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Authors: Russell Blake
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building, and she knew it was only a matter of time before they tracked down a key or someone braved the sea of fire in the equipment room. She gazed around frantically looking for any means of escape, but saw nothing.
Maya pushed into a smaller room where piles of rugs were stacked next to a grimy window. She hurried to it and felt for the latch handle, and was about to unlock it when a shadow flitted across the pane as someone outside approached. She knelt in a corner, her robe and hijab pulled over her, praying that in the darkness she would be mistaken for a shadow.
A bearded face flattened against the glass, the man’s hands cupped around it, and she held still, afraid to move. The moonlight reappeared in the window when the man moved on, and she exhaled a soft sigh of relief, which was cut off by the sound of shattering glass in the mosque, followed by agitated voices. Inside.
Maya instantly decided that taking on an unknown number of assailants outside with at least the benefit of running room was preferable to shooting it out with heavily armed gunmen inside the mosque. She was under no illusions that her pistol was any match for assault rifles, and whether inside or out, she knew she was outmatched.
The window latch opened with a snick , and she pulled the glass open, grateful that the hinges didn’t make a sound. A grind of metal against stone echoed through the mosque behind her. She hoisted herself through the window, landing on the dirt outside as two gunmen spun toward her no more than twenty yards away. She rolled as they fired at her, and she squeezed off six shots in rapid succession, cutting down the shooter with the rifle and sending his pistol-toting companion sprawling for cover.
Maya found herself in a small clearing adjacent to the mosque, the air thick with the odor of garbage from a makeshift neighborhood dump. She rose onto one knee as the surviving gunman loosed a shot at her, and she fired four more rounds at his muzzle flash. He cried out in pain and fell backward, hitting the ground hard before lying still.
Machine-gun fire chattered from a window, and she threw herself behind the remains of a stripped car, nothing left but the rusted carcass. Bullets pounded into it as she peered around one side. Maya aimed carefully and fired twice, and was rewarded by a grunt and a pause in the shooting. She was debating making a break for it when she saw three men round the corner of the mosque, weapons in hand. Maya crept away from the car, further to the rear of the lot, where a pile of rubble rose from the ground, the only trace of the structure that had once stood in its place. She made it to the debris and was preparing for her final stand when a blinding pain shrieked through the back of her head and everything went black.
Chapter 12
Maya regained consciousness to the percussive sound of shooting – the rapid-fire stutter of automatic weapons, higher pitched than the AK-47s the terrorists were using. She tried to sit up, but her skull was splitting, and she immediately felt so dizzy she almost passed out again. Tongues of flame licked from the mosque windows as gunmen returned fire at soldiers wearing the distinctive uniforms of the IDF. She watched one of the Israelis toss a grenade at the window from which she’d escaped, and a blinding flash shattered the night.
A pair of Palestinians darted from a nearby half-collapsed wall and let loose a volley at the soldiers, who hit the ground and fired back. Slugs whined around the shooters, and then another grenade landed a few feet away from them and exploded, shredding both men in a blast of shrapnel and flame and nearly severing one man’s torso at the waist. The soldiers leapt to their feet and continued across the field, weapons at the ready. Maya watched the exchange with a sense of surreal detachment, her vision blurring as she tried to make sense of the images.
The thumping of a helicopter overhead greeted her. A spotlight on the
Maya pushed into a smaller room where piles of rugs were stacked next to a grimy window. She hurried to it and felt for the latch handle, and was about to unlock it when a shadow flitted across the pane as someone outside approached. She knelt in a corner, her robe and hijab pulled over her, praying that in the darkness she would be mistaken for a shadow.
A bearded face flattened against the glass, the man’s hands cupped around it, and she held still, afraid to move. The moonlight reappeared in the window when the man moved on, and she exhaled a soft sigh of relief, which was cut off by the sound of shattering glass in the mosque, followed by agitated voices. Inside.
Maya instantly decided that taking on an unknown number of assailants outside with at least the benefit of running room was preferable to shooting it out with heavily armed gunmen inside the mosque. She was under no illusions that her pistol was any match for assault rifles, and whether inside or out, she knew she was outmatched.
The window latch opened with a snick , and she pulled the glass open, grateful that the hinges didn’t make a sound. A grind of metal against stone echoed through the mosque behind her. She hoisted herself through the window, landing on the dirt outside as two gunmen spun toward her no more than twenty yards away. She rolled as they fired at her, and she squeezed off six shots in rapid succession, cutting down the shooter with the rifle and sending his pistol-toting companion sprawling for cover.
Maya found herself in a small clearing adjacent to the mosque, the air thick with the odor of garbage from a makeshift neighborhood dump. She rose onto one knee as the surviving gunman loosed a shot at her, and she fired four more rounds at his muzzle flash. He cried out in pain and fell backward, hitting the ground hard before lying still.
Machine-gun fire chattered from a window, and she threw herself behind the remains of a stripped car, nothing left but the rusted carcass. Bullets pounded into it as she peered around one side. Maya aimed carefully and fired twice, and was rewarded by a grunt and a pause in the shooting. She was debating making a break for it when she saw three men round the corner of the mosque, weapons in hand. Maya crept away from the car, further to the rear of the lot, where a pile of rubble rose from the ground, the only trace of the structure that had once stood in its place. She made it to the debris and was preparing for her final stand when a blinding pain shrieked through the back of her head and everything went black.
Chapter 12
Maya regained consciousness to the percussive sound of shooting – the rapid-fire stutter of automatic weapons, higher pitched than the AK-47s the terrorists were using. She tried to sit up, but her skull was splitting, and she immediately felt so dizzy she almost passed out again. Tongues of flame licked from the mosque windows as gunmen returned fire at soldiers wearing the distinctive uniforms of the IDF. She watched one of the Israelis toss a grenade at the window from which she’d escaped, and a blinding flash shattered the night.
A pair of Palestinians darted from a nearby half-collapsed wall and let loose a volley at the soldiers, who hit the ground and fired back. Slugs whined around the shooters, and then another grenade landed a few feet away from them and exploded, shredding both men in a blast of shrapnel and flame and nearly severing one man’s torso at the waist. The soldiers leapt to their feet and continued across the field, weapons at the ready. Maya watched the exchange with a sense of surreal detachment, her vision blurring as she tried to make sense of the images.
The thumping of a helicopter overhead greeted her. A spotlight on the
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