The guard who spoke looked to be in his early thirties, with a long beard and body odor strong enough to knock her out.

And a rifle gripped in his right hand.

When all of them were standing, huddled together, the guard threw open the door and lifted the rifle. He pointed it at Fatima. “You. Come with me.”

Fatima stepped forward. When she reached Sarah, she grabbed Sarah’s hand in a death grip. The teen shook like she’d splinter apart any second.

The guard jabbed Fatima with the rifle. “What is your name?”

“Fatima.”

“Remove your head covering.”

Slowly, Fatima pushed the cloth away, her eyes downcast.

“It’s not her,” the other man said. “But I will take her for a little while.” He placed the weapon against Fatima’s shoulder. “Come with me.”

The teen shuddered but didn’t move to obey the order.

The guard’s eyes gleamed. “Come, I said. Obey or die. Which will you choose?”

Still gripping Sarah’s fingers, Fatima lifted her chin. “I choose to die.”

A multitude of gasps sounded behind her.

He pulled the trigger. Fatima jerked and fell, her hand sliding from Sarah’s grip.

Screams echoed.

“Fatima!” Heart pounding, ears ringing, Sarah dropped to her knees and pressed hard against the wound, barely able to control the rage she wanted to unleash on the guard. But the girl . . .

“Fatima,” she whispered.

“It hurts,” Fatima whimpered.

The rifle turned on Rashida. “You. Get up.”

“Kinaaz,” Sarah said, “come press on her wound.”

Without hesitation, Kinaaz, the gentle soul who loved poetry, nature, and puppies, darted to her friend’s side and replaced Sarah’s hands with her own.

“Hold on, Fatima,” Sarah whispered, “help’s coming.”

“I said get up!”

Rashida wailed and covered her head with her arms. The guard adjusted the rifle.

“Stop! Don’t shoot her!” Sarah stood and stepped between the rifle and the other girls, ignoring the nausea curling in her gut. “What do you want?” she asked, keeping her head lowered, but watching him through her lashes.

His eyes glinted and raked her up and down. “I didn’t tell you to interfere.”

Sarah waited for the bullet. It didn’t come, but she thought he considered it. “Remove your head covering.”

She reached to do so and the smile that split his lips turned her stomach once more. He jerked the rifle, indicating she was to hurry up.

The guard behind him chuckled and muttered something under his breath. She thought she caught, “That’s the one.”

Gunfire erupted from the hallway and the terrorist flinched, his rifle wavering for a fraction of a second. She lunged at the man, slamming her elbow into his throat. He stumbled back and she clamped a hand around the barrel of the rifle and rolled, jammed the stock into her shoulder, and aimed it at his face.