MARIEL

7~ The Four Horsemen Emerge ~

Ahdam stopped to catch his breath. Despite the coolness of the musty air, he was drenched with sweat. Bending down, he rested his hands on his knees as he struggled to breathe. His breath came in wheezing gasps, and his throat burned from the air he had inhaled while running.

Most, if not all of them, were dead. He was certain of it. The boy wanted to cry, wanted to go back and see if Allah had had mercy on his parents, but he knew it would be a mistake. He had already, possibly, killed his own family through his earlier stupidity in the village of Khan Al-Ahmar. Now, he needed to do as his father had instructed.

In the darkness, he straightened up. He stood on the outskirts of the village, and his eyes lingered on the home of Ali Saddam, his father's best friend. Both men had been childhood friends, though their time together had suffered parental restrictions due to their religious differences. Now, Ahdam Kaseem stood several houses down from Saddam's home, a shack that had been constructed much more sturdily than many of the other homes. He lived alone, and he was one out of three villagers who owned a vehicle, a small white truck that helped his commute to work in Jerusalem each day. Even though he worked different hours than Haleef, he would often ask Ahdam's father to ride with him to Checkpoint 300 to avoid the walk. Ahdam always thought that was a nice thing to do for his father.

He approached the back of the shack, noting that the truck was there. From where he stood, he could see the other villagers milling about the town, talking about the 'wrath in the skies' and the flames in the distance... talking about him.

Trembling, he crept through the darkness, walking low. Trying to remain unseen, he quickly darted behind the cover of each home, listening to the villagers talk in the streets as he peeked around the corner. In the center of the street, one of the men turned his head, glancing towards Ahdam, but the boy snapped his head back behind shelter before he could be seen.

In the distance, just outside of the town, headlights flashed and engines roared by which he could only assume were more Israeli cops. Maybe, even the military. Then, flashing lights, and as the lights approached he recognized them as fire trucks. He had seen one in Jerusalem, and his father had snuck him across the street, in an area where Palestinians were not allowed to walk, to touch the truck. It had fascinated him.

But, he had to hurry. The police and the firefighters had arrived.

When the man in the street turned his back to him, Ahdam sprinted to Ali Saddam's home. He approached the back window, stood on his tiptoes, and then lightly tapped on the glass. It was dark on the inside, and the boy saw no movement. Hearing his pulse pounding within his ears, Ahdam tapped again.

Some of the vehicles came to a stop in the town, while the firetruck and the other police vehicles continued towards Ahdam's former home.

He heard shuffling footsteps and, wide eyed, turned his head towards the sound. At the corner of the shack, stood Ali Saddam.

He was a man of medium build, brown skin, and stubble on his jaw. His short, black hair was wavy at the top, and the breeze caught a few strands as he slowly put a finger to his lips.

Ahdam nodded his understanding.

Quietly, Ali returned the nod, gestured to stay where he was, and then disappeared around the corner of his home. Ahdam crouched low, but remained in position to run if necessary. As he waited, he heard Israeli police pounding their fists on Ali's front door. They yelled in both Hebrew and Arabic, demanding Ali Saddam to come to them.

Ahdam heard Ali speak to them in a calm voice, too low for him to understand what was being said. The men spoke for several minutes, and then the boy heard Ali raise his voice and speak in Arabic.