“Incoming!”
A blast strikes her tympanum and the roof collapses. Karla feels a punch into her stomach, forcing her to sit back to ground.
She suddenly finds she lies on her stomach and her hands are shaking. Wallpaper scraps float down like butterflies.
I could not hear anything, she thinks, did I passed out?
She gets up. The dusts fill the air. She could see nothing but a yellow fog.
“Jack! Alan! Where are you?”
Good heavens, I am in East Aleppo, she suddenly remembers where she is now.
She recognizes some figures are running out of the debris, yelling some Arabic and Levantine which make nonsense to her.
I should have learned Levantine as my elective, she mutters, or at least Arabic.
She knows these are Free Syria Army soldiers, she got contact with them in eastern Aleppo three days ago. Before that she just crossed the border between Syria and Turkey and took several rides to get to this largest city of Syria with her photography assistant Sean.
But Sean is dead now.
Karla does not know much about this young English man, since they just met in Oğuzeli Airport. But she likes Sean’s working efficiency. As the dust disperses, she finds Sean leans lifelessly aside the debris which was a window. The shrapnel lodging in his chest.
Hope it was fast and painless, she feels really bad for Sean.
“We need to go. They are close!”
Karla feels someone pulls her up from the ground. It is Alan, their translator, or now, her local translator.Alan is the only soldier in this brigade speaking English.
“But Sean is still…”
“No time! If you want to leave and have chance to get back, you need to leave.”
“Or maybe it is already too late.”
Before the sound of her voice dies away, three Syrian Arab Army soldiers rushed into the room, shouting and pointing at them with their rifles.
Karla raises both of her hands, trembling.
“They asked us to turn around.” Alan whispers at her.
“There is even no chance…” Karla thinks and turning around.
Suddenly, she feels a butt hits her neck, and darkness falls on her.