The attack came before the morning bell.
The sun had only just begun to touch the tops of the trees when the first shots rang out — sharp, jarring cracks that shattered the stillness. At first, Emmanuel thought it was the popping of firecrackers or maybe roof tiles splitting in the heat. But then came the screams. High-pitched. Real.
The schoolyard exploded into chaos.
Students poured from classrooms like startled birds, some tripping, some barefoot, many too stunned to know which way to run. Teachers shouted commands that were swallowed by the noise. Books, sandals, schoolbags — all abandoned in the mad scramble for safety.
Smoke billowed from the science block. A fire had taken root there, licking its way toward the sky, black and furious. The crackle of flames joined the staccato of gunfire, and above it all, the shouted commands of men with weapons — strangers whose faces were wrapped in cloth, eyes cold and searching.
Emmanuel ducked behind a wall near the assembly hall, his chest heaving, heart slamming against his ribs. He peered out cautiously. The school gate was blocked — two armed men stood guard, rifles slung carelessly, watching. They weren't letting anyone out.
His mind spun wildly. Where's Paul? Where's Amina?
A group of girls had been herded into the open by the staffroom. Emmanuel's breath caught as he spotted her — Amina — among them, clutching her notebook to her chest, eyes wide, lips pressed tight. Her brother wasn't with her. She looked alone.
Without thinking, Emmanuel sprinted from his hiding spot, keeping low, weaving through overturned desks and broken benches. Gunfire popped again — he flinched but didn't stop.
He reached the corner of the staffroom just as one of the men barked an order in a language Emmanuel didn't fully understand. The girls were being pushed toward the gate, herded like animals. One tripped. Another cried out.
"Amina!" he hissed, ducking behind the wall and reaching out.
She turned, eyes locking with his.
"Stay there!" she mouthed.
But he shook his head and moved closer.
"Let her go!" he shouted suddenly, drawing the attention of one of the armed men.
The man turned, his head snapping toward the voice like a predator catching scent. Emmanuel ducked, but he was too late. Footsteps thundered toward him.
He stood to run — but a figure loomed in front of him, the butt of an AK-47 swinging hard.
Crack.
Pain exploded in his face. His vision went white.
Then black.
---
When he woke, the world was smoke and silence.
He was lying near the school canteen, the cold concrete pressing against his cheek. The taste of blood was in his mouth. His head throbbed violently — a dull, endless pounding. He tried to sit up but groaned and fell back down.
A few minutes passed — maybe more. Time had melted away.
Then he remembered. Amina. The girls.
He staggered to his feet, blood crusted at his temple. The school was nearly empty now. The attackers had gone. Fires still burned in corners, but the noise had passed. The neem tree stood quietly in the middle of the wreckage, its leaves scorched at the edges.
He stumbled toward the gate. The chains had been broken. The guards were gone.
Amina was nowhere to be seen.
He called her name — softly at first, then louder.
Nothing.
He searched the classrooms — overturned chairs, shattered windows, streaks of ash on the walls. A girl's sandal here, a torn hijab there. The trail led nowhere.
By evening, the police had come, too late to stop anything. They marked the grounds. Counted the bodies. Took names of the missing. A crowd of parents gathered at the gates, some weeping, some shouting, most simply silent in the face of what couldn't be undone.
Emmanuel sat by the neem tree, eyes fixed on the horizon, waiting for a figure that wouldn't return. His head throbbed, and blood had dried along his cheek, but he didn't notice.
Pastor Obadiah found him there, long after dark.
"Son," he said gently, kneeling beside him.
"She was right there," Emmanuel whispered. "I saw her. I tried…"
"I know."
"I couldn't stop them."
His father placed a hand on his shoulder, firm and steady. "It wasn't your fault."
But Emmanuel didn't respond. He was watching the school gate, as if Amina might still walk back through it, her notebook in hand, her smile bright even in the gloom.
But she didn't.
And the silence she left behind was louder than any prayer he'd ever spoken.