Shadows Behind

Chapter 1“You can go, woman,” the guttural Serb language penetrated Niana's mind as she woke, shivering under the thin blanket. Around her, one n***d light bulb glowed from the rafters where the women and girls attempted to sleep. Snores, breathing and the occasional moan or scream filled the barren room. Oddly enough, this stinking overcrowded place was called The Haven, for no attacks took place here. She staggered to her feet with vomit in her mouth and grabbed her jacket. God it was freezing. The cold eyes of the Serb officer glowered at her. “Go,” the man repeated. “We don't need you any more.” “Where?” the woman replied. “Albania,” he snarled. “Your kind aren't wanted in Kosovo.” “But how? And what of my friends who were in my car.” “They stay to service my men. You have thirty minutes to leave. My orders are to shoot all the pregnant sluts. If you're here after that time...” He grinned and ran a finger across his throat. “Go, Niana,” a shaking voice spoke in her own language. “Tell the world about us. It is stupid to stay and be massacred.” It was Shemsie, who was another of those in her car when it had been stopped on the way to the border. Niana nodded, squeezed her friend's hand and walked away. Outside, freezing air assaulted her face but at least the stink was gone. She was driven for forty minutes up a gravel road into the mountains and told to get out. “See yah in hell,” the Serb driver said, laughing as Niana shivered at the roadside and watched as the Russian jeep reversed and headed away. * Silence reigned on that winter’s day in 1999. Everywhere Niana looked there was nothing but virgin snow, with no footprints or tire marks beyond where the vehicle turned. A watery sun cast its light from a pale blue sky. The rest of the morning was but a numb memory as the hungry, freezing, pregnant woman staggered along the mountain road. Every bend lead to another and every step crunched through icy snow. By noon the temperature was still barely above freezing. Niana was so cold she was certain her cheekbones had frozen. The woollen gloves barely managed to keep her fingers from being completely numb, while walking helped to keep her feet from freezing. After four hours, the exhausted refugee came to one more bend and another patch of nothingness. Thoughts turned to her family, husband, father, mother, elder brother and almost everyone else she knew. They were all dead. Her only other friends were those at the army camp. If for no other reason, she owed it to them and the unborn child within her to survive and to tell NATO of the atrocities that had befallen her people. God, she was hungry. Her stomach rumbled while the unborn baby kicked. She staggered as the scene in front became blurred and the trees above began to spin. No, she was not about to give in. Somewhere ahead was her own kind, someone to help. She took another shaky step, staggered and fell to her knees. “Oh, Zymer,” she cried but by now not even the tears came. “I'm so, so sorry. Our baby.” Niana gritted her teeth and rose once more to her feet. Another bend was ahead, more snow, more trees, the weak sunlight and another bend. She stumbled forward and blinked. There was something else. A farm wagon covered in snow was parked on the roadside as if it had pulled over, perhaps to let an oncoming vehicle pass. Linked to the front of it, looking so bright in the white world, stood a tractor; a red tractor. Hope surged through her. The depression and fatigue of a second before disappeared as she broke into a slithery run. “Hello,” she screamed. “Is anyone there? Hello.” But all was quiet. Not a sound returned. She reached the wagon and grabbed a canvas cover tied to the wooden side. Shaking with anticipation, she lifted the corner of the flap and gazed into the dim interior. Four enormous brown eyes ringed in terror gazed up at her and children's sobbing filled the air. * “Don't be afraid,” Niana whispered in Albanian, her native tongue. “I will not hurt you.” There were two children huddled in the front corner of the wagon, a little girl who looked no more than four and a boy who was probably three years older. “What are your names?” she asked quietly. It was the girl who spoke. “I'm Adona,” she said as she wiped away her tears. “Mummy's gone.” “Hi Adona,” Niana said, and then switched her eyes to the boy. He gazed at her briefly and then glanced away without saying a word. “Halia doesn't talk,” the little girl said. Niana smiled at the boy. “And you won't talk to me, Halia?” she asked. Round eyes stared at her but the only response was a slight shrug. “That's okay,” Niana replied, glancing around. For the first time she noticed several corpses lying almost covered by the snow beyond the tractor. Oh dear God, she thought, it must be the children's family. “Mummy told us to hide when the soldiers came,” the little girl explained while her brother continued to stare out with wide unblinking eyes. “There were big bangs and shouts then it went quiet. We waited for Mummy but she didn't come back.” “How long ago was that?” Niana asked. “A long, long time. It got dark and snowed all day and it got dark again.” For someone so young Adona's explanation was amazing. She knew the corpses were those of her father and grandparents and she also realized her mother wasn't among the dead. They had waited at least two days, possibly three and had eaten rations in the wagon. They used the canvas covering like a tent and it helped keep the freezing cold temperature within bearable levels. “Okay,” Niana said. “Your mummy must have been held up somewhere so what say, I stay and help you.” “She was crying,” Adona whispered. “The soldiers made her cry.” “Oh Adona,” Niana replied fighting her own tears. “It will be fine. We'll find your mummy and until we do, I'll stay with you. Okay?” “Yes, please,” the girl said while her brother gave a smile of approval but still said nothing. “Right. So let's see if we can get the tractor going, shall we?” * The tractor seemed to be in good condition but, when Niana tried the starter motor, it grumbled but nothing fired. “Did the soldiers touch the tractor?” she asked Adona. “I don't know. We were hiding. When we came out, Daddy, Grandma and Grandpa were lying in the snow. The bad men and Mummy were gone.” Niana realized that if she continued to turn the starter she'd just run the battery down but what could be done? The tractor could be their salvation. Even with food she doubted if they could walk out. “Have you a stove or burner?” she asked. “I think so,” came Adona's vague reply, but it was her brother who nodded and ran to the front corner of the wagon. He returned with a small methylated spirits burner and box of matches. “Oh Halia,” Niana praised. “What a great help you are.” The boy smiled. Half an hour later, the trio had their first hot meal, canned stew with potatoes and other vegetables added. A hot chocolate drink followed this and warm water to wash dirty faces. Afterwards, Niana boiled up another kettle of water and tipped it over the engine cowling of the tractor. She doubted if this somewhat amateurish effort would help but she had to try something. The starter motor whined and, on the second attempt, there was a chug and a puff of black smoke rose into the air. “Almost,” screamed Adona. The next attempt worked. The engine fired, roared into life and the two children jumped up to a small wooden bench behind the driver's seat. “We sat here with Daddy,” Adona shouted above the rumble of the engine. The young mother-to-be smiled warmly and said, “Let's go.” She selected a low gear and the tractor moved forward along the snow-covered road, past the corpses that were once the children's family and, Niana hoped, towards the Albanian border. * “...So what are you going to do?” The Serb border guard ran an eye down Niana's rotund figure, across to the two children clinging to her jeans and back to her. “Take your choice. You can take the boy or the girl. The other one remains in Kosovo.” “You mean I have to choose between them?” the exhausted woman replied in a hushed voice. “But why?” The soldier, a junior officer no older than herself, held her gaze. His expression was devoid of any compassion. The eyes were blank, those of a robot or ruthless killing machine. Niana had seen eyes like those before. Back at the internment camp, the Serbs were like that, that look of utter disdain caused, probably, by years of indoctrination and generations of ethnic hatred. She shuddered and stifled a retort by swallowing. The stress of those terrible days, the physical deprivation, freezing conditions in the mountains and lack of food all combined to add to the turmoil passing through her mind. She gripped a wooden pole beside her and attempted to focus on the soldier. “Why?” her voice came out as a sob. “Hurry up, woman. You're holding up the line.” “What's wrong, Niana?” The little girl's voice was a terrified whisper. She stared, ashen faced, at the uncompromising guard. The young woman staggered and glanced down. Halia was shivering in the cold room with his eyes showing the same helpless expression that Niana remembered when they had first met. She could not abandon the children. She would not take one and leave the other. This was one last s******c manoeuvre by the enemy to humiliate a defenceless Kosovar. Anger, burning and violent swelled in her throat. She wanted to scream and attack the vile creature behind the wooden counter. Her eyes turned. In front, beyond the opened end of the building, was the no man's land backed by a flagpole. The red with black flag fluttered in the dull light and falling snow. It was fifty meters to Albania and freedom but the distance might as well be fifty kilometres. Could she run for it? Niana swallowed, gripped both the children's hands, glanced at each of them in turn and nodded. “Children” she whispered. “Remember what we practiced. Don't let go.” Both children squeezed her hand twice, a prearranged signal to show they knew what to do. “Now,” hissed the desperate woman. She ran. With the children's hands gripped, Niana crossed the bare boards of the floor in seconds, dodged behind a guard and jumped to the snow covered ground. She almost toppled but the momentum carried her forward. Shouts, some harsh and demanding, others high pitched as women refugees screamed encouragement, reached her ears but her only thoughts were to reach the red flag ahead. The trio had covered half the distance when the first shot rang out and a spasm of agony cut through Niana's shoulder. The terrified woman screamed, staggered but remained on her feet. “Only a few more meters, Niana,” a child's petrified voice pierced her mind. The two children were now in front. A second shot thundered and another blow hit her with such a velocity, her moving body spun around and she crashed into sludge. Blood gushed out from a fresh wound in her abdomen. More poured down her legs and onto the ground. But someone was pulling her. The two children had not been hit. With tears streaming from their faces they dragged her forward. Niana blinked back tears of pain and noticed two camouflaged soldiers holding shiny automatic weapons in their hands aimed across her shoulders. Another shot rang out; an explosive bang rang in Niana's semi-conscious mind. A whine reached her ears and she saw a flash of orange. The soldier had fired across the frontier to protect her. “Come on!” screamed Adona. “You can do it.” Now almost to her knees, she staggered forward and shrieked in agony. To people within earshot, her screams were incoherent but Adona and Halia understood. “Go, children. Leave me. Get to the border.” “No.” sobbed the little girl. “We can't leave you.” Another rifle fired. The world spun and blackness enveloped the refugee woman as she crawled forward through the freezing slush in her last gallant effort to escape. The two children, though, pulled her relentlessly on. In the whole desperate episode, neither of them would let Niana's hand go. *