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She threw her hands up in the air. “We’re going to die.”
Unless she did something about it.
She turned to Tom. “What if we bypass the fighting and head west. According to the map you guys were looking at this afternoon, that’s the fastest way out of town. It’ll take us through the Old City, across the bridge over the gorge, after which there’s a road that breaks off to the south.”
“How do you know that?” barked Jamal.
“Photographic memory. I don’t have time to get into it.”
He gave her a strange look, then turned to Tom.
“It’s true,” he said, although he was frowning.
Jamal turned back to her, his jaw tense. “You are right. It would be but there are two problems with your plan.”
“What problems?” If her memory served her correctly, and it always did, that was the fastest way out of the city.
Tom shot her a warning look. She swallowed, knowing she mustn’t let slip about the real reason they needed to get out of Syman—the intel.
“The town is surrounded,” Jamal said. “The army will have troops mobilized around the entire perimeter. The other problem is the bridge. It no longer exists. It got blown up weeks ago.”
Shit. She hadn’t accounted for the map being out of date.
“The army now controls all exits out of town. The gorge is be a natural barrier. You can’t get out that way.”
Her heart sank. So much for that idea. “So, our only option is to head right into the danger zone?”
Tom nodded. “That is where the rebel defenses will be strongest. If we’ve got any chance of getting out of Jemah, it will be when the army attacks the rebels to the north. It’s our only hope.”
It made a crazy kind of sense. If the army was preoccupied with a strong opposition, they might be able to slip away undetected.
She gave a reluctant nod. “Okay.”
They set off again, the men falling into the same formation, backing each other up and keeping her safe in the middle. Street by street, they inched their way through the town under attack.
Civilians huddled in darkened buildings, too scared to go outside. Freedom fighters and armed sympathizers ran through the streets, shouting rapid instructions to each other, but most were heading north, like them, to the rebel stronghold.
In the distance, machine gun fire punctuated the air. Hannah didn’t want to think why that was or who it was aimed at. Every now and then, a mortar would hit and there’d be a loud bang followed by screams and the sound of rubble falling.
It was a nightmare.
Finally, they rounded a corner and spotted a group of rebels sheltering behind a concrete wall.
“These are my men,” Jamal announced, going over to greet them. Two of the rebels she recognized from the truck journey the previous day. A couple of them nodded to Tom, but they all ignored her.
It was just as well. She didn’t want anyone remembering her face. Fastening her scarf securely, she tucked it under the black robe.
Up ahead, the rebels had barricaded the road with square concrete blocks about shoulder height. They provided cover forthe rebels and protection from the sporadic incoming artillery fire from the north.
Shots were fired, but she couldn’t work out where they were coming from.
“Snipers,” Tom murmured, scanning the rooftops.
She flattened herself against the concrete, trying to make herself as thin a target as possible. She was afraid that if she moved suddenly, someone would see her and shoot.
Tom conferred with Jamal’s men. There was a lot of hand signals and head nodding, but eventually he turned to her, his expression grim.
“They’re getting ready to advance.”