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  ‘I was a unit commander with al-Shabaab,’ he is saying. ‘I was very high up in the ranks. I thought they could bring law and order to Somalia. I believed that what they did was justified. But then …’ He heaves a rattling breath and puts a hand to his broken ribs. ‘Then they brought me a new group of trainees, about six weeks ago. They were so young. How old are you, boy?’ he asks, turning to you for the first time.

  ‘I’m thirteen.’

  ‘They looked much the same age as you. Scared, skinny. Some of them were trying to pretend they knew what was going on, but … they had no idea. My orders were to give them basic training in how to shoot a gun, then send them to the frontlines of the fighting in Mogadishu. Those boys were just bait: to be thrown out for AMISOM to shoot at, while more of our troops moved in behind.’

  The lime lady takes the bloody wrapping from her son’s leg. You have to look away as the bandages come off the maroon wound.

  ‘Do you know where the boys came from?’ asks Rahama.

  ‘They were orphans, all of them. They came from the same place: Bright Dream Orphanage. A false name for a terrible place. The things I could tell you about Bright Dream … but I’ll get to that.’ He sighs.

  The lime lady wraps her son’s leg in a clean bandage. She begins to pace around the front of their home, wringing her bony hands. There is a rustle from something in the corner – probably a rat – and she jumps.

  If it’s true that her son has run away from his job with al-Shabaab, you know she won’t be able to keep him hidden for long before al-Shabaab return and exact their revenge. You start to feel very nervous, and the dim, stuffy room in the ruin begins to feel airless as Zayd continues with his story.

  ‘I didn’t want to, but I followed orders and sent the boys into battle,’ he says.

  His voice has become slower, and every word seems to cause him pain.

  ‘I stood by and watched them go off to fight, day after day. At night, they barely slept – just sat there with a horrible, faraway look in their eyes, or sometimes woke screaming from a nightmare. By the end of the second week of fighting, nearly all of them had been killed. But some were wounded: superficial bullet wounds, a broken arm, things that would heal. I asked permission for them to rest and to be treated. These boys had been so brave. But instead, they told me to … to …’

  ‘What did they tell you to do?’ asks Rahama.

  ‘They told me to kill all the injured ones,’ stutters the man. He holds his head in his hands. ‘Can you imagine? They said, We don’t have the time and money to treat rats. Stop being their nurse and just shoot them. They’re worthless.’

  You feel a cold shudder run through you. These were boys your own age – orphans like you, but without an Aunty Rahama to keep them safe.

  ‘I said, You can’t ask me to shoot my own troops. I thought you followed Allah’s law, but this is an abomination. You can’t kill these boys like animals.’

  Zayd sighs again, and his mother stops pacing a moment to rest her hand on his shoulder.

  ‘That was when they started beating me,’ he says. ‘They left me for dead.’

  You hear a crunch of footsteps coming through the rubble and weeds outside. Everyone in the room stiffens.

  ‘Zayd!’ shouts a voice. ‘Zayd Tarabi, come and face us!’

  You look at Aunty Rahama, stricken. You will both be killed along with Zayd if al-Shabaab finds you here.

  ‘Quick!’ snaps the lime lady. ‘Into the hole!’ With the strength of a fit young person, the tiny, wizened lady drags a piece of concrete to one side to reveal a hidey-hole in the floor. ‘Get in!’

  You, Rahama and Zayd squirm down into the hole. The lime lady shoves the concrete back over the gap, raining pebbles and dust down onto you. You are compressed into a black stew of elbows and breathing and uncomfortable wriggles.

  The lime lady bravely stays above ground. ‘I’m his mother,’ you hear her cry, as heavy boot-steps enter the room. ‘He isn’t here. Go away!’

  ‘Then whose are these bloody rags on the floor?’ snarls a voice. ‘Bandages for your injured son who isn’t home, perhaps?’

  You curse silently. Nobody hid the evidence of Zayd, and now it’s right under their noses.

  ‘I have to tell you about Bright Dream,’ Zayd whispers, ‘before I die.’

  You can tell from his voice that he is struggling to breathe from the pain of climbing into the hole with his broken bones and the crush of your bodies next to him.

  ‘Bright Dream’s not an orphanage,’ he goes on, so softly you can barely make out the words. ‘It’s the key to al-Shabaab’s downfall. You have to tell the world what they’re doing there—’

  A scream from the lime lady cuts Zayd short. ‘Let go of me!’ she cries. ‘I tell you, he’s not here!’

  Zayd’s body is tense and bristling like a cornered dog. You know he won’t be able to hide in this hole and listen to his mother being hurt. How could he?

  ‘I have to stop them,’ Zayd mutters. ‘I have to try. Remember: investigate Bright Dream.’

  He pushes the concrete above your heads to one side. The room immediately falls silent. You and Rahama are still out of sight as Zayd clambers up through the small gap he’s made.

  ‘You have me,’ he gasps, his voice tight with the pain of moving. ‘Now put her down.’

  The lime lady lets out a sob. You’re trying not to choke from all the dust in the hole. You can see Rahama’s wide eyes shining in the dim light slanting down through the gap. She places a hand on your wrist: Stay here. Hide.

  A powerful, wild heat pumps through your limbs.

  Should you stay hidden in the hole, and let the men from al-Shabaab take Zayd? They will almost certainly kill him. But at least you and Rahama will survive, and go on to investigate his story.

  Or should you make a surprise attack: leap from the hole and try to rescue Zayd? It sounds like there are at least two men in the room above. They will certainly have guns, and you don’t have a weapon. But you have the element of surprise. Could it possibly work?

  If you jump out of the hole and try to rescue Zayd, turn to scene 2.

  If you stay hidden, turn to scene 3.

  To read a fact file on Somalia click here, then return to this page to make your choice.

  You scramble upwards, out of the hole. Rahama’s hand snatches at your ankle and you hear her hiss, ‘No!’ but you kick her away and leap from hiding.

  Two men whirl to face you: one of them is holding Zayd by the throat, and the other one immediately drops Zayd’s mother and reaches for his weapon.

  You run at the man reaching for his gun, and throw your full body weight into his chest. He stumbles, and out of the corner of your eye, you see the lime lady reach down to her little cooking fire and grab a hot pot of tea. She smashes it into the man’s head, and he screams as scalding tea runs down his face. You try to snatch at his gun, and the two of you tussle for control of the weapon.

  Rahama has now also climbed from the hole. She picks up a chunk of broken concrete and charges at the man holding Zayd. She is aiming to smash the block of concrete against his head, but he throws out one arm and shoves her sideways into the wall.

  The man you are wrestling with gets his finger to the trigger and fires indiscriminately. Chunks of concrete burst open at your feet, and the sound deafens you.

  With ringing and dim shouting in your ears, you see Rahama holding her leg and trying not to cry. Blood is rising between her fingers and beginning to soak her clothes. Zayd manages to get free of his captor, but, unsteady on his broken leg, a single punch to the jaw unbalances him and he slams into the ground at your feet.

  The lime lady, defiant to the last, is calling the men every horrible name she can think of. ‘You dogs! You savage, ignorant, flea-bitten dogs of hell! You child-murderers! You poisonous snakes!’

  One of the men uses the butt of his rifle to knock her out, and she crumples to the floor.

  The men grab you and Zayd by the thr
oats and begin to drag you from the room. You kick and fight the man who has hold of you, but he is so much bigger – you may as well try to punch a boulder.

  Zayd is gasping: ‘Leave the boy! He’s done nothing wrong! It’s me you came for. Just leave him be!’

  Rahama is pleading too: ‘Stop! Put him down! Take me instead!’

  The men don’t reply, and when Rahama staggers after them, they push her to the ground.

  The men bind and gag you and Zayd and toss you both into the back of their van, like goats to be slaughtered. You bump away from the ruin, past Lido Beach and through Mogadishu.

  An hour later, you are rattling through the desert, your limbs crying out to be loosed from the ropes.

  Where are they taking us? you wonder. Why haven’t they killed us yet?

  You wonder if you are being taken away for training, to end up on the frontlines of an unwinnable battle, like the boys from Bright Dream Orphanage did before you. Then suddenly – wham!

  The car hits a pothole and veers off the road. The world flips, and ground and sky whirl past the windows. Your body ricochets off the floor, windows, car seats, and the ceiling. Up is down, and down is up. Smashed glass and rocks fly through the air; your body is being thumped from every direction.

  With a final crunch and a hiss, the car comes to a standstill. You are buried underneath the body of one of the al-Shabaab men. His blood is trickling down onto you. The other man, the driver, is slumped over the steering wheel, not moving.

  As you struggle to get free, you see Zayd sit up. Still gagged, he manages to free himself from the ropes that bind him. He climbs out of a jagged hole in the van’s smashed window and begins to stumble away from the wreckage.

  ‘Zayd!’ you try to shout. ‘Zayd, I’m alive! Help me!’ You are still gagged, but you make enough of a noise that he turns and notices you.

  He starts to hobble back towards the vehicle to save you. He stretches out a hand. Just at that moment, you hear a boom as the petrol tank ignites. A ball of flame throws Zayd backwards.

  You struggle against the heavy man on top of you, but the flames and the smoke are too much, and you collapse.

  You feel as though your soul is rising out of your body so that you can look down on the bonfire wreckage where your body lies burning. Zayd staggers away from the scene. You saved his life, but his chances of survival as a man with broken bones in the middle of the desert are slim.

  Your soul seems to rise even higher, and you can see the city of Mogadishu. You can even see the ruined theatre by the sea, where two women sit crying. Your Aunty Rahama has revived the lime lady; next she will struggle home despite the bullet wound in her leg, determined to find out what happened to you and to investigate the mystery of Bright Dream Orphanage.

  You float away from the earth, the coastline of Somalia now coming into view, like a silver thread on the edge of a ragged skirt. You can still see the orange spot where the car burns in the desert. It’s just a pinprick of brilliant light.

  Then you are gone.

  To return to your last choice and try again, go to scene 1.

  No, you reason. Even with the element of surprise, an attack could never work. You’ve lived in a war zone your whole life – you’ve seen gunfights and dead bodies – and it’s made you very realistic about the chances of a thirteen-year-old boy against two fully grown, armed men. Besides which, Aunty Rahama is gripping your wrist so tightly your fingers are starting to tingle. There’s nothing to do but sit in the hole and wince.

  There are doughy thuds and scraping sounds from above, and the lime lady’s quiet sobs, as Zayd is thrown to the ground, tied up and dragged away. Then, suddenly, there’s a shout – Zayd’s voice.

  ‘Cross the river on the banner of the eagle!’ he yells with all his strength. Then an engine roars into life, and he is gone.

  YOU LIE AWAKE that night thinking about those words. What did he mean? Was it a clue? How will you find out what Zayd meant? How must the lime lady feel tonight, all alone in the ruin, without her son?

  You and Aunty Rahama didn’t tell Jamilah what happened, because you don’t want to scare her. But in the darkness, Rahama’s hand finds yours, and you know she is lying awake thinking of it all too.

  ‘We promised the lime lady we’d investigate Zayd’s story,’ you whisper. ‘But how can we even hope to make a difference? He’s probably already…’

  You can’t bring yourself to say the word ‘dead’.

  ‘Sometimes I wonder if I’m making a difference,’ Rahama murmurs. ‘On the dark days, I think, What’s the point? I’m risking my life trying to bring justice to a country hell-bent on war and revenge. Will anyone even care?’

  She sighs.

  ‘We’ve lost so many freedoms in this country. Our family was taken away from us – and our country’s riches, and our peaceful society. We were left with so little, but we still have our words. The voices of Somali people have survived colonisation, dictatorships, twenty years of civil war, and a fundamentalist takeover. Whatever other freedoms they may have stolen from us, I will not let them take my voice. Never. The truth can kill Arsenal faster than any bullet.’

  ‘But what do you think Cross the river on the banner of the eagle means?’ you ask.

  ‘I don’t know,’ confesses Rahama. ‘But you and I are going to find out.’

  THAT MONDAY, RAHAMA insists that you and Jamilah go to school. You want to go to work with her and help, but you know that no amount of begging will change her mind.

  Your school only reopened a couple of weeks ago, after the most recent fighting died down. You’ve been working hard to try to catch up on your missed education. At least Aunty Rahama, being well educated, has been able to keep teaching you and Jamilah to read and write in Somali and Arabic anytime the school’s closed down. She’s also taught you all the English she knows, since so many journalists around the world use it.

  After school, you’re walking home with Jamilah along a busy street when suddenly Rahama appears from behind a shop and drags you down an alley. She wraps her arms around you and draws you both in close. She’s sweaty and breathless.

  ‘Things have changed,’ Rahama whispers urgently. ‘Arsenal are onto me – they know about my interview with Zayd, and they know that I know about Bright Dream. Don’t panic, though,’ she whispers to you, as you feel horror rise inside you. ‘They don’t know you were there, my darling. There’s no reason for them to come after you. All right?’

  You nod mutely, squeezing Jamilah to your side. You feel her shoulders trembling.

  ‘I need you to do something,’ Aunty Rahama goes on, looking you square in the eye. ‘If I don’t come home tonight…’

  For just a moment, her face wavers, as though it’s about to collapse. Are those tears in her eyes? Then she draws herself up and leans in again. Her voice is choked and fierce with love.

  ‘If I don’t come home tonight, your first job is to look after Jamilah. That’s more important than anything else. Your second job is to take our story to a safe place.’

  She pushes an object into your hands. It is a pen made of solid gold, shining in the sunlight. The writing tip is sharp as a sword, and at the other end a single ruby twinkles like a pomegranate seed.

  ‘What’s this?’ Jamilah whispers in awe.

  Rahama unscrews the pen and shows you a secret memory stick hidden inside.

  ‘Wow!’ you gasp.

  She quickly screws the pen closed again. ‘It’s the recording of the interview we did with Zayd. It’s the only other copy in existence, besides my file. There’s a note under my pillow that will explain everything. But I don’t want you to worry, okay? Sometimes you’ve got to do things that …’ She sighs. ‘Tough things. But they’re for the best. I hope you’ll understand why, one day. Just remember, I’ll always be with you both. Never lose hope.’

  ‘Rahama, wait!’ you cry. She’s turned around and is walking away from you, fast.

  Jamilah is clinging to you, tearful.
‘Where’s Aunty Rahama going?’ she asks. ‘What was she talking about?’

  You think fast. Rahama’s in danger. You have to follow her – but you can’t bring Jamilah.

  Your friend Mahadi walks by, and you grab his arm.

  ‘Mahadi! Can you do something for me? I’ve got to … run an errand for my aunty. Can you take Jamilah home safely?’

  Jamilah starts crying loudly. ‘No! No!’ she shouts.

  Mahadi looks worried. ‘Is everything okay?’

  You don’t have time to explain, and you can’t risk sharing Rahama’s secret with your friend. ‘It’s fine,’ you lie. You turn to Jamilah. Her hijab has slipped back off her hair, so you tug it back up, wipe her tears and squeeze her shoulders. ‘I’ll come back,’ you promise her. ‘Just go home with Mahadi and wait. I promise I’ll come back.’

  As you slip the pen into your pocket and turn to sprint after Rahama, you hope desperately that it’s a promise you will be able to keep.

  YOU RUN HARDER and longer than you ever have before, following glimpses of Rahama’s red hijab as she crosses busy roads, weaves between shops, and hurries down long streets and around corners.

  You’re just in time to see her red scarf disappear into the broadcasting building where she works. You run up to the door, but it’s locked. That’s strange. Why would she lock the door behind her?

  Just then, a man pushes past you. He has a gaunt face and a beard flecked with grey. He’s dressed in black, and he has a backpack slung over one shoulder. He also tries the door.

  ‘It’s locked,’ you say, wondering who this man is. Then he turns to face you and you stifle a gasp, because you recognise him: his name is Qasim, and he used to work in the grocery shop you live behind. He wanted to marry Aunty Rahama, but she wasn’t interested.

  He’s changed from a playful young man into some sort of a ghoul – a shadow with bones. His skin is waxy and his eyes look narrow and lifeless. Not a flicker of expression crosses his face as he glances at you.