3 years earlier
–
“Masulah, I’m thirsty.”
Her father’s voice is barely audible, grinding like desert sand. “Masulah, please, can I have some water?” She desperately wants to give him some, but they ran out more than a day ago, so she says nothing.
Choosing an escape route straight through the desert—despite the blazing sun and scorching wind—had been an act of sheer desperation. It seemed like the least impossible of impossible options. But now, she’s not so sure anymore. Not just because of the heat during the day and the freezing cold at night, but also because of the predators that emerge after nightfall. Still, it seemed preferable to being caught by the rebels they had escaped from three days earlier, and who would be searching for them relentlessly by now. Escaped prisoners were bad for morale. They had to be found quickly and punished publicly to set an example.
First things first though: she needs to find shelter. The last two nights, she had gotten lucky, but tonight, not so much. The sun is racing toward the horizon as she drags her father from shadow to shadow. Her brother, following them closely, looks determined and brave but their father seems to have given up. She, however, can’t afford to give up. She must guide them to safety—no matter what it takes. She promised her mother, and a promise is a promise. Losing hope is not an option.
The sun vanishes like a blood-drenched ball of wool behind the horizon. The temperature drops quickly. For about an hour, it will be almost comfortable, but after that, it will grow unbearably cold. If she doesn’t find shelter soon, they will freeze to death—that is, if they aren’t eaten before then.
But then, right before the night closes her light tight curtains, a structure materialises out of the growing darkness–a shipwreck of a shack, pieced together from scrap wood and rusted tin sheets. It’s not much, but it’s enough. She lets out a sigh of relief. They’ve made it through another day. The refugee camp can’t be far now. Tomorrow, they will be safe. They will eat. They will drink.
After ensuring there are no rebels or predators lurking inside, she drags her father through the door.
“You are my little hero, Masulah… my little hero…” he mumbles in a breaking voice. She isn’t sure if he falls asleep or passes out. Her brother curls up against her like a baby monkey clinging to its mother. Finally, she succumbs to a deep, dreamless sleep.
BAM!
The sound of the first kick against the fragile door barely registers in her consciousness, but when the door bursts into the hut, frame and all, she bolts upright. The opening where the door was only seconds ago reveals the dark outlines of three men, silhouetted against the blinding light of an enormous full moon. They wear a ludicrous combination of sportswear, vacation attire, and military uniforms, but each one is also armed with a very real, very large gun.
“You were right, Captain. Here they are,” the first man announces.
“Let’s teach them a lesson,” the second chimes in eagerly. “We need to set an example.”
“Exactly,” the third agrees. “But not here, and not now. Everyone must witness the lesson. Everyone needs to learn from it.”
“But I want it now!” the second protests, his voice sharp with frustration. “I need some payback after that cross-country chase in this goddamn furnace.”
“When we have returned to the camp! And not a second earlier!” Number Three says with firm emphasis. Number Two holds his tongue, but his eyes flash with suppressed anger.
Masulah notices how her brother has moved away from them as he was taught: spread out, don’t make an easy target. Her father, exhausted and fragile, has managed to push his body halfway up, but before he can speak, he’s kicked hard in the stomach and collapses back to the ground.
Masulah is furious but remains where she is, waiting for her chance. She watches as her father and brother are dragged out. Her father smiles at her with so much love that it hurts. Her brother kicks and struggles, fighting with every ounce of strength he has, but he’s too small to even slow them down.
When they’re all outside, she rises to her feet, picks up a piece of wood to use as a weapon, and moves toward the doorway, making sure to stay out of sight. She crouches down like a tightly wound spring, ready to strike the moment they come back for her.
She waits—ten seconds, a minute, ten minutes—but nobody shows up. She hears a car engine start and drive away. Her thoughts race. What’s happening? Why aren’t they coming for her? Is this a trick? The sound of the car fades into the distance. She peeks around the edge of the opening, first with a quick glance, her head low to the ground, just as her mother taught her. When nothing happens, she looks again, longer this time, but she sees... nothing. The desert in front of the little cabin is completely empty.
And then it hits her: they’re not coming back for her. Her father and brother are gone. She’s alone.