A man rises up from behind the gurney, his weapon trained on me as he begins to walk in my direction. He’s masked like all the others, but something about him seems familiar. As he stops a few feet away, I see the dark glitter of his eyes above the mask, and recognition spears through me.

Majid.

Al-Quadar must’ve heard that I’m here, within their reach.

I move without thinking. I’m still holding the now-empty machine gun, and I lunge at him, swinging the gun as I would a bat, arching it deceptively high before jabbing it low. Even with my injuries, my reflexes are excellent, and the butt of the weapon makes contact with Majid’s ribs before I’m thrown back against the wall, my left shoulder exploding in agony. My ears are ringing from the blast as I slide down the wall, and I realize that I’ve been shot—that he managed to fire his weapon before I could inflict real damage.

I can hear yelling in Arabic, and then rough hands grab me, dragging me along the floor. I struggle with all of my remaining strength, but I can feel my body beginning to shut down, my heart laboring to pump its dwindling supply of blood. Something presses down on my shoulder, exacerbating the fiery pain, and black spots cover my vision.

My last thought before I lose consciousness is that death will likely be preferable to what awaits me if I survive.

24

Nora

I don’t realize that I’m screaming until a hand slaps over my mouth, muffling my hysterical shrieks.

“Nora. Nora, stop it.” Peter’s steady voice pulls me out of the vortex of horror, dragging me back to reality. “Calm down and tell me exactly what you saw. Can you calm down enough to talk?”

I manage a small nod, and he releases me, stepping back. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Rosa and Ana standing a few feet away. Ana’s hands are clamped over her mouth, tears running down her cheeks again, and Rosa looks scared and distraught.

“I didn’t—” I can barely force the words through my swollen throat, “—I didn’t see anything. I just heard it. We were talking, and then all of a sudden, there were gunshots and—and screaming, and then more gunshots. Julian—” My voice breaks as I speak his name. “Julian must’ve dropped the computer because everything went topsy-turvy on the screen, and then all I could see was the wall, but I heard it—the gunfire, the screams, more gunfire…” I am not conscious of sobbing uncontrollably until Peter’s hands close around my shoulders and gently guide me toward the couch.

He forces me to sit down as I begin to shake, the terror of what I just witnessed combining with memories from a few months earlier, when I had been taken by Al-Quadar in the Philippines. For a few horrifying moments, the past and the present merge, and I’m again in that clinic, hearing those gunshots and feeling fear so intense that my mind can’t register it. Only now it’s not Beth and I who are in danger.