The sound of raised voices, barked orders and debris being shoved aside froze Honor where she lay trapped. Panic welled, her heart accelerating wildly. Her breaths, already ragged and painful, grew even more so. She closed her eyes and willed herself not to make a sound.
The soldiers were picking through the ruins looking specifically for the Westerners—the people who ran the relief center and offered aid to refugees. Their triumph over the success of their attack sickened Honor. There were gleeful shouts as one after another, a worker was found dead. Tears tightened her throat when it was suggested that the bodies be dragged from the clinic and lined up so photos could be taken and shown to the world, a warning to others that their presence was offensive.
Oh God, what would happen when they found her? They were systematic in their search, almost as if they knew who the relief workers were and how many there were. If they were happy over so many dead, how much more excited would they be to have a live hostage? Someone to make an example of.
The building creaked and groaned, the remaining walls protesting the weakness of the structure. More debris rained down, pelting the entire area. Honor barely managed to hold in a sound of pain when something hit the objects covering her, causing them to crush her even more.
The invaders were suddenly cautious and wary, their talk going to whether it was safe to continue their systematic body count. When one suggested they get out immediately—before what remained of the shell of the building fell down around their ears—an argument broke out, the voices loud and harsh and entirely too close for Honor’s comfort.
They were near her and drawing closer all the time. She could all but hear their breaths, feel the urgent exhalation over her neck even though she knew that wasn’t possible. But she felt hunted. Just as prey surely must feel when a predator was closing in for the kill.
She closed her eyes and prayed to live when just moments earlier she’d lamented the fact that she hadn’t died. A fervent prayer became a litany in her mind not only to live, but to survive. To escape, unscathed, the terrible fate she’d endure were she discovered by the soldiers who thought nothing of raping, torturing and killing women. Or children, for that matter.
A shudder quaked through her body before she could call it back, and then she held her breath, hoping she hadn’t betrayed herself. She forced calm she didn’t feel to settle over her body, blocking out the pain and gut-wrenching fear. Never had she been more terrified than she was at this moment. No amount of preparing, no number of close calls with militants bent on destruction could possibly have given her a glimpse into the reality she’d spent too many months to count mentally bracing herself for.
In her heart she’d felt it inevitable that she would face ultimate fear, pain, but she’d never truly allowed herself to think she could be killed doing what she felt was her calling in life. Her parents had tried to convince her. They’d pleaded with her in the beginning, even going so far as to say they didn’t want to lose their “baby.”
Her four older brothers and older sister had all gathered to attempt to persuade her not to go, pulling out the big guns, telling her they wanted her to be a part of her nieces’ and nephews’ lives. Her sister had tearfully held Honor’s hand tightly in hers and chokingly said she wanted her sister to be at her wedding, at her side, even though her sister had no plans to marry anytime soon.
She’d almost given in to their emotional blackmail. Inwardly she winced. Blackmail was too harsh a word. All they’d done and said had been out of love. It had been her mother in the end, sensing Honor’s battle between wanting to please her family, wanting their happiness, and answering her need to serve others in embattled, terrorized nations, who had gathered the family together and quietly but firmly told them to stand down.