breath and focused on Hudson. He felt warm and strong and solid. His arms made a heavy band around her and Ashur. Although Hudson was a trained soldier, acting on instinct, she appreciated his protection. There was something comforting, and achingly familial, about their huddle. Ashur couldn’t push her away in the cramped space. Hudson might not love her, but he cared about her. He cared about their safety.
After a few minutes, the shooters seemed to lose interest. Ashur put his ear to the sandstone again to listen for the horses as they left. Hudson and Aram emerged from the hiding space with caution. When no one fired at them, the others filed out.
“You think they’re looking for another way down?” Hudson asked, studying the cliffs all around them.
“I hope not,” Layah said.
“We should have shot them,” Ashur said. He always favored the most violent solution.
“We don’t know who they are,” Layah replied.
“They are the same Da’esh swine who destroyed our relics,” Ashur said. “Or they are murdering Turks, who also deserve to die.”
“They could be Kurds.”
Ashur shrugged. He didn’t like the Kurds, either.
“Whoever they were, they had several high-powered rifles,” Hudson said. “Shooting at them would have been a serious mistake.”
Ashur went quiet, unable to dispute this logic.
They headed downriver, following a narrow edge along the base of the cliff until they found a shallow section. Then they were forced to cross through ice-cold, waist-deep water. There was no time to stop or change clothes after. Hudson insisted they keep moving at a brisk pace.
Layah continued forward in soggy boots and wet, mud-splattered pants. She wondered if the horsemen had been unable to pursue, or decided not to for geographical reasons. The river marked the border between Turkey and Iran. The Da’esh were extremely unwelcome here.
So were Americans, but that couldn’t be helped.
Early in the evening, they reached the top of a hill overlooking Rajan, a tiny town in northern Iran.
They’d made it. This marked the end of their journey on foot. They’d escaped Iraq, survived the mountains and avoided being detained in Turkey. Now they would travel across Iran in a vehicle. With any luck, they’d arrive in Armenia tomorrow.
Layah should have been overjoyed. This was the moment she’d planned and hoped for and worked toward for months. But the accomplishment felt empty, because the danger wasn’t over. Bringing an American into Iran put everything at risk. If they were stopped and questioned, Hudson would be taken into custody—or killed.
She’d never forgive herself if he got detained here. She’d meant to warn him at the Turkish border. Then they’d run into trouble and she’d held her tongue. Now they were stuck, and she wasn’t sure how to break the news.
“What town is this?” Hudson asked.
“It is Rajan,” she said. “My aunt lives near. She will shelter us for the night.”
They headed toward a cluster of
