The world zoomed by our train. In the blue sky, the ball of fire dipped low in the hazy horizon; I could tell that we were now in Sindh Province, Pakistan. Dust flew past the closed window of the train. Replacing the busy towns of Punjab where we had just traversed, now I saw long-skirted women in the fields, like colorful flowers, tying bundles of hay. Their figures streaked across my window, reminding me of an ever-changing painting. I imagined the smell of camel dung and dust and heat outside, even though a fresh, citrusy aroma drifted throughout our train compartment.

“Get ready, Jacqueline! We’re almost there,” Mom coaxed. I shoved my few belongings into a backpack.

Minutes later, the train lurched to a stop. In the station’s dim light, I saw the town’s name painted in Urdu on a grungy signboard. As soon as I stepped off the train, a hot gust of air swept my short hair to the side. Sweat tingled all over my body, and I already missed the air-conditioned train compartment. People bustled around us like busy ants as we stood fixed in the middle of the platform, waiting for Dad to finish his phone call.

“Oh no.” Dad sounded worried.

Curious, I nudged him. “What? What?” When he didn’t respond, I patted him several times on his elbow.

“What?”

Caleb grabbed me. “Stop it! He’s obviously busy.”
Annoyed, I pulled away from my older brother. “Stop telling me what to do,” I glowered.

I expected Mom to scold us, but when I looked up at her, I realized from her somber expression that something was wrong. My other two teenaged siblings were talking with Mom, who had overheard Dad’s phone conversation.

Chloe’s voice was serious as she asked, “What should we do?”
“I could call Daniel,” Elijah suggested. “Maybe we could spend the night at his house.”

Dad ended the call and put his phone in his pocket. Apprehension was written on his face as he wiped the sweat off it with his tawal, the light cloth Sindhi men wear on their shoulders. He looked around him and noticed that his whole family was watching.

Even Caleb and I were quiet now, listening.

“Benazir Bhutto was just shot in Rawalpindi.”

The words stubbornly lingered in the air.

Mom murmured under her breath, “I thought she was so well-loved!”

I stared at my parents and then went closer to Chloe and whispered, “What’s happening?”

She leaned down and said, “We just have to be a careful as we go back home. People aren’t happy that the Prime Minister’s been shot. But it’ll be fine.” She hugged me reassuringly.

Dad broke the quiet tension. “Let’s load the car!” I glanced toward my three older siblings. None of us was quite sure what was going on, so we obediently trailed behind Mom and Dad out of the train station. I spotted our beloved pick-up truck in a corner of the parking lot. It seemed like its red paint was peeling even more than before, and the glass was missing from one of the back windows. Dust and dirt powdered our beat-up truck like my Pakistani friends’ whitening makeup. Mom sat up in front with Dad, and all four of us kids piled in the back with the luggage.

It took us awhile to escape the city’s streets, filled with vendors returning home on their frustratingly slow donkey carts and motorbikes weaving through the lazy traffic.
Finally, we were zooming past darkly silhouetted mango orchards, canals, and solitary sand formations. I smiled as the cool desert breeze whipped my hair around and chilled my sweaty skin. We were going home! I couldn’t wait to see my friends again and snuggle with my cats and climb trees and breathe in the familiar dusty heat.

Chloe put her arm around me and squeezed. We sat there in silence as Caleb snored near us, and Elijah stared out a window.

Just as I was drifting to sleep, Chloe’s grip on me tightened. But it wasn’t out of love. Confused, I turned my head and saw my older sister’s eyes filled with concern and fear. It wasn’t like Chloe to be scared.

“Chloe?” I whispered.

She pulled my head closer to her, but she didn’t answer me. For a few seconds, my head moved up and down because of her steady breathing, and all I could hear was the sound of our truck struggling along the unevenly paved road. Suddenly, glass shattered over us, tickling the back of my neck.

I cried out, clutching Chloe.

My sister’s soft fingers quickly brushed the shards of glass off my neck. I whimpered and tightly hugged her, trying to find comfort in her arms. Dad was swerving, driving the truck like a madman. Caleb woke up, and Elijah and Chloe were urgently trying to make sense of our situation.

“What’s Dad trying to do?” Chloe raised her voice so that she could be heard over the angry noise in the roads. She peered through the glass that looked into the truck’s front where Mom and Dad were sitting.

“Mom just messaged me and said that all the roads home are blocked because of rioting. There are angry people everywhere burning tires and cars because of Benazir’s death,” Elijah answered.

I raised my head from Chloe’s shoulder and looked around. My eyes widened at the billowing smoke outside, which was engulfing our truck. I saw the broken window behind me and realized that the glass had come from there. The smell of burning rubber reached my nose and made me cough. I had seen riotous hordes outside our compound before, but I had never felt as vulnerable as I did now.

We veered to avoid piles of tires in the road and cars’ blackened carcasses. A crowd of furious men began running behind us with sticks.

“Elijah, watch out!” Chloe warned as somebody threw another rock at the window behind him.

I jumped at the sound of the glass crashing and saw Elijah duck, barely escaping the rock that landed on the truck’s floor.

I shivered. Uncertainty filled my mind. Then fear. Then concern. I bent down and looked through the window to make sure that Mom and Dad were all right. Dad’s hands were clenched on the steering wheel, and Mom was turned toward him, her face uneasy.

“Benazir!” A man with a stick yelled.

The men around him roared, “Bhutto! Bhutto!”

As they continued their enraged chant, I wondered what we would do. If all the roads to home really were blocked, how would we get there? Just as the thought crossed my mind, the truck veered to the right, into a small village. The cluster of mud huts and thatched roofs surrounded by thorn bushes welcomed us in. I looked back and noticed that the men with sticks were far behind now. As we drove in, some villagers appeared and closed the entrance to their village with large piles of thorns. The crowd was cut off, and the sounds of their passionate shouting soon grew distant.

My siblings let out sighs of relief. Caleb and I looked at each other, uncertain about how we should react. I hugged Chloe, and she squeezed me back and smiled.

We remained in silence while Mom and Dad got out and greeted the villagers. I could understand snatches of their conversation in Gujerati and soon realized that my parents knew these people.

I leaned my head on Chloe’s shoulder, weariness suddenly overtaking my fading adrenaline rush.

Even though I felt some security in this small village, I couldn’t help but wonder: What now?