Page 69

Hannah slid down it until she was sitting on the ground. No cuts or grazes, thank goodness. Tom had acted as a human shield. It was a miracle he was still alive.
Looking back, she stared in horror at the street where they’d been standing. It was a scene of total devastation. Smoking piles of concrete littered the road, cars were on fire—but most disturbing, were the panicked cries of the people affected by the blast.
How was the building still standing after that direct hit? Then she noticed the damage. It burned from within, like a pumpkin on Halloween, except the exterior was black and scorched.
There was a desperate yell and a man sprinted toward the fire, shouting in Arabic.
“There’s someone in there,” Hannah translated, gazing at Tom, horrified. “His cousin is still inside.”
“No!” Jamal tried to intercept him, but the man wriggled out of his grip and kept on going.
Tom followed, helping to subdue the man. Between them, they prevented him from running into the blazing inferno. Another freedom fighter came and led the distraught man away.
“Abu-al-Rashid’s nephew is inside,” Jamal told them when they got back to the barricade.
Tom drew in a sharp breath. “Let’s see if he’s alive.”
Hannah gasped. “You can’t go in there.” It looked like the burning gates of hell.
Tom surveyed the building. “The grenade hit the front of the house. We may still be able to get him out.”
God, no.
She watched, horrified, as the two men pulled their bandanas over their mouths and approached the burning building.
They were so brave, or totally insane.
Thick smoke billowed out of the door and windows—or rather the gaping holes where the doors used to be. Inside, it glowed orange as flames devoured everything in sight.
Surely, they weren’t going to go in there.
CHAPTER 28
Tom felt the searing heat before he even reached the front entrance.
“It’s a no go!” he shouted, backing up. “We’re going to have to find another way in.”
They ran around the side of the house. Here, the walls were less scorched.
“Jamal,” called Tom, spotting a window. The glass had been blasted out during the impact, but the frame remained intact. More importantly, the fire hadn’t reached this side of the house yet.
The rebel fighter joined him, and they climbed through the window, landing easily on the uneven floor on the other side.
It was smoky, visibility was next to zero. Tom secured his bandana over his nose and mouth. Jamal did the same. Without them, they wouldn’t last five minutes.
Jamal called out in Arabic.
They heard a faint groan, but it didn’t sound like it was coming from this room.
“Come on,” said Tom, heading deeper into the gloom. They didn’t have long. The heat was intensifying and soon the smoke would overwhelm them.
They ran into the next room, which looked like a study, although what little furniture had been there was now smoldering in broken pieces on the floor.
A sob came from beneath a pile of fallen tiles and concrete where the roof had caved in.
“Over here.” Tom began pulling tiles and concrete off the top of the pile and throwing them behind him.
There was a hot gust of wind as the fire spread into the room. Its hungry, hot fingers drew ever nearer to where they were standing. The smoke was becoming unbearable.