The Celestial Gate by Avital Dicker (red white royal blue txt) 📗

Maybe he can help us,” Amalia whispered. “I’ll try to get a hold of him.” Remembering that there was no cell phone reception, she muttered, “There must be a landline phone somewhere in this building.”

“Come with me,” said Sual, there’s a phone at the nurses’ station. I’ll show you.”

The boys were just emptying their backpacks when Anise showed up, out of breath from running. “You’ll never guess where I’ve been,” she panted.

“What the hell is wrong with you? We were worried sick!” Mor said, taking his irritation out on her.

“No, you don’t get it. It’s amazing! I’ve got to show you. Nobody in a million years will ever be able to find us!” Anise exclaimed.

Yam wanted both to hug her and hit her. This girl doesn’t listen to anybody, plus she drives me crazy, he thought. And why the hell couldn’t he stop thinking about her? At least, she seemed to have forgotten their quarrel from before, and he sure wasn’t going to remind her of it. In fact, right now, he preferred not to speak at all.

Anise, eyes flashing, continued to ramble on about some ancient tunnel. “I don’t know when it was dug, but it looks at least a thousand years old. Maybe more,” she said with wonder, and went on to describe the paintings and the sliding rock-wall that trapped her inside and how she looked and looked forever until she found the mechanism to open it again. “Just like in The Hunger Games,” she laughed.

Yam could no longer hold back. “Stop talking movies. You’re imagining things. All of this sounds surreal. And, in any case, you’re over an hour late,” he burst out in anger.

Mor saw the dark clouds gathering again in Anise’s eyes. The last thing he wanted was another fight. “Let’s get going,” he interjected and started cutting the cord he’d taken out of his backpack.

The three heaped all the branches they’d collected into a pile, tying each stick separately. After an hour or so, they had some twenty improvised torches.

“Now what?” a tired Anise asked.

“Now we wait for night,” Yam answered. Anise ignored him.

Mor had found two cans of corn in his bag. Opening one with his knife, he put the other one back. It was the last of their cans. Their food was running out and they had no idea when they’d get out of here. While a can of corn split three ways wasn’t going to quiet any rumbling stomachs, it was better than nothing.

Yam set the clock on his cell phone to ring at three in the morning. He tried to fall asleep, but sleep eluded him.

Anise couldn’t fall asleep either. She thought back to the girls at school who’d mocked her just for being Arab and how, in other places, others would have mocked those same girls just for being Jewish.

“My mother always says that God doesn’t belong to any religion and that what’s important is to be a good person, not blindly follow thousand-year-old rules,” Yam said softly, thinking about his parents who’d split up because of a stupid argument over religion, throwing their love away over nothing.

The three must eventually have drifted off because, when Yam’s phone alarm went off, they all startled awake. Anise again found Yam’s arm across her body, holding her tight. It irked her. Yam irked her in general. She couldn’t understand what she’d seen in him to begin with, but there was no time to follow that train of thought right now.

After quickly getting their things in order and dividing the torches up among them, they returned to the crawl space they’d been in earlier. Yam was the first to reach the opening to the tunnel above the terrorists’ chamber. He peeked down below and saw only a single lamp glowing. The bonfire had burned itself out long ago and the men all seemed to be sleeping. Even the guard, leaning against the wall, was snoring, his head tipped back at an odd angle.

Mor found a rock in the tunnel wall to serve as an anchor. He tied the rope to it, tugging it several times to make sure it would hold.

“We have to light the torches together and throw them down at the same time,” he whispered.

Anise was pale, and the pulse in her temple throbbed.

“There is no turning back after this,” Yam breathed the words softly at her. “Nobody has to play the hero.”

Anise stared at him intently. “No. We have to do this. God has become a symbol of hatred and violence and somebody has to fix it,” she answered.

“Let’s do it then. It’s do-or-die time,” Mor tried to lighten the atmosphere. Nobody as much as cracked a smile.

“Everyone remembers where to aim?” Yam asked. Mor and Anise nodded.

“Let’s get ready,” Mor whispered, aiming two torches at the weapons cache in the corner. Anise aimed for the sleeping men, while Yam aimed for the bonfire. On Mor’s count of three, they heaved with all their might and then quickly crawled backward, covering their faces to avoid inhaling the smoke.

The fire caught within seconds. The men below started waking up in a panic. Several had on clothing that was now in flames and they rolled across the floor to put them out. Thick smoke quickly filled the chamber.

Mor looked at the heap of weapons. The cache should have blown by now, he thought, worried. But a second later, the chamber boomed with a string of explosions accompanied by shrieks and curses in Arabic.

Mor breathed with relief and allowed himself a little smile. For the time being, everything was going according to plan.

The three looked at the terrorists stampeding over their over one another on the way out of the inferno. Within seconds, the chamber was empty.

They waited another few minutes until the popping sounds of exploding ammunition ceased.

“All right, let’s get to work,” Mor muttered. He again made sure the rope was securely anchored to the rock. Yam was first to go down, while Mor and Anise quickly followed.

Though the