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

Without hesitating, he swiftly kicks her side. Fatima yelps as she is rolled over. He kicks her again, harder this time—in the stomach. She groans in pain as her body buckles down.

He raises his knife.

No! I don’t think—can’t think. My bloody hand grabs the brick lying by me. His back is to me. I leap at him. There’s no mercy in my eyes. He brings the dagger down on her. My brick slams against the back of his skull. It vociferously cracks. Amaan’s head jolts before he collapses straight down.

Standing over the fallen boy, I don’t have time to help Fatima up. There’s a roar behind us. I whip around and see Salman. He’s… limping. There’s a dark stain on his jeans, right above his knee, as he rises back to his feet. His fists are clenched. A few feet away, Faisal is rising back up as well. Blood is running down the side of his skull. His eyes look just like Amaan’s.

Where’s the gun? I see it. It’s right between the two of them.

There’s a moment of peace as they both stare each other down. It’s like a standoff. Faisal’s eyes drift down from Salman and onto the pistol. But Salman’s gaze doesn’t waver from his foe.

The tranquility ends. I suddenly charge at Faisal, brick still in my bloodied hand. Faisal goes for the gun. Salman goes for him. It all happens so fast. Tackling him with a loud collision, Salman drives Faisal several feet back before slamming him onto the ground. Faisal lets out a groan as his back hits the jagged ground.

Salman raises his fist, keeping Faisal pinned beneath him. He doesn’t hesitate. His fist smashes Faisal’s face.

“Salman!”

Whipping his head, Salman sees me toss the brick his way. He catches it with both hands before turning back to his stunned opponent. He raises the brick high above his head. Salman lets out a roar, one louder than any I’ve ever heard.

I turn away as he brings it down.

Crack!

The thunderous collision erupts for a split second before dying away. When I turn back, I don’t look down at Faisal. Instead, I see Salman slowly staggering up to his feet. I’ve never seen him like this before. He’s wincing with pain, barely able to stand on his injured leg.

I grab him underneath his shoulder just in time to keep him from collapsing. Holding him upright, I turn my head and see Fatima dashing towards us. She’s wearing all three of our sacks.

Reaching out, I take two of the bags from her before slinging them over the same shoulder. I don’t feel their heaviness right now. My heart is still pounding like a drum. I can’t even think straight.

Fatima gets on the other side of her brother, helping keep him upright. I feel him shift some of his weight over to her.

“We need to go,” Salman speaks through a clenched jaw. “It’ll be light soon. We need to make it at least three blocks.”

“But your leg—” Fatima starts

“Forget about it.”

Without another word, we leave.

Salman grows paler with every fleeting moment. I’ve never seen him like this before. Only one block down the road and he can barely move. Fatima and I are nearly dragging him along with us. We can’t afford to slow down. The longer we take, the more chances of us being spotted.

My mind is racing, still half-trapped in the battle. I still see Amaan’s eyes, still smell his breath as he tried to strangle me. Can’t think about that now, Zaid. With every passing second, my breaths become quicker and my grip around Salman tightens. Keep moving. Don’t stop. Don’t slow down.

I hear something. It’s not far away. There’s a vehicle coming down the road. It sounds like the jeep from last night. The sputtering engine is growing louder. Any moment, it’ll turn the corner and come into view.

“…inside… get… ins…” Salman’s words are not even a whisper.

Dragging him a few more steps, we arrive at the entrance of a building. Thank God the door is already open. Fatima and I don’t say anything as we disappear into it.

It’s an electronics store. At least it used to be. Just like the butcher shop, it’s been completely ransacked and is hardly recognizable now.

We need to set Salman down somewhere. There’s a counter. But it’s too out in the open. Anybody passing by will see us. Come on, Zaid. Think

Stepping over a fallen rack, I lift Salman over it. I see a storage room. There’s a table inside. My eyes light up, and I look over at Fatima. She sees it too. Without a word, we begin hauling Salman across the store’s floor and towards the closet.

We reach there right as the jeep, or whatever it is, passes by the building. It doesn’t stop or even slow down. I think that means we’re safe, but neither of us glance back as we arrive at the table. There are a few wires and cables on it. Looks like somebody was repairing them.

“Hold him.”

Hearing my command, Fatima grabs both sides of him as I let go. I clear the table off with one quick swipe. The cords loudly clatter on the floor. Turing back to Salman, I grab one side of him. His shirt’s sleeve is soaked by my bleeding hand. Laying him on the table, I realize that his eyes are barely open.

With him set, Fatima hurries to his head and begins checking his eyes for something. I don’t know what to do. I stare at her face, trying to read her expression.

“Zaid.” Fatima’s voice is authoritative as she runs some test by moving her finger further and closer to his pupils. “Put pressure on the wound.”

With my bloody hand on top of my other one, I press down on his thigh’s bullet wound. His jeans are drenched in blood. They feel like a soaked towel. As soon as I push down on it, I feel blood squirting out onto my hand. It oozes between my fingers and across my palm. My heart squirms at the sight and thought, but I apply and keep as much pressure as humanly possible, putting all my weight into it.

Salman groans in pain. His voice is weak, so weak, and every syllable is filled with ache. He sounds ready to pass out. I keep my eyes on his face. His gaze is aimed at the ceiling, and he’s muttering something to himself again and again. Does Fatima know what she’s doing? She is no longer checking his eyes. Instead, she hastily digs through her sack before pulling out some sort of bottle and some wrapping. She throws the rest of the bag to the side as she races to me.

“Move over.”

I do as commanded. She takes my place, completely focused on the wound. I can do nothing but watch. Blood runs down my hand, dripping off of my fingers. My own cut is still bleeding. I can’t tell how badly, and I’m starting to feel a bit more lightheaded. However, I don’t dare tell her. She needs to worry about Salman first.

“Wipe his blood off of your hand.”

Finding a towel on one of the racks, I do as I’m told while keeping my eyes on her. She squirts a liquid onto a cotton ball, nearly drenching it. Fatima uses both hands to press it onto the wound. Salman groans again, more painfully than before. However, she ignores it and keeps it pressed there for a long moment. She turns to me. I catch the look in her eyes. Fatima is terrified, but she won’t let it stop her.

“Zaid. Go get some water. I need to keep him from falling unconscious.”

With a quick nod, I depart. Water—where would that be? If this place is like any other building or shop, the kitchen will be on the second or third floor. The first one will just be the store. The hallway is filled with clutter. I ignore it all. Dashing through the corridor, I nearly slip and hit the wall as I make a quick turn. My eyes widen when I spot the staircase.

Racing up the stairs, I move with all my strength, jumping two steps at a time. The adrenaline isn’t as strong as before, but I still feel it pumping through my veins.