“Get in the truck,” he screamed as he dragged her out. Mia struggled to hold on to Malak, a look of confusion on her face. “Go, now!”
She looked behind her, saw the approaching vehicle, and realization dawned. She sprinted for the truck, passed Malak inside to Mansur, and climbed in. The truck revved and moved off down the road as John turned his attention to the approaching vehicle.
Naeem and Steve were standing on either side of the pickup, weapons held ready.
“Who is it, Naeem?”
“I don’t know.” He tightened his grip on his AKM,
“Fuck. Steve get off the road into that long grass. Naeem, try to talk us out of it.” John looked around for Karam. “Karam over there.” John pointed to the left side of the road. The boy understood and ran off the road and dropped onto his stomach in the dirt, flattening himself into the shallow ditch.
“Naeem, come to this side.” John moved around to the front of the pickup and dropped to the ground where he was out of sight but could still see the vehicle approaching from underneath the chassis. Naeem moved around to the driver’s door and stood, his AKM held across his chest.
The vehicle slowed as it got nearer, and John rolled over and peered around the side of the Mitsubishi. He could see the H.T.S. flag flying from its aerial and three men standing in the tray facing toward them. As the vehicle stopped, the men raised their weapons and pointed them at Naeem.
Naeem cursed in Arabic.
“Who is it?”
“Abu Mujahid.”
“Shit,” John muttered and slid back over to where he could see Steve. “Steve,” he hissed. “Stay down, this could get messy.”
He moved back to the middle and peered underneath the vehicle. He heard the driver’s door open, but from his viewpoint, looking under the chassis, he could only see the boots and lower legs of the driver. He slowly got to his feet and popped his head just above the hood of the vehicle and looked through the cab of the pickup. Abu Mujahid stood behind the door, his left hand holding the door frame, his right balled into a fist, and raised in the air as he shouted in Arabic. Naeem replied, but his answer didn’t satisfy Abu Mujahid, and the two argued back and forth, Abu Mujahid gesticulating wildly from his position behind the door.
John crouched back down and looked at the weapon in his hand. He’d never held an AK47 before, let alone fired one. Did it have a safety? There was nothing on the left, but on the right-hand side, above the trigger, was a lever. That must be it. He clicked it down, and remembering what Mansur had done, pulled back on the charging handle. Raising the stock to his shoulder, he turned his head to look over the hood again. The discussion didn’t seem to be going well, Abu Mujahid sounding increasingly angry and Naeem sounding more and more desperate.
John glanced across to Steve, who had his head down and remained out of sight of the men in the pickup. He looked across to the other side where Karam was practically invisible, his slim frame pressed flat to the bottom of the ditch. So far, Abu Mujahid’s men only knew about Naeem. That was in their favor. Hopefully, they thought everyone else had gone ahead with the truck. John tuned back into the shouting. He raised his head again. Not being able to understand the language, he needed to watch the body language. Abu Mujahid looked furious, his eyes wide, and now, both hands were waving in the air. Naeem shouted back, and whatever he said, it was the last straw. Abu Mujahid turned his head slightly and said something to his men. It was so quick, if John hadn’t been watching for that very sign, he would have missed it. As one, the three men on the back of the pickup raised their weapons and shouted, “Allahu Akbar!”
82
All hell broke loose as three AKs opened fire simultaneously. Glass and pieces of metal flew into the air, and John dropped to the ground in a panic. A rapid and continuous klunk, klunk, klunk filled the air, accompanied by the sound of breaking glass and tortured metal. Stray bullets flew overhead and kicked up fountains of dirt in the road beyond John. He flattened himself to the ground, and despite himself, clenched his eyes shut and covered his head with his arms. Fuck, fuck, fuck! He pulled his elbows into his sides, curling himself into a ball, trying to make himself as small as possible. His entire body tensed, anticipating the moment a bullet would carve its way through his flesh. The firing seemed to go on forever. When it stopped, his ears were ringing, and the air was thick with the smell of smoke, dust, and burned metal. Someone shouted Allahu Akbar, which was then repeated, and he forced himself to open his eyes.
He had dropped the AK, and he reached for it, pulling it close to him. As he peered under the pickup, he could see fluids dripping from the damaged engine. One of the rear tires was flat, and there was no sign of Naeem. He seemed to have vanished. All John could see ahead were the boots of Abu Mujahid, where he stood behind the driver’s door. The boots moved sideways as he stepped out from behind the door and walked toward the Mitsubishi.
John took a deep breath, his heart in his mouth. Bringing the weapon to his shoulder, he realized the curved magazine sticking out from underneath the AK prevented him from getting a good angle of fire. Shit. He thought fast, rolled onto his side, and pulled the stock to his shoulder. He took another deep breath, counted to three, then pulled the trigger. The sound underneath the vehicle was deafening, and ears ringing, John looked to see if he had found his target as the men
