As they neared the city center, Doaa spotted dark gray smoke rising a block away. They turned a corner and saw a police station on fire. Flames bloomed over its roof and shot violently out of its windows, and the smell of smoke began to fill the taxi, burning Doaa’s throat. Police officers ran from the building to escape the flames, and the driver slammed on the brakes. “The protesters set it on fire,” he shouted as the car screeched to a halt. But Doaa could barely hear him over the roaring of the fire and the shouts of people on the street. Scanning the scene through the windshield, she suddenly saw through the smoke protesters throwing rocks and shouting at the fleeing police. She pressed against the window, trying to get a clear view of what was happening.
“All hell is going to break loose now.” The fear in the driver’s voice terrified Doaa. “I’m sorry, but you have to get out. Keep close to the walls or they will shoot you.” Doaa couldn’t believe what she was hearing. This driver was going to leave them in the middle of this chaos? And why would her own government shoot her just for being on the street? Reluctantly, Hanaa paid the driver and the family got out. Hanaa kept Hamudi close, while the girls clustered together. The heat from the fire pressed against them as they began to walk as fast as they could away from it, looking around warily. Doaa’s heart raced as she realized that her mother had been right. Things were unraveling. The demonstrators they saw were no longer carrying olive branches and throwing stones, now they were setting fires, and the security forces were fighting back with water cannons, tear gas, and live artillery, and Doaa’s family was right in the middle of it. She was the one who had insisted they go. She was the reason her family was in danger.
With the crackling sound of gunfire erupting nearby, Hanaa grabbed Hamudi’s hand and they all ran, heads down, to the closest building. Feeling exposed, they pressed against the wall as bullets ricocheted above their heads. They couldn’t see where the bullets were coming from and weren’t sure how to avoid them. Doaa’s mind couldn’t process that people were shooting at her. Part of her couldn’t believe what was happening around her, how her quiet, normal life had so turned in an instant that her family were now huddled together in fear as bullets flew through the air and fires raged through the street. Another part of her was coolly thinking up a plan for how to protect her family. She knew that they had to keep moving. Going back home was just as dangerous as going forward, so they decided to press on toward their grandfather’s house. At one point they dropped to their hands and knees and crawled through the streets. “Keep close to the wall!” Doaa called to her siblings ahead of her. Hamudi and Nawara started crying. Doaa ignored the sour taste of fear in her mouth as she tried to comfort them: “Don’t be afraid. Get up now and run!” She knew that if they panicked, they were more likely to be killed. The family ditched the cake, stood up, and moved carefully along the walls, retreating to alleyways before moving farther up the road again. A walk that should have taken ten minutes took them an hour.
Finally, they reached the house in the Abassiya neighborhood and frantically banged on the door. Doaa’s uncle opened it and pulled them into the house, his face pale with worry at the sight of his family in the midst of the gunfire. “Are you crazy?” he shouted at Hanaa when they were all safely inside. “Didn’t you know what it’s like outside?”
Saja, Nawara, and Hamudi were in shock. They quickly retreated to the back of the house, away from the sounds of shelling and death, trembling in fear. Doaa, however, felt that she had to know what was happening. Minutes after she greeted her relatives, she dropped a bag of cookies on the table and ran up the stairs to the roof, knowing that from there she would have a view of the square where they’d seen the clashes. Hanaa shouted after her not to go, but Doaa ignored her.