not usual to see them undermined or otherwise disobeyed. One of the soldiers levelled his weapon at one of the men in black, shifting smoothly into a firing stance. Feet spread apart, rifle glimmering in the sunshine. The man in black who was the subject of the soldier’s attention seemed unconcerned, and Akhtar even saw him smile.
It happened quickly, almost too quickly. The men in black moved as one as if they were a single entity rather than separate people. They darted forwards and attacked the soldiers, the coordinated pattern of their movements reminding Akhtar of the way flocks of birds would change direction in unison. The soldier who had been aiming his rifle was dead before he had a chance to react. The man in black had stepped forward, pushing his shoulder against the barrel of the gun. The soldier reflexively fired, Akhtar clearly able to see the explosion of blood and bone as the bullet tore through the man in blacks shoulder and out of the other side. In the same instant, the black-clad man unsheathed his hunting knife and drove it up under the soldier’s chin, burying it up to the handle, the tip of the blade pushing the soldier’s helmet up as it exited the top of his skull. The man removed it, as bright red blood began to soak into the sandy desert floor. As the soldier fell back, the man in black grabbed his weapon with his free hand, sheathed his knife and turned the assault rifle on the crowd. The rest of his team made equally short work of the other soldiers and commandeered their weapons. Without reason or provocation, the men in black started to fire into the crowd.
The man on the window ledge with Akhtar had seen enough, and leapt down, racing away from the carnage. Akhtar, however, was frozen, too afraid to move. The crowd of onlookers were now fleeing from the men in black and were charging towards where he perched like an undulating wave. The sounds of footfalls reverberating off the walls was deafening and only broken by the incessant gunfire as the men in black gunned down people at random. There was no way Akhtar could get down. People were running past at too high a speed, too afraid to pay attention to where they were going and who they might hit. Akhtar took a last look down the street, trying to ignore the rivers of blood pouring from the corpses which lay twisted at the feet of the men who were leisurely continuing their rampage. The leader of the men, the one with the shoulder wound grinned as he shot a young woman in the face from just a few feet away, disintegrating her head in a shower of blood, hair and bone. It was the nasal whine of his sobbing brother which spurred Akhtar to action.
Youness was crouched in the doorway, chin slick with drool, cheeks wet with tears. Unable to understand what was happening, he held out a hand to Akhtar, pleading for his help. Without thinking, Akhtar jumped down into the crowd, barely noticing the explosion of sandstone as the window frame exploded in the space which had just been inhabited by his head as a stray bullet hit home. He was being pushed now by the surge of people trying to flee, past the alley where his brother cried and waited expectantly. Akhtar reached out, grabbed his brother's wrist and pulled him into the crowd.
"Come on Youness, we must run," he yelled over his shoulder. The gunfire was closer now and was intercut with more screaming.
Akhtar did his best to drag his brother along but knew it was impossible. Youness didn't have the dexterity to keep up on his own. Somehow without stopping or losing his footing, Akhtar scooped his brother up, holding him tight and doing his best to run along with the flow of people. Youness was heavy, and with the added weight, it was impossible to keep the pace with the terrified throng of people. The ground had become softer underfoot, uneven. Akhtar knew it was because he was standing on people, and he forced himself not to look, knowing to do so would resign both he and his brother to the
It happened quickly, almost too quickly. The men in black moved as one as if they were a single entity rather than separate people. They darted forwards and attacked the soldiers, the coordinated pattern of their movements reminding Akhtar of the way flocks of birds would change direction in unison. The soldier who had been aiming his rifle was dead before he had a chance to react. The man in black had stepped forward, pushing his shoulder against the barrel of the gun. The soldier reflexively fired, Akhtar clearly able to see the explosion of blood and bone as the bullet tore through the man in blacks shoulder and out of the other side. In the same instant, the black-clad man unsheathed his hunting knife and drove it up under the soldier’s chin, burying it up to the handle, the tip of the blade pushing the soldier’s helmet up as it exited the top of his skull. The man removed it, as bright red blood began to soak into the sandy desert floor. As the soldier fell back, the man in black grabbed his weapon with his free hand, sheathed his knife and turned the assault rifle on the crowd. The rest of his team made equally short work of the other soldiers and commandeered their weapons. Without reason or provocation, the men in black started to fire into the crowd.
The man on the window ledge with Akhtar had seen enough, and leapt down, racing away from the carnage. Akhtar, however, was frozen, too afraid to move. The crowd of onlookers were now fleeing from the men in black and were charging towards where he perched like an undulating wave. The sounds of footfalls reverberating off the walls was deafening and only broken by the incessant gunfire as the men in black gunned down people at random. There was no way Akhtar could get down. People were running past at too high a speed, too afraid to pay attention to where they were going and who they might hit. Akhtar took a last look down the street, trying to ignore the rivers of blood pouring from the corpses which lay twisted at the feet of the men who were leisurely continuing their rampage. The leader of the men, the one with the shoulder wound grinned as he shot a young woman in the face from just a few feet away, disintegrating her head in a shower of blood, hair and bone. It was the nasal whine of his sobbing brother which spurred Akhtar to action.
Youness was crouched in the doorway, chin slick with drool, cheeks wet with tears. Unable to understand what was happening, he held out a hand to Akhtar, pleading for his help. Without thinking, Akhtar jumped down into the crowd, barely noticing the explosion of sandstone as the window frame exploded in the space which had just been inhabited by his head as a stray bullet hit home. He was being pushed now by the surge of people trying to flee, past the alley where his brother cried and waited expectantly. Akhtar reached out, grabbed his brother's wrist and pulled him into the crowd.
"Come on Youness, we must run," he yelled over his shoulder. The gunfire was closer now and was intercut with more screaming.
Akhtar did his best to drag his brother along but knew it was impossible. Youness didn't have the dexterity to keep up on his own. Somehow without stopping or losing his footing, Akhtar scooped his brother up, holding him tight and doing his best to run along with the flow of people. Youness was heavy, and with the added weight, it was impossible to keep the pace with the terrified throng of people. The ground had become softer underfoot, uneven. Akhtar knew it was because he was standing on people, and he forced himself not to look, knowing to do so would resign both he and his brother to the
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