Never Not
Kei Ayano: The Journalist Part 4
I jumped in, wrapped Ameena's body with my own. Letting ourselves be his shield from the fragments of bombs, sand and rocks that rained down on us. Fortunately the bomb was low explosive, just a kind of warning.
From a very close distance I saw him close his eyes. His hands clenched firmly and seemed to tremble under my confinement. I can make sure we are not in physical contact at all because of the position of my body like a person who is doing push-ups.
After-bombs were heard from the tent next door followed by the sound of a barrage of weapons forcing us to immediately stand up seeking shelter. In just a moment, everything changed. Children who had been running around laughing now run crying looking for their parents. People were screaming in panic and were busy saving themselves. Not a few victims were injured by the bomb attack.
I pulled Ameena into hiding. He brushed my hand. I don't care, I clasped his hands back and dragged him crouching behind the old, shaggy car.
These eyes, ears and brains were busy recording all the emotions presented by their brutal attacks. I took a cell phone to secretly photograph the attack.
I also called Eiji to tell him that there just happened to be a bomb attack here. In a precarious situation like this, I tried to inform them of what I saw so they could immediately release the article. Unfortunately, it is not certain whether these attacks were carried out by the ruling regime or rebels.
I tried peeking. One of the soldiers carrying the rifle was wearing a military uniform typical of this country. Doesn't this mean that the attack was carried out by the ruler? Then I saw again some fathers who had passed by in the refugee tent, now holding weapons and fighting against the army.
Does that mean this camp is a refuge for rebel groups and their supporters?
After calling, I gasped to find the woman missing. Just turning around to look for him, I saw him helping the elderly who had fallen. I don't know why I've been interested in photographing it so many times.
I gave my hand forward so that he would grasp it first. His hands did not move at all, but his gaze was a little doubtful.
"Don't worry! I have no skin disease! I just don't want us to be apart."
His hands slowly stretched out as if to welcome my hands. I smiled faintly, but soon faded as those wiggly fingers held the tip of my jacket instead of my hand. Its alright. It's representative enough that he's entrusting me.
"Let's run!" I gave him aba-aba.
I led her running away from the refuge that had turned into a bloodthirsty field. Don't think we did a wonderful escape without a hitch! Every five steps, we had to duck and take cover from the bullets that were milling about. We had to crawl, even had to step over the bodies lying around.
this has been cut per chapter aka trimmed yes, do not read here! read the full chapter in the new novel whose title is "The Journalist" just open my profile see the cover below