Sandstorm

5:00 P.M.

AS THEothers took a brief rest, Omaha stared at the queen’s palace. The structure had managed to escape the initial bombardment. Maybe they could make a stand here, up in its tower.

He shook his head.

Fanciful, but impractical. Their only hope was to keep moving. But they were running out of city. Not much lay above and beyond the palace. A few streets and low buildings.

He glanced over the lower city. Sporadic gunfire still flared, but it was both less frequent and closer. The Rahim’s defense was wearing thin, the line being overwhelmed.

Omaha knew they were doomed. He had never considered himself a pessimist, just a pragmatist. Still, he glanced at Safia. With his last breath, he would keep her safe.

Kara stepped beside him. “Omaha…”

He looked at her. She never called him Omaha. Her face was exhausted, lined by fear, eyes hollow. Like him, she sensed their end.

Kara nodded to Safia. Her voice was a sigh. “What the hell are you waiting for? Bloody Christ…” She stepped away to the courtyard wall, slumped against it, and sank to a seat.

Omaha remembered her earlier words. She still loves you.

From steps away, he watched Safia. She knelt beside a child, holding both the girl’s small hands between her own. Her face shone in the glow overhead. Madonna and child.

He moved closer…then closer again. Kara’s words inside his head: Life is hard. Love doesn’t have to be.

Safia didn’t look up, but she still spoke. “These are my mother’s hands,” she said so quietly, so calmly, defying their situation. She stared at the child. “All these women. My mother still lives through them. An entire life. From babe to elder. A full life. Not one cut short.”

Omaha dropped to one knee. He stared into her face as she studied the child. She simply took his breath away. Literally.

“Safia,” he said softly.

She turned to him, eyes shining.

He met her gaze. “Marry me.”

She blinked. “What…?”

“I love you. I always have.”

She turned. “Omaha, it’s not that simple…”

He touched her chin gently with a finger, and turned her face back to his. He waited for her eyes to find him. “That’s just it. Yes, it is.”

She attempted to shift away.

He would not let her escape this time. He leaned closer. “I’m sorry.”

Her eyes shone a bit brighter, not from happiness but from the threat of tears. “You left me.”

“I know. I didn’t know what to do. But it was a boy who left you.” He lowered his hand, gently taking hers. “It is a man on his knees now.”

She stared into his eyes, wavering.

Movement over her shoulder caught his eye. Figures pushed out of the dark around the corner of the palace. Men. A dozen.

Omaha leaped to his feet, scrambling to push Safia behind him.

Out of the shadows, a familiar figure strode forth.

“Barak…” Omaha scrambled to comprehend. The giant of an Arab had been missing since before the attack.

More men followed behind Barak, in desert cloaks. They were led by a man with a crutch under one arm.

Captain al-Haffi.

The leader of the Desert Phantoms waved to the men behind him. Sharif was among them, as hale as when Omaha had last seen him, out at Job’s tomb. He had survived the firefight without a scratch. Sharif and the men dispersed down the streets, strapped with rifles, grenades, and RPG launchers.

Omaha stared after them.

He didn’t know what was going on, but Cassandra was in for a surprise.