As Long as the Lemon Trees Grow (90)

“The military is going to bomb the hospital! We have to leave!”

Kenan screeches to a halt behind me, holding Lama’s and Yusuf’s hands. He is horrified.

“Bomb?” he says, out of breath. With the lighting, I can finally see that his left eye is swollen, barely open, and the bruise has turned darker in the daylight.

“Where’s Dr. Ziad?” one patient moans from their bed. “He’ll know—”

“Dr. Ziad says we have to leave!” I snap. I’m not sitting around waiting for them to listen, so I grab Kenan’s arm and start pulling him behind me. Lama and Yusuf trail after in shock.

The action triggers an effect in the rest of the room. The mothers are first to rise; they grab their children and fling the doors open, then run.

Chaos unfolds. The crowds shove against one another. Doctors help the bedridden to their feet. My hold on Kenan tightens. I refuse to let my grip waver.

As soon as we’re by the door, I hear Dr. Ziad’s voice booming over the masses. “Leave now!”

His tone sparks another urgent rush, and footsteps rumble along the floors. We all run down the stairs and out of the hospital’s gates. My eyes dart to the skies and I search the blue for planes as we cross the street. The mob pushes against me, and their panicked force nearly makes my grasp on Kenan’s sweater slip. Pins and needles prick through my arm, but I don’t care. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Am, pushing his way through, and I feel a surge of relief. After we pass the first building, I yank Kenan to the side, moving against the current to take refuge behind a torn-down wall, and let him go.

Our breaths are ragged as we stare at each other. The sun is out today, the rays hot on my hijab. Lama and Yusuf are confused and scared, their eyes glued to Kenan. He gives them a reassuring smile.

I glance back toward the hospital, and my heart starts thundering when I can’t spot Dr. Ziad among the people hemorrhaging out. And then the realization hits me.

The babies in the incubators are still inside.

My stomach drops and I hold the wall for support. I need to go back. I need to save the babies. But my legs are heavy with fear, half of me screaming to stay put—to stay safe. The other replays Samar’s ashen, bloodless face as I held her life hostage.

I grit my teeth, pushing away the fear, and before I can rethink my decision, I fling myself from behind the wall and run toward the hospital.

“Salama!” Kenan shouts.

I dash across the road, pushing through the swarms, through the courtyard, and back up the steps.

The atrium is empty, a sight I never thought I’d see. Linens are strewn on the floor, some of the beds overturned in the panic. Two figures emerge from the hallway. Dr Ziad balances a huge cardboard box under one arm and cradles two small shapes with the other. Nour’s white hijab flutters as she sprints past me, huddling two babies close to her.

Dr. Ziad stops short and hands me the babies. They’re wrapped in thin white blankets, each the size of a small loaf of bread. Their skin is red, their mouths tiny, and their fingers barely visible.

“There’s a third in here,” Dr. Ziad says, panting hard and putting down the box. The wrinkles around his eyes deepen. I glance inside the box and see a baby resting atop a small pile of medication packets. “Can you carry the box? I need—”

“Give it to me.” Kenan stops short beside me, his breaths shallow. He tucks the box under his arm, twists on his heels, and flees. Dr. Ziad turns, heading straight back toward the incubators.

“Doctor!” I shriek, rooted to the spot. “Doctor!”

He doesn’t look back.

“Salama! Come on!” Kenan shouts from the front.

Tears erupt from my eyes, and I sob as I hug the babies closer and run after him.

As soon as we cross the road, we hear it.

The plane.

We reach the wall where Kenan’s siblings are peering out, scared out of their wits.

“No,” I choke, whirling around to face the hospital and hugging the babies closer to me. “Please come out!”

Patients, rescuers, and staff are still spilling out the front doors. At the very last second, I see him. He nearly stumbles, supporting two more babies as he runs. His lab coat is half torn and the distance feels impossibly great.

“Yalla,” I beg. “God, please!”

The piercing sound of the bomb slices through the air as it falls.

“No!” I scream, my arms trembling. “Doctor, quickly!”

Kenan grabs me, ducking my head down as the bomb shatters the one place in Homs that held hope. The earth rumbles and cracks as if an earthquake hit. My eardrums ring from the force and debris-filled smoke blinds and chokes me. My limbs shake and I hunch over, trying to protect the infants.

After a few heartbeats where the only sound is the crash of the hospital’s columns collapsing, howls of mourning shake the dust-filled skies. Heart-wrenching cries and prayers rattle my core.

“Are you okay?” I direct at Kenan. The dust settles just enough for me to make out his shape.

“Yes,” he says, coughing hoarsely, and he winces. He turns to his siblings, making sure they’re all right.

“Kenan, take the babies,” I order. “I need to find Dr. Ziad.”

He shakes his head fiercely. “I—”

“Salama, give them to me,” Nour says, and I glance up at her, my heart soaring for a brief moment. She’s unharmed. “They can’t stay here. They need fresh air. Some are already struggling without their incubators.” Two volunteers stand behind her, and I hand the babies over to one of them while the other picks up the cardboard box.