Vision in Red by Sajjad Rasool - HTML preview

Vision in Red

"Don't look at the cameras," Amal whispered.

"I'm not," Yasmin murmured. Her face was pale, her eyes fixed on the shoulder of the laborer in front of her. "I'm looking at the numbers."

Above the rotating steel turnstiles, a red LED counter ticked down.

150 allowed.

149...

148...

Every time the turnstile clattered—CLACK-CLACK-CLACK—the number dropped. And with every drop, the crowd surged forward, a spasm of panic rippling through the bodies. What happened when it hit zero? The red light would flash. The gate would lock. The cage would close.

Amal clutched her handbag to her chest. Inside, hidden in the lining of a pack of tissues, was the iron key.

It was hot. Not burning, like it had been in the nightmare, but feverish. It pulsed against her ribs, a steady thump-thump that was out of sync with her own heart.

"They swapped the soldiers," a man behind them muttered. "New unit. Golani. Look at the eyes."

Amal glanced up at the bulletproof glass booth overlooking the terminal. A soldier was sitting there, bored, tapping on a phone. He wasn't looking at the crowd. He didn't need to. The architecture did the watching for him.

The crush intensified. They were entering the "Tube"—the final twenty meters before the metal detectors. The roof lowered here, amplifying the sound of coughing and shuffling feet. It felt like being swallowed by a large, concrete intestine.

Topside, the Zenana buzzed —a constant, mosquito-whine that drilled into the skull. But down here, there was a different sound.

A low hum.

It was coming from the walls. From the floor tiles.

Amal felt it in her teeth. It was the same frequency she had heard in Huda's mirror. The frequency of erasure.

"They're scanning deeper today," Yasmin whispered, rubbing her temple. "Can you feel it? It's like a headache in my bones."

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