He was smiling broadly, and in response to my agonized look of inquiry, he gave me a discreet “thumbs up.” He handed me a piece of paper. “A message for you, madam.” He smiled at me again, and left.
I was sagging against the door frame in relief. I unfolded the paper, and saw that it was an address again. I felt too weak to drive, so I went down and hailed a cab.
The address turned out to be Chantlo’s home, not far away. I heard a commotion inside, and when I knocked, I was greeted with an enormous outpouring of noise and celebration.
In the crush of people and emotion and gratitude, Chantlo introduced me to his wife and children and a dozen other relatives and friends. They were all weeping with relief and joy, and it was wonderful and embarrassing at the same time. “You have saved my family,” Chantlo called above the general hubbub. “You have saved the resistance movement! You are a great woman! Our gratitude to you will never diminish!”
I was blushing like crazy, and enormously gratified. Marina, whose English was rusty, kept saying “Grateful, grateful,” to me, and even Anya favored me with a small smile.
“I’m very glad it worked out,” I said over and over. “My best wishes for your family and your country.” I felt stilted and formal, but it was still wonderful.
During a lull, I slipped a computer disk out of my pocket. “Does your resistance have any kind of computer experts?” I asked in a low tone.
“They are rare, but they do indeed exist,” Chantlo said. “Being unfamiliar with the computer field, I am not certain of their skill level. It may not be equal to yours.”
“It doesn’t matter. This disk has a record of everything I did to the computer server, and also has instructions on how to hook up and hack in. It also has a few of my favorite viruses that they can plant if they want. Anybody familiar with programming can do the rest. You can plan your best strategy, and do whatever you want to those bastards. You can even blow up their whole database.”
He took the disk with deep gratitude. “This is the most valuable disk in Thusbammanna,” he said. “I will see to its proper distribution.”
After an hour or so, the party started to wind down. I asked how I could get a cab so I could get back to the hotel.
“Allow me to escort you, Mrs. Anderson,” Chantlo offered. “Anya will accompany us as well, for she plans to visit with relatives who live in that direction.”
“Sure,” I said, smiling at Marina. “We’ll take care of her,” I promised flippantly.
The three of us headed out shortly afterwards and walked in happy silence. I was glad I’d come to Thusbammanna. I had helped them out of a tight spot, and I’d gotten my self-confidence back. It worked out very well, just like it did for my dad. Very neat, very tidy.
“I suppose I’ll go back home tomorrow,” I said finally. “I’m glad I could help you out.”
“Your presence was crucial,” Chantlo told me. “We are deeply grateful, and you will be welcome in our country at any time.”
“Thank you very much,” I told him. “And you’ve helped me too. I got my self-confidence back. I plan to restart my business, thanks to you. It’s neat how it all worked out.”
“Yes, indeed.”
We were walking through a large square, and I noticed a large crowd gathering. Someone was standing up on the fir end, testing a megaphone. “What’s going on?” I asked.
Chantlo grinned. “The fruits of your labor, Mrs. Anderson. The word has spread about the government’s monitoring of each car’s whereabouts. It seems as if a protest demonstration is forming.”
“Really! How satisfying!” I stopped and watched for awhile, gloating in my success. A huge crowd had gathered, numbering in the hundreds. Someone got up on the steps of a fountain and started addressing the crowd. I had picked up a few words of the Thusbammannan language, but this was far beyond me. So I just enjoyed the feeling, and watched the crowd as it grew in size and volume. We all felt like celebrating, so we stayed for quite awhile, watching and listening.
Suddenly, Chantlo grasped my arm and pointed. I followed his gaze, and my heart leaped in my throat. “Soldiers!” I hissed.
A contingent of soldiers, fully dressed in riot garb, was assembling at one end of the square. The crowd was disturbed, but too angry to be frightened. “They are too few,” Chantlo said. “They must only be attempting to contain the crowd if it becomes unruly.”
I felt the tension mount as more soldiers appeared, and the crowd’s mood began turning dangerous. It was clear they weren’t going to disperse quickly.
I stood in the milling crowd, looking at the soldiers on the other end of the square. This isn’t my fight, I kept thinking. This isn’t even my country. I have a family that I have a responsibility for. I have no business endangering myself this way.
I looked around for a way out of the square. This looks a little too much like Beijing’s Tiananmen Square for my taste, I thought. I’ve got to find a way out. I looked to the left, away from the police, and so I was the first one to see the attack coming.
For the first split second, the words froze in my throat. Then I screamed at the top of my lungs: “NOOOOO!”
I threw myself to the street just milliseconds before the machine guns began firing.
I felt the rough pavement pressing against my cheek as the guns drowned out all noise except for the screams. Dimly, I saw people throwing themselves to the ground or trying to run. A woman ran in my direction, was hit, and fell nearby in a spray of crimson. Numb with shock, I looked the other way, and saw Anya lying near me, staring with wide eyes. Blood seeped from her arm. I scrambled over to her, and sheltered her head with my arm.
“Lie still, sweetheart,” I whispered. I remembered that my dad had called her that, years ago, when he saved her from these soldiers. But I wasn’t my dad. I was just me, and I was probably going to die in the next few minutes. I squeezed my eyes shut as the firing continued, and I tried to burrow into the asphalt. Dad couldn’t have done anything about this. Nobody could.
Abruptly, the firing stopped, and I risked a peek around. The square was filled with bodies, but I saw many of them moving. Like me, most people had thrown themselves to the ground. I looked around for Chantlo, but couldn’t see him.
A deathly silence filled the square, broken only by screams and sobs of wounded people. I heard Anya whimpering softly beneath my arm.
Suddenly, a whistle shrilled, shattering the silence. The police, clad in full riot gear, had formed a line, and now they charged into the crowd, swinging billy clubs.
“Oh, Jesus,” I whispered prayerfully.
I lifted Anya to her feet, and started pulling her away from the soldiers. “Come on, let’s get out of here,” I called to her over the rising pandemonium of screaming and yelling and violence.
Limply, Anya tried to walk with me, but was unsteady and slow. The soldiers were charging toward us, clubbing down everyone that moved. “Hurry up, hurry up!” I screamed at her, filled with panic. They were catching up, they were coming, they were right on top of us! A huge soldier came up on Anya’s side, his club raised high. “NOOOO!” I screamed, “she’s just a little girl!” I let her go and charged the man, crazed with fear and rage. “BASTARDS!” I piled into him with a football block, hitting him in the stomach with all of my pitiful, meager strength. It took him by surprise, and he missed her as he swung, the club just glancing off her forearm. He looked at me with outrage and surprise, and I didn’t even have time to move as he raised his club high. I watched in slow motion as it came down at me and caught me full on the side of my face, and then it felt like my head split wide open. I briefly thought I felt the asphalt on my cheek again, but then I didn’t feel anything anymore.