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A Traveller's Diary: Dangerous Country
The old man thanked me in broken english, and waved us happily toward the door. He clutched his payment to his chest, smiling as we hurried outside. I saved the recording to the cloud. I pocketed my iPhone as the dusty air washed over us. My photographer had closed up his camera and we clambered into the back of our hummer.
The occasional pedestrian walks along the streets. Some were armed, but most kept their distance, heads down and avoiding trouble. Our translator sat in the drivers seat and put the Hummer into gear. We pulled away, sending dust spiraling around the ramshackle buildings.
“That went well. I got a couple shots. Did the recording save?” My photographer, Ajeeb said.
“I think it went through. And yeah, it was better than last time.” I say with noticeable relief. Last time we had visited, a man with a machete had tried to kill our translator. He had made it to the open window of our vehicle, just as a passerby shot him.
The hummer pulled forward, sending black exhaust into the sandy air. We sped up. I swayed as we swerved around potholes and rubble. We bounced over the remains of a hut, and hit paved road. I laughed in relief, even though the pavement could be just as bad as dirt. IED’s and grenades had punched massive craters all throughout the road systems. With the majority of military weapons in the hands of civilians, the danger levels increased tenfold.
The road winds its way past several more outlying shacks as we roll and bounce our way into the heart of the city. Plywood and sheet metal walls grew sparse, normal street fronts dominating the sidewalks.
I settled back as we made our way through the winding streets. Our hotel was directly across the city. Roadblocks were set up throughout the labyrinth, so it wasn’t long before we were stopped. Guards peered through the windows. A couple of them opened the doors and looked inside. I held up my iPhone and shrugged as our translator answered several questions.
They reached a decision and the guards shut the doors, waving us on.
“They were sympathizers, thankfully. Otherwise they might not have liked an American journalist too much.” The translator said.
Ajeeb smiled a bit and I nervously sat back. Hostile territory wasn’t my thing. I was used to interviewing French business executives and Italian meatball lovers. Getting the stories of war victims, while the war was going on, wasn’t my choice of jobs. I thought of my apartment in New York and felt homesick.
A gunshot snapped me out of my daydreaming. I leaned forward, wrapping my arms around the passenger seat. Several civilians sprinted across the road ahead. Our driver braked so a crawl. Moments later, a smattering of automatic rifle rounds split the air. Splintered wood hit the window next to me. I flinched, shirking from the window. More gunshots, this time farther down the road. I pulled back and tried to yell at our driver, but my voice catches for a moment.
A child ran into the road ahead. I grabbed the translators arm as he started to accelerate.
“The kid, get the kid!” He grunted and slammed on the brake. He jumped from the vehicle and sprinted toward the kid. Gunfire sounded again. Wood siding shredded and bullets punched holes in the walls. Ajeeb acted frozen, his face pale. My hands shook, and I’m sure I was just as white.
The saviour reached the child, scooping him up and hightailing it back. I managed to climb into the front seat as they neared. That was when I noticed who was chasing them. Several large men with assault rifles were closing in on them. They were over halfway here, and likely to catch up. I completed my move to the front seat by sliding over to the drivers side. I slammed it out of park and jerked forward. I hit the accelerator, spitting dirt a moment before taking off. The ground slid by in seconds. My foot shot toward the brake, but I hit nothing. The men leapt out of the way as I sped past. My panicked body fumbled for the brake. I frantically pressed every button and lever until we jolted to a halt. I peered into the rearview mirror.
The soldiers had ahold of the child and our driver. One pulled out a gun and blasted it into the back of our translator. Than they started marching towards us. Ajeeb seemed to have recovered from his shock, and started screaming in some foreign language with his hands raised in prayer. I drew back my hand and slapped him back to reality. He seemed ashamed, but tears still streaked his face.
“Can you hear me?” I yelled, my voice shrill. He looked at me, fear lacing his features.
“Their here for me. What I have done. They want me. There’s nothing you can do to stop them. They’ll kill you too you know. Their like that.” His hushed voice faded.
I shook my head. I wasn’t going to die because of the mistakes of someone else. I turned back to the wheel and started moving again. Ajeeb started crying loudly, his sobs grating on my ears. I yelled for him to shut up, and he promptly began sniffing. We sped up, my foot now accustomed to the brake pedal. I turned quickly, the big vehicle sliding around the curve.
There was a loud pop, and the Hummer road lower to the ground. Then several more shots and the vehicle was no longer drivable. I whipped open the door. I wrenched Ajeeb’s door open as well and pulled him into the road.
I pushed him forward, and sprinted past him without looking back. Hopefully he’d keep up. I kept running, knowing the killers would be gaining. I shot left down the first alleyway I saw. I reached the end, just as the assassins rounded the corner. I turned right, and the automatic gunfire sounded. I glanced back, and Ajeeb came around the corner a moment later.
The shots had missed, so we kept running. I knew that Ajeeb was a pacifist, and never kept a weapon, as was I. Feeling hopeless, my pace started to falter. I hadn’t run distances since Cross Country in high school, and even then I wasn’t that good. My endurance was wearing thin, and I stumbled, nearly falling. Ajeeb seemed to have found sufficient hope in the situation, and caught me. He pulled me to my fight, half carrying me as I found my footing.
We kept running, my pace lagging. Ajeeb was several steps ahead when he abruptly turned right down a short street. We were only yards into it when we turned again into a narrow gap between buildings. We slid through it sideways until we reached the next alley.
Ajeeb sat against the wall, his legs crumbling beneath his large figure. I sat next to him, gasping for breath. I felt relief at the slight rest. Adrenaline continued to flow in my veins, making sitting still hard.
A ring split the air. My shaky hands found my phone, and I pulled it out. A text from my sister read, “hey, you doing well? Haven’t seen any posts in a while, checking up.” I smiled. My fingers tapped the dusty screen as I started to reply.
I paused before pressing send, my thumb hanging over the bright send button. Ajeeb touched my arm, motioning for me to be silent. I pocketed my phone, the message unsent. The loud talking echoed from the street. Ajeeb pulled me up and we made our way toward the open lane. We peered out, checking for our pursuers. A minute later, we stepped out of the shade. The assassins were nowhere in sight. We ran back toward the Hummer. After a minute or so, a man in black stepped out into the road ahead. He raised his hand, a pistol materializing. Ajeeb shouted, shoving me behind a parked car and leaping there himself.
We remained crouched. Ajeeb was a load different from fifteen minutes ago. He seemed to taste life a freedom and wasn’t about to lose it. It was as if a spark had ignited within his large heart. This must be what he loved doing. I smiled. If I got out of this, I would have two amazing stories.
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