“We need to get to the barricade,” yelled Adrian. “Strength in numbers.”
“Wait, stay down,” I shouted. “Get the kid under the car.”
“PAPA!!!” screamed the boy.
Red lines of tracer fire flew through the square. I looked above. If snipers were positioned in windows, it didn’t matter where we were. They had an open shot. And then I heard my name.
“Florescu!”
As I turned toward the sidewalk, Adrian took off running for the barricade. A bullet pierced his chest. He took a step, tripped, and crumpled face-first onto the pavement.
“That’s Florescu!” Hands seized me from behind.
Luca jumped up to protect me, and the world dropped into slow motion.
“Criiiistian!” yelled Luca.
A bullet tore through Luca’s right shoulder, another ripped through his arm. Blood burst like fireworks in front of me. Multiple rounds flew nearby. I felt my heartbeat in my ears. Luca swayed, staggered, and buckled to the ground.
“LUCA!”
I fought, kicking, trying to escape the hands. A thud to my head. My vision blurred, warping the view of my best friend lying in a pool of blood on the street.
“Luca,” I whispered.
And then the world went black.
66
?AIZECE ?I ?ASE
C’mon, wake up. You gotta wake up.”
Someone was slapping me.
I blinked, trying to make out the scene. Over a dozen people, crammed together in a moving vehicle.
“You’ve had a nasty blow to the head. You passed out, but you gotta wake up,” said a man.
“Where are we?”
“In a police van. They’re taking us to Station 14.”
I slowly sat up and looked around. There were adults in the van and also children.
“Luca,” I whispered. My head was so heavy.
“They dragged him away,” said a small voice. Peering through the darkness was the little boy who had been crouching near the tire.
“Who dragged him away?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” said the boy. “That’s when they took me. They got my dad and sister too.” He pointed to shadowed figures in the vehicle.
The van jerked to a halt. The back door flew open.
“Get out!”
They herded us from the van toward what looked like a garage. I stumbled, my head pounding.
“Put your hands up!”
We put our hands on the building and they began to search us. Let them, I thought. And then I remembered. The papers from Amnesty International. They were in my coat pocket.
And they were a death sentence.
Was it the left pocket, or the right pocket? My head, I couldn’t remember which pocket I had put them in. I had to check. Had to shove the papers down my pants.
There was a tart, oily smell and moisture beneath my fingers. I squinted: wet green paint.
Our hands in paint, they were marking us. If I touched my jacket or my pants, they’d notice. And then I heard it.
Screaming.
Torturous screaming from inside the garage. Male voices. Female voices. Screaming and begging for mercy. They made us wait, listening, anticipating our turn. The children began to cry. I closed my eyes and thought of Luca.
Hang on, Luca. Please.
When the guard got to me, he didn’t search me, he merely frisked me. I was both relieved and terrified. The papers were still on me.
After several minutes, the sound of screaming dissipated. Guards lined us up and marched us inside. Yellow, caged lights buzzed and sizzled, illuminating the square space. Green handprints of all sizes lined the walls. Water dripped from a pipe in the center of the room, plunking into a pool of blood. A patch of hair, still attached to a piece of scalp, lay discarded.
A guard tossed water from a bucket, rinsing torture from the cement.
“Next round. Face the wall!” barked the guard. “Hands up!”
“Please,” a man pleaded. “Leave my children. Take me, but let my children go.”
They grabbed him and pulled him to the center of the room. While they beat the man, they slashed at our backs with canes.
“Why didn’t you leave your children at home?” they yelled. “You brought them to an illegal demonstration. You will pay for that.”
“Papa, no!” cried a girl.
They took us in turns, dragging each person to the center of the garage, kicking, punching, and clubbing each one of us. When it was finally his turn to step forward, the little boy fainted and slid down the wall.
To gather courage, I focused on Luca. Hold on, Luca.
Yes. I would think of what they did to Luca. What they did to Bunu. Resolve rose within me. Three men dragged me to the center of the room and pushed me down on the concrete. Each time I tried to stand, they slammed me down. I tried nonetheless.