Freedom Fighters

5. Despair

"We have to split, okay? You go look for your parents, make sure they are fine. I will find you later." Camilo said through ragged breaths.

"Okay." Dario replied, panting. He put a hand to the wall to steady himself. "How... did this happen?"

Camilo tried to quell the trembling in his arms. "I don't know. This was the one line I never thought he would cross. But one thing I do know is this: Cuba will never be the same again."

He slammed his fist on the brick wall in frustration, before spitting on the floor, a defiant look now on his face.

"It is vital that we be strong, Dario. Survive."

With those words, Camilo disappeared down the alley, leaving Dario alone with his thoughts. His heart was beating so fast that he thought it would explode into little smithereens. His brain was pounding hard against his skull like a hammer.

He leaned back against the wall behind him and tried to still his chaotic mind. Meanwhile, streets of Havana were bathed in blood. Batista had unleashed his soldiers onto his own people, stamping his authority on Havana with a brand of civilian blood. Hysterical screams were accompanied with cracking gunshots, like a dark musical symphony from the very depths of hell.

Another gunshot rang through the air. Then a high-pitched howl. A woman. It died out shortly after like a candle being snuffed out.

Dario tensed up, every muscle fiber in his being now alert. That gunshot sounded like it was not far away. He had to continue running.

Mama. Papa. He had to get back to them.

Where would they be?

The restaurant, yes. It was their most beloved possession. They would be there.

He inched towards the end of the wall, and leaned his head slightly out to survey his surroundings. Sure enough, soldiers were a few blocks away, rounding up protesters and cleaning up small pockets of resistance.

"Spare me... Please... Spare me... I have kids... Spare-" A man's last words were cut off with a bullet in the skull.

Dario flinched, squeezing his eyes shut, unable to watch the brutality. This was simply mass murder. How did things degenerate to this level?

He glanced at his trembling hands.

Weak. So weak. He felt so helpless, not being able to save those innocents from their deaths. He spared a hesitant look at the dead bodies littering the streets. Their lifeless faces stared at him out of haunting glassy eyes. A grim shudder of dread ran down his spine, as those faces, seemed to morph into... those of his father and mother.

Dario felt the sweat drench his skin, the throbbing of his eyes, the ringing screams vibrating in his ears, and the thumping of his heart against his chest. His fingers curled into a fist, nails digging into his palm. He could not hear his rapid breathing, but felt the oxygen flooding in and out of his lungs.

No. Mama and Papa. He had to make sure they were fine.

He swallowed his saliva, and forced his breathing to slow down.

What was the fastest way to the restaurant? He looked at the street to his left again, and deduced that he would have to run across and into the back alleys.

With a deep breath, Dario purged the indecision from his legs. His eyes darted to the soldiers again. It was far enough that they might not notice him.

Now or never.

He sprinted across the narrow street as fast as he could, praying that he was not noticed by the soldiers. Or if he was, that they would not bother chasing after him. Every one of those ten precarious seconds felt like an eternity, as he ran across the realm of the dead and dying.