Page 63 of Skipping Stones

Linney’s face appeared on screen to wrap up the story. She looked tired, Derek thought, as he scrutinized her face. He knew she wore makeup to cover dark circles under her eyes, but he knew her so well, he could still tell. It was in her voice and her eyes too. It must be difficult over in Syria.

“For TCN News, I’m Linney MacDonnell, in Aleppo.”

Derek’s eyebrows raised. So not Damascus. He wondered how long she’d been there. He hoped she was safe.

The news anchor introduced the next story and Derek turned off the TV with the clicker—it hadn’t left his hands. He looked at his watch. The sun hadn’t come up yet over there. Too early to text. He wanted to wait until Linney would be able to reply. Tomorrow or the next day. They’d reconnect and he would apologize. And then everything would be right again.

23

The bombing in Aleppo had been going on at a distance most of the day. Linney and Ernst—he had arrived in the northern Syrian city just the day before her—had eaten dinner at the hotel restaurant after she filmed her standup, and then fallen into bed with each other.

While they lay together, they felt the rumblings getting more intense. Something had changed and their instincts kicked in. Ernst threw aside the covers and pulled on his pants and a khaki shirt. He grabbed one of his favourite cameras and slung it over his shoulder. Work was work, after all. Linney dressed quickly as well, knowing Hassan and Grant would be doing the same. She sat on the side of the bed, her heart pounding, as she tied her hair up on the top of her head—the heat and humidity in the city were oppressive—and then grabbed her laptop and phone. “I’ll go down and work in the bar with the others,” she told him. Whether you were drinking coffee, tea, soft drinks, or liquor, the hotel bar had become a central meeting point to trade information and to get away from some of the horrors they saw. “Please be careful out there.”

Ernst leaned down and kissed her tenderly. “See you soon.” He grabbed his camera bag and headed out to take more of his award-winning photographs.

Linney sat down at a small table alone, wanting to work rather than socialize. She texted a source who would probably speak on camera and then waved at friends from Agence France-Press and another reporter she knew from Associated Press, who were drinking coffee together. Linney furrowed her brow and concentrated hard to put words down on the page for this story. They’d shoot her standup, and maybe an interview, when the guys returned but the more she could write now, the faster they could get it on the air.

Suddenly the bottles in the bar began clinking against each other and the hanging pendent lights swayed back and forth. The explosions were closer now. Linney was scared for the first time in her career and she wasn’t alone. Adrenaline wasn’t enough to combat it, and her heart thumped loudly in her chest as the journalists around her made macabre jokes trying to relieve the tension.

Linney pushed her glasses up her nose and shivered. She jumped when the room shook again. She looked at her watch. Where were Grant and Hassan? And Ernst. It had been too long. They should have been back by now. She glanced around, wondering if they should take cover somewhere else, and pulled out her phone to text her colleagues again. But before she could, there was a deafening noise and Linney was thrown across the room by a force she didn’t understand. Her head slammed into a wall and she slumped to the ground as debris fell heavily on top of her, pinning her down. The world went black.

* * *

Mac and MJ saw the first reports of the devastating bombing in Aleppo, and they both had to sit down. Mac had sent Linney and Grant there and knowing them, they’d be right in the middle of things. MJ tried Linney’s cell. Nothing. Mac couldn’t reach Grant either. He tried every contact he had and finally got through to someone. It sounded like chaos. Nobody knew anything.

The newsroom was solemn, knowing two of their own were unaccounted for. Finally, there was a shout. “Video from Grant!” Somehow their cameraman had found a satellite link and had uploaded what he had. They watched in silence, and MJ’s jaw trembled as she fought to stay composed. Mac grabbed the phone, dialling the number he knew by heart and this time, it went through.

“Grant, it’s Mac. You’re good?” Without waiting for an answer, he barrelled on. “I haven’t heard from Hassan or Linney. Do you know where they are?”

“Hassan is fine. He was with me. We were out shooting. But Linney? I left her in the … I have to go Mac. I’ll call you when I know something.” And the call dropped.

Mac ran his hands through his thinning hair. He jammed his arms into his jacket and barked at the staff. “I’ll be back.” MJ jumped at the tone of his voice, but she still couldn’t tear her eyes away from the video feed.

* * *

Linney moaned. She felt pain so excruciating she couldn’t decipher where it was from. Her head was throbbing, her hair was matted with blood, and she couldn’t move. She could taste concrete and dust and she could hear shouting. She blinked several times, but everything was a blur and the room was spinning. She felt a hand on her shoulder and thought she heard someone talking to her, but she couldn’t make out the words through the whooshing in her ears. She tried to take a deep breath to clear her head. There was a stabbing pain, and she fainted again.

* * *

Mac had been gone too long. MJ pulled herself together and looked around the newsroom. She was terrified for Linney, and she could only imagine how the news had affected him. As much as she didn’t want to get involved, she knew she needed to go and find him. And she had a pretty good idea where he’d be.

When MJ arrived at the pub, she saw Mac sitting at the bar beside another man. There was a glass of scotch in front of Mac and she wanted to scream. He was in charge now and she’d begrudgingly grown to respect him, despite his history with Linney, and he could not go down this rabbit hole. Then she realized his hands were in his lap.

“You gonna drink that, mate?” MJ heard the dishevelled man in a stained suit speak to Mac with a slurred voice. “You’ve been lookin’ at it for a long time.”

“I don’t know,” Mac muttered morosely, half to himself. It would be so easy. He took a deep breath and picked up the glass. The smell was like an old friend, enticing him, promising comfort. He put the glass down but kept staring at it.

MJ walked up beside him. “Mac!” she said sharply, trying to shock him back into the present.

“It’s all yours, pal.” Mac threw a ten-pound note on the bar and left the building with MJ. They didn’t speak, but his phone rang just as they reached the studio. He grabbed MJ’s arm to stop her and they stood outside as he answered curtly. “Just tell me.”

MJ could see relief on Mac’s face, but she still held her breath as he continued to listen to Grant, his phone to one ear and a finger in the other. The background noise must have been intense.

“So?” she asked quietly after he hung up. She needed to know before they went inside.

“She’s alive, but Grant said four are dead.” MJ blanched as he continued. “It sounds like chaos over there. They found Linney under some rubble inside the hotel. Broken bones for sure and he said there’s a bad head wound. They’re worried about internal injuries too. She’s being airlifted with some others to Germany now.”

“Did he talk to her?”