Running around the foot of the bed, they crouched down between it and a small, metal shelf half-filled with various medical supplies.
“What are we going to do?” Christine looked to her with wide, frightened eyes.
Sophie whispered as softly as she could. “We’re going to wait for Master Chief Warren to come get us.”
“What if he doesn’t? Sophie, he’s out there all by himself.”
“I heard him calling for his team before we ran back up the stairs. They’re SEALS. They’ll find him.”
She just prayed they got to him in time.
“This is unreal.” Christine shook her head. “This was supposed to be a safe volunteer mission. Shit like this wasn’t supposed to happen to us.”
“This shouldn’t happen to anyone,” Sophie commented quietly.
“Good point.”
She held up a hand. “I think someone’s coming.”
With her heart racing and the sound of blood rushing past her ears, Sophie reached for Christine’s hand and held on tight.
Booted footfalls sounded from the hallway. Their beat strong and steady as their owners marched closer to the room. Alarm crossed over Christine’s face, but she remained silent.
They both did.
The footfalls stopped. Sophie held her breath and waited. Terror thundered down on her as the agonizing seconds passed by. Just when she thought whoever was out there had gone, the door flung open, and a group of angry men stormed the room.
Oh, god!
Without a word, one of the men rounded the bed and pointed his gun at Sophie’s head.
She’d always believed a person’s life was supposed to flash before their eyes. That’s what everyone said, right? That’s what she’d seen on TV and in the movies.
When a person was faced with immanent death, their minds were supposed to become filled with wonderful, cherished memories. Memories of beloved family members and friends. Important milestones they’d achieved during their time here on Earth.
Flashes of first loves and the one who got away.
Those were the things Sophieexpectedto see. Instead, the group of men with very large guns and cold, evil eyes was all that filled her vision.
That and the barrel of his long, black rifle.
“My name is Dr. Sophia Ruiz,” she blurted, her voice surprisingly steady. “I’m part of a volunteer group serving the people of Djibouti and the nearby villages.”
She thought about Master Chief. Had he survived? Given her current situation, Sophie knew his chances weren’t good.
She shot Christine a quick glance from over her shoulder. The other woman was currently frozen with the same terror that had turned Sophie’s blood to ice.
Christine was right. This wasn’t supposed to happen.
Before today, their trip had been a pleasant experience. It was true, the city of Djibouti was inundated with unimaginable poverty. But despite the poor conditions and the active terrorist presence, the locals in both communities had been warm and hospitable to Sophie and the other members of her volunteer group.
These men, however—the ones staring back at them with their big guns and snarling grins—were anything but warm.
“My name is Dr. Sophia Ruiz,” she repeated. Only this time, she spoke the words in Arabic. “I’m part of a volunteer group serving the people of Djibouti and the nearby villages.”
“Shut up!” the man pointing his gun at her growled. Though his accent was heavy, his English was easily understood.
Taking a step closer, he kept his weapon steady. His narrowed eyes remained trained on hers.