Ammar Habib - The Heart of Aleppo - A Story of the Syrian Civil War

Far enough, they turn their backs to us and begin to depart. I can’t move. Neither can Salman. If we try anything, they’ll kill her. If we don’t, we’ll never see her again. What do I do? I can’t think. I can’t feel anything.

When the masses are against you, when fear is on every side, and when it seems like you’re alone, that is when you should stand the tallest. That is when you plant yourself like a mountain, and you do what your heart knows is right. Even if death will be your only reward.

Jari’s words echo in my head. They flood out all the fear. With them, I hear the oath I took standing over my friends in his storage closet: I will protect them with my life. And I never go back on my word.

I charge.

My feet beat against the ground as I race towards them. I’m running faster than I ever thought possible. Salman follows me. My heart feels no fear, no terror, and no hesitation. Only rage. I’m nearly upon them. They haven’t sensed me yet.

A few steps away, I lower my head. Amaan suddenly whips around. Then his brother. But it’s too late. I crash into Amaan. As my shoulder leads into his stomach, I hear him groan with pain. We both go tumbling and hit the ground.

He’s on his back, and I’m on his chest. I don’t think. Roaring, I pin him beneath me. I raise my fist before bringing it down on his face. It slams into his cheek. Pain shoots through my knuckles and arm, but I don’t stop. I pummel him again. Harder than I’ve ever hit before. I don’t know where this strength is coming from, but I don’t care.

A deafening gunshot blasts behind me. It shakes the very ground. But I don’t flinch or look back. Not even when I hear Salman violently snarl as his limbs slam against Faisal’s.

Eyes locked on Amaan’s face, my fist comes down on him again. It’s going right for his temple. He powerfully catches it midflight, stopping the blow. As blood drips out of his mouth, Amaan’s gaze locks with mine. His eyes look wild.

His free hand brutally backhands me. My head jerks to the side. I spit something out. I can’t stop myself from toppling onto the ground right beside him. The pain stings. Landing on my side, my stomach fiercely caves in as he kicks it. I roll onto my back as I cough.

I’m losing—at his mercy. I need to move.

He stomps on my chest, knocking the breath out of me. Then again. My lungs and chest are quivering. All the air is gone. I can’t even think straight. Another gunshot is ringing in my ears. Why can’t I focus? Amaan towers above me, his face crueler than ever. There is no mercy.

I take another breath, trying to find the strength to move. Amaan’s boot stomps right above my heart. He strikes me with all his weight, numbing my chest. I can’t do anything. With my wind knocked out, he is upon me.

Amaan’s knife is cocked back in his hand. His knee pushes into my upper chest, sharply pressing into my bruises. The jagged ground stabs my spine. I’m pinned, unable to breathe. Something’s on my throat—it’s his other hand. He’s crushing down on it.

He—he’s trying to strangle me! My mind screams. I need to breathe. I need to get him off. I’m struggling for air, desperately gasping. But his grip is too strong. Air rushes into my mouth but won’t go any further. Crushing my throat with one hand, his free hand plunges his knife towards me. I grab Amaan’s hand, stopping his blade a few inches from my chest. It’s shaking as he keeps pressing it forward. My other hand grabs his hand that’s choking me. I need to break his grip! I’m losing air!

Spit is running out of his clenched jaw. He’s pulsating with anger, looking like a rabid dog. He’s so strong. I can’t get him to budge. And I can’t get any air. With every passing second, the tip of the blade inches closer to my chest. My hand is shivering as it desperately tries to hold the knife back. I can’t break his grip from my neck. My throat is beyond crushed. I frantically struggle for air; every breath is harder than the last. But there is none to find.

My heart is pounding. The edges of my vision turn black. I barely hear our grunts above my heart’s growing drumbeat. With each passing second, I feel my mouth foaming as my groans become more desperate. My eyes are locked with his. Mine are desperate. His are wild.

I can’t feel my fingers. Or my toes. He forces his weight into me. Any air that leaks in is kept out of my lungs as he keeps his knee pressed into my chest. My body screams in pain. Get him off, Zaid! Get him off! I’m shaking with desperation as I hold off his blade and frantically claw at his grip. His dagger won’t stop inching forward. It’s about to cut into my shirt. My grunts are hysterical. I can’t overpower him. I can’t break his grip. He—he’s too strong. My heartbeat is growing louder. It drowns out our grunts and struggle. Fight him, Zaid!

Everything is black now—everything except his vile face. My heart deafeningly pounds in my ear. It keeps growing louder with each beat until my head is about to explode. My body grows numb. He is strangling me harder. I can’t feel either of my hands. But I don’t give in. The blade is at my shirt. It’s inching closer… and closer…

His eyes. They look just like the rebels’. They look like those of a killer and—

Amaan suddenly jolts to the side, falling to the ground. Loudly coughing, I roll in the opposite direction. I gasp for air. I can’t think of anything else. Lying there on my back, I helplessly keep my eyes aimed at the heavens as the blackness leaves my vision.

Life breaths back into me. Sensation suddenly floods through my limbs. Crawling to all fours, I feel color returning to my body as the numbness disappears. I shake my head in an effort to regain my senses before looking back up. Fatima stands with a brick in her hands. Amaan is rising back to his feet, still holding his knife. A bit of blood runs down the side of his face, but his eyes are just as merciless.

I stagger to my feet, joining Fatima. I nearly topple over right away, still desperately regaining my breath and the feeling in my legs. I hear Salman behind us. There’s another gunshot. Don’t look back now, Zaid. Keeping my focus on Amaan, my hand curls into a tight fist.

With a roar, Amaan rushes at us. He wildly slashes down with his knife. Fatima and I step in opposite directions and he passes between us, harmlessly cutting the air. He doesn’t miss a step. Twirling around, he comes at me. His eyes are blood red. I leap back. His knife again misses, but I feel the wave of air it sends at me.

I keep my hands out in front of me. One wrong move, one misstep, and it’s over. Keep focused, Zaid. Letting out a roar, he lunges at me again and attacks with the blade. I sidestep to the left. An intense pain suddenly engulfs my hand. I instinctively let out a shrieking yelp as he passes me. A burning sensation consumes my right palm. Now it’s wet. Is that blood? It is. The red liquid is leaking out of a long cut on my hand. It feels cold.

I leap back, barely dodging his knife. It misses me by mere inches. I feel it run right by my stomach, cutting a few threads of my shirt. Ignore the blood. Keep him distracted, Zaid. But don’t get too close. You can’t beat him with that knife. I keep moving backward. He comes at me again. I sidestep the brutish hack. He doesn’t relent, almost immediately taking another swing. His knife slices nothing but air.

There’s a loud cry from behind us. Amaan whips around just in time to see Fatima charging at him with her brick in hand. She sends it right for his head. But he’s too quick. He dodges her, and she stumbles right by him. As she does, he viciously shoves her in the back with his free hand. She crashes face-first right at his feet, kicking up dirt.