When I regained consciousness, I was still lying on the asphalt. I opened my eyes, and a searing stab of pain made me close them again. I felt something sticky and wet on the side of my face, and when I tried opening my eyes again, I saw that it was a pool of blood. I closed my eyes again, sick with fear and pain. I couldn’t believe this had happened to me. I couldn’t believe this could happen at all.
Breathing hurt. Moving hurt. Existing hurt. I pried my eyes open again, and the first thing I saw was Anya. Her bruised and bloody face lay in quiet repose only a few feet away, and when I tried to cry, I realized that I had been crying for quite some time.
The pain was incredible—I wished I would die so it would stop. But overriding the pain was the urgent need to know if Anya was alive or dead.
Slowly I scrambled over toward her. My head felt ready to burst apart at any moment, but I managed to hold it together. I had to feel for her shoulder because my eyes wouldn’t focus consistently, and then I shook her gently.
“Anya,” I whispered. “Anya, say something!”
She didn’t move, and I tried to see if there was anyone around who could help. On the other end of the square, soldiers were rounding some people up, and I wondered if everyone was going to be shot or jailed. I shook Anya again, more urgently.
“Anya! Anya, talk to me!” I tried to feel for her pulse, but my entire body was throbbing, and I couldn’t feel anything else.
A faint moan came from her mouth, and I felt relief cut through the horror, pain and fear. “Come on, honey, we’ve got to get to a hospital.” I staggered to my feet, trying to lift her and fight off the waves of nausea that threatened to drown me. Her eyes fluttered open, and recognition flickered in them. She tried to stand, but staggered into me. I moved toward an alleyway that would get us out of the square, half carrying, half dragging her.
We were almost there when I dimly saw a figure crouching in the shadows. He was holding something to his shoulder, pointing at us. I staggered backwards. “Don’t shoot!” I cried.
He straightened up, and I saw that he was holding a news camera. “Sorry, lady, they’re shooting at reporters out there. I have to get my shots from cover. Are you American?”
I nodded weakly.
“What happened out there?” he asked.
“It was a peaceful demonstration,” I said shakily. I realized he was filming me, and I tried to mop some of the blood and tears from my face. “These people were protesting a brutal government. But the soldiers opened fire with machine guns, and then went through and clubbed anyone who was still moving.” I indicated Anya, who had passed out again, and started crying again. “Look what they did! Look what they did to this little girl!”
His camera lens was moving, and I could tell he was getting a standard Close-up of the Crying Lady. After everything else, I was being exploited for ratings points!
“Is there anything that can be done?” he asked in a leading voice.
“Yeah,” I snapped, suddenly filled with anger. “You can dump your fucking camera, and help some of the injured people out there!” Without waiting for an answer, I picked up Anya, and staggered away.
The alley went on forever. I didn’t know what was on the other side, but I had to get there. On the other side might be someone who wasn’t a soldier. On the other side there might be a hospital. With pain killer. With morphine. With anything that could help Anya, and stop my pain. Anything. Somewhere. On the other side.
It was bright Sun, but it was foggy. I couldn’t see very well through the fog. It was hard to stay on my feet, but I had to keep going. Maybe it would be easier if I went on my knees. Yeah. My knees were better. If I fell over, I wouldn’t fall as far. And I could get up again. To get to the other side. Like the chicken in that old joke. Or like the one Tom liked to tell, why did the punk rocker cross the road, he was stapled to the chicken, oh you’re a riot, Tommy, I wonder if I’ll ever see you again, the last time I saw you I yelled at you and I just wanted to say I love you, you and Alicia and Duane, oh Tommy, help me carry this little girl, she’s too heavy for me and I can’t do it, I can’t do it any more, I have to go just a little bit farther, there’s that asphalt against my cheek again, I’m really getting tired of that.
I was on a ladder in a sewer. I was slowly climbing the ladder, because I could see a distant dot of light at the top, where I could get out. Surrounded by darkness, I was beckoned by the light. I climbed and climbed, and some noise came faintly to me from the opening above. I kept climbing, and climbing, and climbing. The circle of light was bigger now, I was getting to it, I was almost there, and then I opened my eyes.
It hurt. It hurt a lot. I gasped in pain, and that hurt too. When my vision cleared, I looked up into Chantlo’s eyes.
“Ah, Mrs. Anderson!” he said softly, but with relief. “I am delighted to see that you are with us once again!”
“Wha—”
“Do not speak, Mrs. Anderson. You have been grievously injured, and must lie still. But you are safe now, in a friend’s apartment, and you will recover.”
“Whe—”
Chantlo restrained me again. “Anya is in similar circumstances. She will not die. I found you in an alleyway, both unconscious. I brought you here with the help of one of your country’s newsmen. It is well that you were able to get out of the square, for everyone who remained in it has been detained by the security police, and are likely to be executed. I am filled with wonder that you had the strength to go that distance while carrying Anya, with the injury you have received.”
“I’m tough,” I muttered thickly, ignoring his restraining gestures. “Got it from my mom.”
“I, on the other hand, was merely lucky,” he said. I looked blearily at him, and noticed a large bandage on the side of his head. “A bullet grazed my skull, knocking me unconscious. The police left me for dead.”
“God,” I whispered, and looked away. The horror of the event washed over me in waves.
“I have other news as well,” Chantlo said. “A telegram was delivered to your hotel. Our contact at the hotel managed to get it to us.”
I took it with shaking fingers and struggled trying to open it. Chantlo did it for me, and I unfolded the flimsy paper. I had to work to focus my eyes before I could read it.
“SAW YOU ON CNN. WE ARE SICK WITH WORRY FOR YOU. PLEASE COME HOME IMMEDIATELY LOVE, DUANE, TOM, ALICIA AND DAD.”
“They saw me on CNN,” I said wonderingly. “How would they see me on CNN?”
“Surely you remember the news cameraman? The one who helped me get you and Anya to safety? I have not seen the film, but I understand from others that it featured large amounts of blood, and highly colored language.”
“I’d better send them an answer,” I said.
“Unfortunately, that will not be possible,” Chantlo said. “Martial law has been declared, and all communications have been suspended.”
“Martial law? Because of the protest?”
“No, because of the hundreds of protests that resulted from the brutality of the crackdown that injured you.”
“Hundreds? How could hundreds of protests have gone on?”
Chantlo smiled gently. “You have been here for three days. During that time, the rebellion has spread throughout the country.”
I closed my eyes wearily. “Wow. Oh, wow. So the revolution is growing?”
“I fear not, Mrs. Anderson. Most of the army remains loyal to the government. Hundreds have died. These protests were unplanned, and have no leadership. They are ill-timed and doomed to failure. Small pockets of soldiers have defected to the rebel side, but they are foot soldiers based primarily in the country, where the revolution is stronger. Here in the city, where the armored divisions are based, the independence movement is being crushed.”