Looking around, Rebeka saw that the soldiers had taken on a less threatening posture, their weapons pointed toward the ground, faces fixed in neutral expressions. The leader seemed to be holding court, his rifle slung over his chest, hands raised in a calming gesture. He was speaking in English, but Rebeka couldn’t make out the specific words, her ears still ringing from the earlier blow. Whatever he was saying seemed to be working; her fellow passengers had mostly lapsed into silence and were moving back toward the soldiers cautiously. As Rebeka watched from a distance, Beni Abruzzi stumbled forward and dropped to his knees beside his cousin’s body, his mouth working silently. The other passengers seemed equally glued to the disturbing sight, but nevertheless, they kept moving forward. It was as if they recognized the futility of running, that for the moment, their best option was to comply, to adhere to their captors’ demands. Captors. The word seemed to lodge in her head for some reason, even though these men were dressed as soldiers. To the north, a rapidly approaching truck was kicking up plumes of dust on the KKH, its windshield sparkling in the pale yellow sun. The armed Pakistanis didn’t seem to notice the vehicle, which gave Rebeka a very bad feeling. After what they had just done, they wouldn’t be looking for extra attention. As her head cleared, the truth started to dawn, piece by piece, like a jigsaw puzzle coming together before her eyes. Only this puzzle was forming a picture she didn’t want to see: the soldiers were expecting the truck.

They didn’t need the bus, because they had the truck. They were going to leave the bus all along, because it served as a message. The bus was proof of what had happened here, and the truck was taking them somewhere else.

They were being kidnapped.

When the truth hit her, Rebeka was overcome by a wave of foreboding.