Amongst the noise, she thought she heard Mustafa’s familiar footsteps in the hall. She forced herself to turn and look. Just another parent. Where was the agent?
Fewer people came through the classroom now. Zehra ran back into the hall. Didn’t see Mustafa or the FBI agent. Around her, the parents unfurled umbrellas to protect them from the rain outside.
Zehra returned to the table where she’d waited. When she calmed down, it seemed simple. She’d leave with a big crowd of people and get to the parking lot. Once there, in spite of the rain, she’d hide or leave. She thought of her cell. Call for help now, but she’d still have to get away from him.
If only she could make it out before Mustafa came back. Zehra didn’t think she could fool him. At the table, she felt dizzy and grabbed the edge of the counter to steady herself. This would be tough.
Her cell phone rang so loudly that her hand swept the table top, knocking off Sergio’s jar. It smashed on the floor, splattering fake red blood across her shoes. She fumbled to open her phone. It was Mustafa.
“I am sorry to be late. I was delayed. How’s everything?”
Zehra gulped a breath of air. “Uh … yeah. The parents are starting to leave. Where are you?”
“I’m just about there. Wait for me.”
“Sure … sure. I’ll watch for you.” She hung up and grabbed for her purse. She hurried toward the hall and the side door of the school.
With a dwindling group of people, she emerged from the school onto the grass outside. Zehra searched the night for Mustafa. With the rain, it was difficult to see much of anything.
In a few minutes, she saw the lights from his car turn on and slice through the rain in the parking lot. She moved in the opposite direction. Started to walk quickly. She could beat him.
He was out of his car faster than she planned. Mustafa came toward her in long, graceful strides. “I am so sorry. Is this all right for you?” He had a rain jacket on with the hood pulled up, hiding his face. The lights from his car glistened on the bushes beside the school.
She avoided his face. “Sure. Let’s go. I’ve got a lot of work left to do tonight.”
He stopped her with both his hands on her arms. Black shadows hovered along the sides of the building. The rain drummed without interest and the fog rose around them. He looked down at her. “Thank you for your help tonight.”
Mixed emotions flooded through Zehra. His hands felt strong and confident and that scared her. Should she try to run? She glanced at him. “Hey, no problem.” When she tried to move past him, he held her firmly. She felt the rain seeping through her thick hair. Her face was wet.
“What is wrong?” His voice dropped to a lower register than Zehra’d ever heard before.
“Uh … nothing. I’ve got a lot of work … Hey, it’s raining.”
“Something is wrong.” He pushed her toward the bushes. “We will find out.”
“Let me go … please,” she pleaded.
His hair fell forward on either side of his face. Even in the dim light, she could see his eyes bulge and his nostrils flare. His arms started to shake in anger. “What did you do?” he demanded.
“Do? Nothing, I didn’t do anything.” Zehra twisted her body to the left and slipped from his grip. For a moment, they both were surprised. Then, she started to run down the sidewalk.
“Stop!” he bellowed and chased her. A few people stopped to look.
She screamed at them, “Help me.”
She picked up speed until her foot caught on one of the broken concrete slabs. She fell hard onto her side. With her face on the ground, she smelled pungent earth. Her arm hurt, and it was hard to breathe. Her face lay in wet grass.
Mustafa towered above her. He reached down and yanked her up. When she went limp, he dragged her toward his car. Zehra kicked at him with her left foot but missed. She tried to jam her foot into the greasy ground. She slipped. Mustafa pulled harder.
“No … please …” she begged.
“You cannot be allowed to reveal anything. I have worked too long,” he screamed.
“Why?” she screamed at him. “Why?”
“For the glory of Allah. Why else, you fool.” He tugged on her wet legs.
“Killing an innocent boy is for the glory of Allah?”
“You would not understand. You are an infidel.”
Suddenly, Zehra’s fear coalesced into hatred and anger. She twisted her body around until he lost his grip. She put her foot underneath her to shove off for a run. She pushed. In the wet grass, her foot slipped, and she slammed into the ground.
Mustafa fell on top of her. His weight suffocated her. His arm went around her neck. She felt her head jerked up until it hurt and realized her throat was exposed. No … no, her brain screamed. She saw the glint of a knife off to the side of her head. Rain fell effortlessly and without concern on her face.
Zehra flailed with her arms to hit him but only struck slippery shoulders.
He mumbled something that sounded like a few words of prayer. He shifted to the left side, and he pulled her head in the same direction. He stiffened along the length of his body.
Zehra tried to scream but his arm around her throat made it impossible. An image of her parents flashed through her mind. She started to cry. She saw a beautiful kaleidoscope of colors in the reflections on the sidewalk. Blue and yellow and green from the refracted headlights of the car, like flowers in a garden.
She tried to fight to the last but realized it was hopeless. Zehra collapsed onto the ground. She braced for the pain. Suddenly, Mustafa’s weight disappeared. His body lifted off her. Zehra gagged and rolled to her side, gasping for air. Her lungs sucked hard at staying alive.
She heard shouting and thumping from behind her. People yelling. Someone shouting at her.
When Zehra rolled over and propped herself on an elbow, she saw Paul wrestling with Mustafa in the grass. They struck at each other, twisting to get an advantage. Slipping in the mud. Mustafa no longer had a knife but he was strong and seemed to be winning.
Paul separated from him, inching back on his butt along the sidewalk. He reached behind himself. Drew out a pistol. As he brought his arm forward, it tangled in his wet sport coat.
Mustafa pounced like a tiger. He kicked the gun from Paul and shoved him over on his side. The gun skittered across the sidewalk. Before Paul could get back up, Mustafa grabbed it and stood.
Zehra screamed at Mustafa to stop.
A loud bang echoed off the wall. Zehra looked at Paul. Saw a bloody mist explode from his thigh. He yelled and jerked to his side. Zehra crawled to him.
He writhed in pain. Zehra turned to beg Mustafa to stop.
Mustafa leaned forward and raised the pistol again, pointing at Zehra. “This must happen,” he mumbled. Long wet hair stuck to his face. His clenched teeth shown brightly in his dark face.
Zehra squirmed to the side. “No … no!” As she lifted her hands in protest, Paul moaned something to her. Pointed at his ankle. She reached along his leg, pulled up the bloody pants cuff, and found a small gun. Paul collapsed onto his back.
Mustafa’s gun barked but he missed.
Zehra held the small pistol in both shaking hands. It was wet, and she fought to keep from losing her grip. She pointed it up at Mustafa’s chest. He started to turn away. Her mind drifted into the fog around her. Zehra closed her eyes and jerked the trigger.
Forty-Four
Zehra shook so badly, the gun fell from her hand and clattered onto the sidewalk. Great sobs tore through her chest. When she looked across the lawn, Mustafa was lying in a still lump, facing away from her. Rain bounced off his upraised hip.
She heard Paul moan and turned to him.
“Tourniquet …” he gasped and pointed at his belt.
Zehra pulled on the buckle while he rolled to his side. When she had it out, Zehra wrapped it around his thigh, just under his crotch, and stretched as tightly as she could, tying the loose end underneath the strap.