“Shut up,” Al-Bayat said, his hand fisted in Layah’s hair. “You know nothing.”
“It can’t be that hard to cut off heads. Any village butcher can do it.”
Al-Bayat didn’t like this conversation. He was a madman, but a calculating one. He was ambitious and self-aggrandizing. His favor with Rahim could be in jeopardy. “You are eager to return to my prison?”
“It wasn’t so bad.”
“I have a recording of your screams as I burned your flesh.”
“That didn’t even leave a scar.”
Al-Bayat’s mouth thinned with displeasure. Hud knew he wouldn’t release Layah. Al-Bayat knew Hud wouldn’t back down. It was a standoff. Hud didn’t care if the roof was on fire. He didn’t care if his clothes were on fire. He wasn’t leaving without Layah.
One of the ceiling beams plummeted to the ground next to them. The moment of distraction was all he needed. Layah shoved away from Al-Bayat and Hud pulled the trigger. Al-Bayat fired at the same time.
Hud’s aim was true. Al-Bayat’s wasn’t. The Da’esh executioner dropped his weapon and careened forward, clutching his chest.
Hud didn’t wait to make sure he was dead. The roof was caving in on them, raining flames and debris. He covered his nose with the crook of his arm and grabbed Layah. They ran through the smoke together.
Then they were outside, tripping over the bodies of their enemies. Hud pulled her forward and kept moving, as if the fire might chase them. He didn’t know how many locals Al-Bayat had paid to assist his scheme.
When they were at a safe distance, he paused to free her wrists. She sobbed in relief, throwing her arms around him. He held her for several seconds, his chest tight with emotion. Then they broke apart and started running again.
They ran because they were in Azerbaijan, at the scene of a horrific crime. The authorities would respond to the fire and discover the bodies. Even if the police here were friendly toward Americans, not allies of the Da’esh, Hud didn’t want to get detained. Layah ran with him, matching his pace.
They ran across fallow fields and over rocky hills. They ran until Layah couldn’t run anymore. She collapsed at the base of a gnarled oak tree, gasping for breath. Hud rested with her, his hands on his knees. When her shoulders shook with silent tears, he sat down and put his arms around her.
“Shh,” he said, stroking her hair. “We’re okay.”
“I thought you were dead,” she choked.
“I know.”
“You don’t know, William. You don’t know how it felt to see the body!”
He kissed the top of her head. “Tell me.”
She pushed away from him, her lips trembling. “There was a man wearing your clothes, with his face covered. Soaked in blood.”
He rubbed a hand over his mouth, silent.
“They put a hood on Khalil in Palmyra.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Al-Bayat said he begged for mercy.”
“Al-Bayat is a liar. And now he’s gone.”
“You killed him,” she said in a flat voice. “You killed all of them.”
“Yes.”
Her eyes shone with tears again. He didn’t expect her to celebrate his actions. She wasn’t a battle-scarred soldier, like him. He’d fantasized about taking down Al-Bayat for years, and he wouldn’t lose any sleep over the bloodshed. Sometimes victory was empty, or void of triumph. This wasn’t one of those times. He felt a grim satisfaction in dispatching The Butcher. He’d done what he had to do to survive, and to save Layah.
He cupped her chin, checking her for injuries. “Did he hurt you?”
“No.”
“Did any of them hurt you?”
She shook her head.
“How do we get to Armenia from here?”
She wiped her cheeks and took a ragged breath. “I’m not sure. The borders between Armenia and Azerbaijan have been closed for a long time. The two countries are not at peace with each other.”
“Of course they aren’t.”
“It is easier to cross from Iran.”
“I’m not going back to Iran. Ever.”
Sadness flitted across her features. “I understand that. We can take the bus, or get a ride closer to the border. Then we will find a place to cross.”
“Let’s go.”
There was a road on the opposite side of the hill, with sparse traffic and a bus stop. Hud waited there with Layah, his mind quiet. A man with a cart passed by, selling leather sandals. Layah declined the sandals but inquired about the flannel shirt tied to the cart. She paid for it with coins from her pocket.
Hud shrugged out of the border guard’s shirt, which was conspicuously decorated with blood, and put on the faded flannel. When the bus arrived, they boarded without incident. They rode to the last stop, a small village called Ordubad. Then they got off the bus and walked. A truck driver offered a ride to the end of the road. By noon, they were only a few miles from the Armenian border.
“Do you want to keep going?” he asked Layah.
“Yes. We’re too close to stop.”
It wasn’t as difficult to reach Armenia as he’d imagined. The border was in a remote location, quiet and unpatrolled. There might be tension between the two countries, but there was peace within them, and stable borders.
They followed a set of old train tracks for three or four miles at the most. Then they reached the outskirts of an idyllic little town in a green valley. Layah stopped and grasped his hand, inhaling a sharp breath.
“This is Agarak,” she said in a hushed tone.
“Yeah?”
Her eyes, which had been dark from the day’s trauma, brightened like stars. “It is Armenia.”
“We made it.”
She moved her sparkling gaze from the town to his face. “We made it.”
He was mesmerized by her beauty, astounded by her strength and resilience. He brought her knuckles to his mouth for a kiss. She had a red mark on her wrist from the plastic tie, so he kissed there, too. His throat closed up and his heart thumped hard inside his chest. He had to tell her how he felt, right here and now. “I love you.”
To his surprise, she pulled away from him. “No.”
“No?”
“This is where we say goodbye.”
He flinched
