The next time she woke was to the sound of heavy, metal gates creaking open. It was totally dark outside. Male voices barked at each other, and flashlights wavered as she was helped out of the van and into a brightly lit room. Her eyes hurt; her head pounded. She lay down gratefully on the low cot she was guided to, and allowed herself to be poked and prodded by, presumably, the medic. Someone asked her name, address and date of birth, and whether she knew what day it was. She mumbled her responses. Her pulse and blood pressure were measured, and her eyes were prized open one by one and an intense light was shone into them. Eventually, the lights were turned down and someone covered her with a fusty-smelling, rough blanket. She turned onto her side and slept deeply for the rest of the night, only occasionally aware of the hum of a generator outside and low voices in a corner of the room.
She slept most of the next day and night as well, stirring only when she was woken to have her pulse and blood pressure checked, or encouraged to sit up and drink some water. It was soothingly cool and quiet. During the day she was vaguely aware of a bustle of activity outside, vehicles coming and going, people moving back and forth and male and female voices. Part of her wanted to find out where she was and what was happening, but a bigger part just wanted to sleep. The sleepy part won until sometime just after dawn on the second day.
She awoke properly for the first time in almost 48 hours with what felt like the worst hangover she'd ever experienced. Her head throbbed, and she still felt sick and dizzy. The room she was in was actually a tent. There were four single cots in the space, but she was the only occupant. She was still happy just to lie there in the hope of sleeping it off.
A woman entered.
"Ah! You're awake at last. Good."
She was tall and slender, in army fatigues. Her long, dark hair was tied back untidily in a loose braid. She had dark circles under her eyes. She checked Lisa over again.
"You'll live," she said with a weary smile. "Take it easy for a couple of days and you'll soon be back to normal. You can go over to the main accommodation if you want. Your friend is waiting for you in the mess tent, I believe. I'll get Rick to take you over and show you around."
"What day is it?" Lisa asked.
"It's Tuesday. Six days after the attack. Feels like a hundred," the medic sighed.
Five minutes later, Rick appeared. Lisa recognised his voice from the previous night.
"Morning! Enjoy your nap? Sarah says you're ready to join the others now. Get your stuff together and I'll take you over."
Glancing around, Lisa realised she didn't have any "stuff". She didn't even have her gloves or goggles. He stood over her, watching in a way that made her feel uncomfortable for reasons she could not quite put her finger on, as, gingerly, she sat on the edge of the bed and put her boots on. Her head throbbed even more when she bent over, and after fiddling with them for a bit, she gave up on the laces. Rick turned and headed outside, and she shuffled after him.
She emerged from the tent, wincing in the bright sunshine. She was standing in a wide-open, grassy area surrounded by tents of various sizes. Some were small and dark green like the one she had been in, but others were much larger and made of a white, lighter fabric. A few soldiers were milling around near a line of trucks. Beyond the tents, she saw a helicopter taking off in the distance.
Rick led her over to one of the larger tents. Inside were long rows of tables and chairs. There were people everywhere. Civilian men, women and children were sitting at the tables. Some were eating, some were nursing hot drinks in tin cups and talking, a few were reading or playing cards, and some were just sitting quietly staring into their drinks. A few children were running about between the tables.
Since the beginning, Lisa had not seen so many healthy, living people all together in one place. It felt strange, surreal, and in complete contrast to the isolation of the past few days, when they had barely seen another living soul.
Someone called her name, and Anita jumped up from a group of people at a table in the far corner. She ran over, her face breaking into a broad grin, and hugged Lisa tightly.
"Are you feeling better? You look better. Isn't this great! We made it, Lisa. Jesus! We're safe. Come and meet some of the others."
She took her hand dragging her over to a table occupied by a teenage couple, three women in their early thirties, and two men, who looked like a father and son. The women stood up and welcomed her, making room at the table. The teenagers glanced at her in a disinterested way, and the two men looked up briefly, the younger one offering a distracted smile. She sat down. Bemused, and although she was not really hungry, she accepted a coffee in a tin mug and a mess tin full of porridge sprinkled with a generous spoonful of white sugar.
Anita was talking constantly, rejoicing that they had made it to the safe zone, telling her all about the camp and its residents and routines. Her chatter was punctuated by flashing smiles, pats and hugs. Her dark cheeks were pink with excitement. Suddenly thrust from the quiet stillness of the medical tent into this crowded
