“That sounded like a bomb,” said Yam.
For many long minutes, the three tried to move the boulders, but it was pointless. The rocks were just too big and too heavy.
“You’d need a crane to move this mess,” said an exhausted Yam. He stopped for a moment to consider. “Clearly, we’re not leaving through here. We’re going to have to go back through the tunnel and find an exit at the other end.” The three turned their backs to the stairs and, in gloomy silence, walked back into the tunnel.
“I’m beginning to think we’re never going to get out of here,” Anise said after a few minutes of walking.
Yam tried to marshal all the optimism he had left before answering her. “We’ll make it. I promise you.” He then felt Anise’s hand take hold of his own and his heart skipped a beat.
They could once again hear the drip-drip of water. “Hey – listen up,” said Mor. “We’re still under the Western Wall.” Mor smiled with relief and this time went over to the stream to wash his face. The cool water felt wonderful, as if it could wash away the fatigue and despair of the last few hours.
They continued walking, following the drainage ditch. Some parts of it had collapsed from the explosion and the uncontained water created large mud puddles on the tunnel floor. In some places, the ceiling had caved in, and the three were forced to crawl on the muddy ground to move ahead.
Suddenly, someone nearby sighed. All three froze in place and Yam turned the flashlight off.
Then came another sigh. “It sounds like someone’s injured,” Mor whispered. The three moved forward with caution. After another ten or so feet, Yam turned the flashlight on. The three were shocked to see the three men who’d captured them dead in a pool of mud.
Anise vomited.
Mor was the first to pull himself together. “One of them is still alive,” he said.
Yam looked at the man who, just a few minutes ago, had kicked him in the stomach. His leg was flung out at an unnatural angle, the broken bones sticking out through his skin, but he was still conscious.
“Why do I always have to save the ones who’re trying to kill me?” Yam wondered in exasperation, joining Mor with evident lack of desire. Together, they pulled the Jewish terrorist out from between the two corpses lying on him.
“If we leave him here, he’ll die,” said Mor.
Yam didn’t answer. The man would have killed him without thinking twice. The vicious kick to his torso was still making his mid-section throb. Plus, he can’t move, he thought. It would be virtually impossible to get him out of here.
Anise knew exactly what was going through Yam’s mind. She, too, knew that if they tried to take the wounded man with them, they might pay for it with their lives. “We’re not like that,” she murmured close to his ear and locked her fingers with his.
Yam remained undecided for a moment, but then had to concede: Anise was right. He grunted with irritation, but then took out a rope and tied the three backpacks together into an improvised stretcher. “All right. Let’s take him to the room Anise found and then head for the next exit,” he said.
“That’s quite a POW camp we’re setting up,” Mor laughed as the three began to tug on the “stretcher.”
The room wasn’t far away, but the added weight meant that crossing the short distance took an hour.
They entered the ancient stone room totally spent. Yam and Mor lay the Jewish terrorist down next to the Arab terrorist. Anise took out the first aid kit from the backpack. The fracture was shocking to look at. The fibula – or was it the tibia? – poked right through the flesh. Anise had to take deep breaths to keep from throwing up again.
She rigged up a compression bandage and tried to set the leg as best as she could. “He needs a doctor,” she said, stating the obvious. “I don’t know how to treat this. Plus, I think he’s got several cracked – if not broken – ribs.”
Yam removed the gag from Nasat’s mouth. “Look at him!” he barked. “He’s just like you. A terrorist. Only Jewish. You’ve done this to one another,” he added with revulsion.
Nasat answered with a look full of hatred. “We’re going to kill you,” he hissed.
“Well, for now, a Jewish murderer and an Arab murderer are going to be tied together,” said Yam and stuffed the rag back in Nasat’s mouth. “You really don’t know when to stop talking, do you?” Yam added.
“Forget about them,” said Anise wearily. “Let’s eat.” Yam worked hard to overcome his desire to punch Nasat and allowed Anise to lead him to the other side of the room.
They ate the canned goods left over from the day before. It all tasted disgusting, but they were hungry and even this food was preferable to no food.
Anise started to think about her mother. She wondered if the above-ground city still stood or if all the crazies with guns and hatred had blown everything to smithereens. “We have to get out of here,” she said for the umpteenth time, although now, after all that had happened today, she wasn’t sure they’d make it.
But Yam was pointing to an exit on the map.
“What makes you so sure it’s not blocked?” Anise wanted to know.
“The explosion occurred here,” Yam explained, his finger on the map tracing a long line from where they were to the other end, the exit. “There’s a good chance that the far part wasn’t affected. And, besides, I don’t see any other option.”
Mor approached the Jewish terrorist. “In Judaism, life is sacred. How does murder fit into that equation? You think you’re on your way to paradise?”
The yarmulke-wearing terrorist didn’t answer, only stared at Mor with loathing.
Mor laughed. “You know, the two of you have the same hate in your
