The Ghost

Aqeel coughed. 

Ameena felt his forehead. Feverish. His legs had once been so fat her hand couldn’t circle them. He was just skin and bones now.

Their food and water had run out. It won’t be long before they joined their parents.

He became sick yesterday. His breathing was faster, and his cough more pronounced. He had the same illness the other children were battling. It was not as severe in kids. But Aqeel was already so fragile. Without food, they had no energy to fight off sickness.

Ameena was stubborn. She would make the attempt today to find some food. The district had been abandoned. But sometimes soldiers left food. Otherwise, she may find some in buildings where other kids were hidden. She doubted many of them had much to spare, but if any of them had passed on, she could use what they had left behind. They would not be needing it.

She was about to head out of their basement safe house when she noticed the boy. He looked her age. Skinny, but not malnourished. His hair was short, just stubble atop his scalp. He wore a dark long – sleeved tunic and black pants. The bottom of his face was veiled.

Amber eyes studied her. Aqeel spotted the intruder and began to whine. The boy’s intent gaze fixed upon the baby. He took a step forward, and Ameena instinctively obstructed his path. How had this boy entered the basement? The building was destroyed. They had found the basement by accident and had been hiding there for days. Had he been watching them? He was not Saud, but Yemeni, like them.

The world was a dark place these days. Some of the orphans had turned to murder and thievery to survive. Ameena glanced at the blanket where her knife hid. Would she make it in time? She was at least a head taller than him. But she was hungry and weak. She would not stand a chance.

The boy reached a hand into his satchel. If the boy had a gun, they were doomed. Firearms were a rarity among the orphans. Those lucky enough to have one guarded them with their lives, and those foolish enough to use them were soon found by either the rebels or the Saud. Firearms were valuable to them.

Instead, he removed a loaf of bread from his pack. The loaf looked fresh, as though baked that morning. Where would he get something like that?

“ Eat,” the boy said, his voice muffled behind the veil. There was a sense of urgency to him.

On seeing the bread, Aqeel held no further reservations about the boy. He crawled forward, but Ameena intervened, picking him up. She was cautious. The boy handed her the bread. She did not hesitate. Her hunger was overpowering now, and she greedily bit into it. The bread was soft, light and chewy. She did not know what to think of the boy for now, but if he had wished them any harm, he wouldn’t have offered them a loaf of bread.

She took Aqeel to a corner of the room so she could keep an eye on the boy. He paced impatiently as she fed the bread to Aqeel. She took bites between his own. She never stopped watching him. They devoured the bread in less than five minutes. 

The boy grabbed something from his satchel. It was a flask. He tossed it to the ground near Ameena. She took it hesitantly. It was heavy with fluid. The water within was sweet and clean. She gave most of it to Aqeel, who gulped it all down in one breath. He needed it more than her.

The boy spoke. “Are you able to walk?” She nodded. “And the baby? Can he walk?” She shook her head. “Can you carry him?” She nodded again. The boy stared into the distance for a moment, as if lost in thought. After a long while, he looked at Ameena. His tone was sombre. “You are the only children left behind in this part of Burush. I’ve searched everywhere for others. But you are all that’s left.”

 “There are children down the road near the shops,” Ameena said. “They are in the carpet maker’s warehouse. What’s left of it.”

“They are dead.” The boy said it matter-of-factly. Ameena was not surprised. One got accustomed to death in Yemen. They were at war. “There were children in several of the houses to the south as well. They haven’t survived either. The Saud found them.”

Ameena knew what awaited her should the Saud discover them. She knew what they would do with a girl. Other children had told her. She would rather kill herself. That’s why she had the knife.

“I can get you to the Red Cross,” the boy said. “But you have to come with me now. The Saud are about to bomb the district.”

Ameena stared at him in disbelief. “The Red Cross is beyond the river,” she said. “The Saud have a base there. We can’t get through.”

The boy shrugged. “I have ways. I can take you there. But we must leave now. We don’t have a lot of time.”

Ameena looked down at Aqeel. He seemed stronger after his meal. He was burning with fever. The Red Cross would be able to help him. They had doctors, food and medicine. 

But they would never make it across the river. Saudi tanks and artillery blocked the bridge. The Saud had allowed the Red Cross to operate their hospitals and refugee camps in Yemen, but had blocked every access point and placed the camps behind their own lines. It was impossible for the children to get help. 

“If you are coming, you must come now,” the boy said. “We don’t have much time.”

Ameena didn’t know what to do. But if they stayed there, they would be dead anyway. She nodded.

“Carry the baby,” he said. “We’ll take turns. It’s three kilometres to the river bank. Follow me and do as I say. And whatever happens, stay behind me at all times.” The boy gestured for her to follow. Ameena picked up Aqeel. She felt stronger after her meal. She hoped she would have the strength to carry him for a prolonged period.

The boy headed for the stairs. He stopped before the trap door, turning to face her. “My name is Jameel,” he said. “What is your name?” Ameena told him their names. He nodded. “Good that you remember your names. Some of the others I’ve led out could not.”

He unlocked the trap door. Dusty air from Burush’s tannery district flooded the claustrophobic basement. Ameena wondered why the boy had locked the door after him when he had entered. She supposed he may just be overly cautious. 

She followed him into the early morning, Aqeel’s limp form in her arms. She held him like a baby, cradling him the way mother had done. She felt her heart ache for their parents, but it was numbed by fatigue and hunger and did not last long.

A distant buzzing broke the silence. Jameel flinched, surprise on his face. “So soon,” he whispered. He looked at her. “We have to hurry.”

His pace was quick, and she struggled to keep up. She stumbled several times over the debris of mortared buildings, marvelling at how easily the boy kept his footing. The streets were deserted, but Ameena could hear shouting nearby. It sounded like soldiers, either rebel factions or Yemeni survivors.

Jameel led them clear of the debris into a narrow alley. He held his arm up at one point, signalling for them to stay put. Aqeel was tensely silent. He sensed her anxiety. Jameel crept to the end of the alley and peeked around the corner. After several agonizing moments, he gestured for them to follow. When Ameena reached him, he asked for Aqeel.

Aqeel rubbed his hand against Jameel’s face as he held him. The boy smiled beneath his veil, his eyes twinkling. Then he moved left down the road, and Ameena followed. Buildings and homes that had once stood here were demolished. Remnants of a vibrant town littered the street. Ameena passed a bakery she had once visited with her father. All that remained was a battered oven, its steel blackened with char.

They had reached the end of the street when Ameena heard the explosions. She covered her ears. Aqeel began to cry. Screams in the distance betrayed the whereabouts of Yemeni fighters as they scrambled to counter this latest assault. The broken down buildings shook as the earth heaved beneath them. Fire and smoke billowed up like infernal clouds. Ameena was stunned at the proximity of the bomb blast.

“Run!” Ameena moved as fast as her weak legs would allow. The boy was quicker than her, even with Aqeel in his arms, and he slowed down several times to allow her to catch up. He moved through the maze of ruins with confidence, and Ameena felt that he was headed in the right direction, east toward the river. 

Minutes later, Jameel led them through the ruins of what had once been a restaurant. Ameena saw the remnants of a kitchen and several burnt out tables and chairs. Jameel stopped before a giant walk – in freezer. It looked to be mostly intact. Dents and scratches marred its surface. The door was missing a handle.

“Here.” Jameel handed Aqeel to her and pointed at a broken counter. “Behind there while I try to get this open.”

She grabbed Aqeel and hid behind the counter. She had no clue how Jameel hoped he would open that door or even why he would want to, but a moment later she heard the screech of rusted hinges. She peered above the counter. The door was opening. Jameel was pushing it from the other side. How had he managed to open it?

“Let’s go,” he said. Ameena picked up Aqeel and followed. The freezer was empty and as hot as a furnace. No doubt it had stopped working weeks ago when the attack had started. A hole at the back occupied her attention. “We go down. This will take us through to the other side. Then it’s less than a kilometre to the Red Cross.”

Ameena allowed her heart to soar. Tears welled in her eyes. Could this be it? Were they nearly free? 

Voices intruded. They turned with surprise to see a host of armed men entering. They wore rebel uniforms. There were at least ten. Ameena’s jaw dropped. How had they found them?

“So this is how you got in,” one of the men said. She heard a gruff voice beneath his dark veil. She could tell by the way he stood apart that he was in charge. “We’ve been watching you for weeks.” He pointed his gun at Ameena and Aqeel. “Any sudden moves and the children die.”

Aqeel began to whine. The men had scared him. Jameel’s surprise did not last long. He glared at the men. A few of them glanced at each other. The boy’s demeanour was unnerving. Ameena could tell that Jameel was unafraid.

“Leave us,” Jameel implored. “The girl is starving. The boy is ill. This has nothing to do with you.” 

“That tunnel leads beyond the bridge, yes?” the man asked. Jameel did not reply. He spared a glance at Ameena, his expression grim. “We can’t have that. Yemeni escaping across the lines. Not part of the plan.”

“Is this all that’s left of ISIS?” Jameel asked, anger blaring. “Men who pray on hungry children.” The man scowled at the insult. “You should leave right now. I don’t want to hurt you.”

A few of the men began laughing. Their leader silenced them. “I know who you are, boy. As’Shabh.” The laughing faltered. Some of the men became nervous. 

Ameena felt a chill run down her spine. Other children had told her stories of ‘the Ghost’. These men believed that Jameel was a fairy-tale folk hero? Ameena gulped. Was he? 

“I cannot let you live.” The rebel leader signalled to his men. “Kill them.”

Everything happened in an instant, but to Ameena, she saw it all as though time had slowed.

The men pointed their guns, their leader beginning to pull the trigger on Ameena and her baby brother. 

Jameel’s body sunk into the floor. A few of the men hesitated when they saw the boy disappear. The men’s leader, although just as shocked, did not. He pressed the trigger.

Jameel popped out of the floor like a rocket, catapulting into the air before the rebel leader. His arm swung out. Blood gushed from the man’s neck. Ameena saw the glint of a knife in Jameel’s hand. The man toppled to the ground. Bullets fired from his gun. Ameena fell to the ground with Aqeel, the gunfire hitting the wall as the man’s aim faltered, life bleeding away.

Some of the men overcame their shock long enough to fire at Jameel. But the bullets passed through him. They struck the freezer walls, ricocheting onto the men that had fired. A few fell back in an attempt to avoid the rebound. Others stared in horror at Jameel, untouched by their weapons. 

Then he moved. He sunk into the floor again, appearing behind the men. His knife struck out in swings and thrusts, men falling to the ground as he sliced into them with ferocity. Ameena felt the fear that these men were experiencing as their guns and bullets were rendered ineffective. A few sought to strike out at Jameel with fists and blades, but just like the bullets, they couldn’t touch him. 

He moved through them, his strikes catching the men in their abdomens, necks, groins, legs, and chests. Blood began to pool around them. A few lost their footing on the bloody floor, and Jameel finished them off with quick jabs to the throat.

Soon, there was nobody left. Jameel stood in the epicentre of the fallen, his breathing rapid, sweat plastering his clothes to his body, knife as red as a setting sun. No blood stained his clothes or hands. There was a deafening silence in the room, punctuated now and then by tremors from the explosions.

The silence seemed like it would last forever, but Jameel broke it. “Into the tunnel.” Ameena obeyed, shaking. She took Aqeel and entered the dark space beneath the freezer. A moment later, Jameel joined them. He knelt and retrieved a torch. The tunnel brightened. 

Wooden beams held up the earth. Jameel couldn’t have built this himself. The tunnel had a sense of permanence, possibly used by either the Yemeni or the Saud in the past.

They walked together in silence. The ground shook as the airstrikes continued. Dust dropped from the ceiling of the tunnel, and Ameena felt terrified that the entire thing would collapse at any moment. Eventually, the ground beneath them hardened, and the dirt walls of the tunnel were replaced by grey slate. She smelled dampness. Water puddled around her feet. They followed this path for at least half an hour. Ameena noticed the sounds of the airstrike receding.

Light appeared before them. Jameel switched off the torch as they neared what looked to be the end of the tunnel. They emerged onto a river bank. She could see the district on the other side. The entire place was ablaze. The Saud had destroyed everything.

Jameel took Aqeel and led her south. He moved quietly, eyes roving the walls above for any sign of the Saud. Eventually they reached another tunnel. It was covered by a thick metal grate. Jameel told her to wait. He passed through the grate, and returned several seconds later with a ladder. Somehow, the ladder had phased through the grate with him.

He placed the ladder against the wall. Ameena couldn’t help herself and touched both the ladder and Jameel. They were solid. He gazed at her with those amber eyes.

“How do you do that?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I just do.” He carried Aqeel. “Climb up. It should be safe.” Ameena did as he told her, struggling to lift herself up the ladder. When she reached the top, she waited for Jameel and Aqeel. When Jameel reached the top, he told her to wait and disappeared back down the ladder. She chanced a look over the wall and saw that he was hiding the ladder behind the tunnel. She wondered how he would get back up.

“Let’s go. Almost there.” He startled her, appearing behind her like a wraith. She suddenly realised that he could get anywhere if he so wished it, ladders or not. As’Shabh. The Ghost.

It took an hour before they reached a large amphitheatre. Soldiers huddled at the far end. Ameena’s heart hammered. Saud. She didn’t move.

“Ignore them,” Jameel said. “They won’t touch you. Look.” He pointed at a crowd of vans parked at the end of the amphitheatre. “Those are journalists from other parts of the world. They can’t do anything to us with those cameras so close.” He motioned for her to follow. They crossed the amphitheatre without incident and walked along a main road.

Halfway down the road, Jameel handed Aqeel to Ameena. He turned left and led them down some stairs. They reached the top of a hill, and Ameena saw a camp the size of a small city. Tents dotted the landscape, blazing white in the sunlight. People buzzed through the alleys like bees in a hive. Strange flags waved in the wind.

The Red Cross. They had made it. Ameena smiled for the first time in a long time. She turned to Jameel, exhilarated.

He wasn’t there. She turned around, looking in every direction for the mysterious boy. He had vanished. She gazed at the white tents with longing. Then she stroked her brother’s hair and began her walk down the hill.

She would never forget As’Shabh..