Chapter 7 - Expectations

"You got your bag secure?" August asks as he adjusts the two duffel bags on his shoulders. His body is robed. His face is hidden almost entirely with wrappings, sunglasses covering his eyes. "Wraps adjusted well?"

"Yeah. They're not tight. And the bag's a little heavy, but I can handle it." Layla responds. The book bag's weight grating on the skin of her shoulders. She too is robed and covered, her hair hidden away under a baseball cap.

August nods, his gaze sweeping over Layla with a critical eye. "Good. Try not to walk too rigidly. Relax your shoulders a bit."

Layla exhales, rolling her shoulders as she adjusts her stance. "Like this?"

"Better." August says, then steps forwards towards the door. The door creaks as he opens it slightly.. "Stay close to me. I can guard you if anything goes wrong, but only if you're near me. Now, we need to look like a pair of guys simply walking around, not a pair trying to blend in."

Layla follows his lead as they step out onto the dimly sunlit streets. The early morning is thick with dust, a few people moving about and paying them no mind. The village is stirring, but not yet awake.

The sunlight is still fairly harsh, hitting the two of them in force. Layla squints, shielding her eyes with her hand as she walks by August's side. August scans the street, alert for any potential threats or signs of surveillance, as he takes out spare sunglasses which are then offered to Layla.

"Thanks", she murmurs, her voice barely audible over the steadily growing din of the village. She slips them on, the dark lenses now darkening the world, hiding her eyes from view.

As they continue down the streets, the two of them stay close together, their movements with purpose. As they round a corner, August spots a small patrol of Taliban militia up ahead, their black and green uniforms stark against the gray buildings. They're moving methodically, checking identification cards and stopping suspicious-looking pedestrians. Layla's breath hitches as she notices the patrol as well.

"Shit", August thinks, his mind already working out a route around the patrol. He formulates his plan and leads Layla around a corner into an alley. The alley is narrow and dim, crowded with refuse. The stench of rotten garbage filling the air.

Layla stumbles slightly, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps. "Did they see us?" she whispers, her words trembling. "What do we do now?" 

August looks back, seeing none of the patrol. "Hold your breath."

"What do yo-" Her words cut off as in one fluid motion, August wraps his arm around her and leaps, his strength propelling them upwards to the roof of the nearby building. He lands silently, his boots crunching on loose gravel as Layla stifles a cry of surprise. Below, the leader of the patrol is heard barking out orders, clearly trying to find out where August and Layla went. His voice grows distant as they fail to spot the two.

"H-how did you do that?" 

August ignores her as he keeps moving from rooftop to rooftop. Layla clings onto him tightly, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps as they soar through the air, her heart pounding in her chest.

August judges the distance sufficient and drops down in another alley. He lands silently, only the bags creating an iota of sound from their ruffling. Layla stumbles on impact but August catches her, steadying her against the wall. Layla's breathing slows, her face pale in the dim light. "That was..." Layla leans against the grimy alley wall, her chest heaving as she tries to catch her breath. The adrenaline from the narrow escape still courses through her veins, making her feel both exhilarated and terrified. She looks up at August, her eyes wide and uncertain behind the borrowed sunglasses.

"That was…" she starts, her voice shaky. "That was crazy. I knew you were strong but…"

"Well, at least nobody noticed you were a girl. I'd say that's a success." August speaks in a low measured tone, his words carrying a subtle edge.

Layla swallows hard, nodding to try and convince herself. Her fingers absently fidgeting with the hem of her robes. "I guess," she murmurs. "But they're looking for us, you know?"

August remains silent for a moment, considering the situation. 

He continues in a quiet but determined voice, "We keep moving. For now, we're one step ahead."

"Okay," she whispers, her breath still coming in short gasps. "Where do we go?"

August leads her out of the alley back onto the streets. The village hums with tension, the militia barking out commands trying to look for them.

August sees a parked vehicle nearby, its black and green paint job unmistakable as to who owns it. Layla's eyes widen as she follows his gaze, her body tensing.

"No, no, no. What are you thinking?", she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. "We can't just… we can't steal one of their cars. That's insane."

August considers the risks, weighing them against the potential benefits. "It's a risk, but one we can take under the circumstances." He approaches the vehicle, circling around it, his eyes keenly scanning the exterior for any signs of tampering or traps. He crouches down, examining the underside and the wheel wells, finding nothing out of the ordinary. Satisfied, he goes to the driver's side and opens the door, tossing one of his duffel bags to the back seat. Layla hesitates for a moment before she tosses her own book bag onto the back seat as well, getting in the passenger's seat and closing the door as she does so. August slides into the driver's seat, finding the keys still in the ignition, a small oversight on the part of the previous driver.

August closes his side's door and says, "Strap yourself in. We're not waiting any longer."

Layla fumbles with her seatbelt, her hands trembling slightly as she fastens it into place. "Are you sure about this?", she asks. "What if we get caught?"

He speaks with quiet conviction, "Better than living under them."

Layla's face tightens, her jaw clenching as she nods slowly. "I guess you're right." Her words are laced with resignation. "At least this way, we have a chance." Her hands grip the seat as she composes herself.

August turns the ignition, starting the engine, the sound of the motor filling the confined space. He eases the vehicle out of its parking spot, his foot gentle on the gas pedal. The car moves forward at a snail's pace, its engine rumbling softly beneath the hood.

As he pulls onto the main road, the car moves at a steady ten miles per hour, August's eyes constantly scanning the sidewalks and alleys for any signs of Taliban patrols. Layla sits tensely by him, her fingers digging into the fabric of her seat.

As he continues to drive at a slow but steady pace, he spots a checkpoint ahead. His eyes narrow as he takes in the scene: a group of armed men, their faces grim and their eyes hard, standing beside a makeshift barricade. A small crowd of locals, some of them visibly agitated, have gathered on the sidewalk.

August's only response to the view is, "Shit."