Chapter Five

October 7 [Excerpt]

October 7th 2023

Sailmaker’s Cottage

Portknockie Scotland

Ines Gray stirred from her restless slumber, the shrill trill of her phone slicing through the delicate stillness of dawn like a knife. Her hand, clumsy and reluctant, reached out into the dim light, her eyes struggling to focus on the glowing screen. A torrent of notifications erupted before her eyes, their urgent buzz vibrating with a sense of foreboding. As an experienced research journalist, she knew all too well what this harbinger meant. A calamity had struck.

Sitting up, Ines felt her heart race, each pulse echoing the rising fear within her. Her fingers quaked with anxiety as she tapped the first news alert. The headline crashed into her consciousness like a wave, leaving her breathless: “Israel Under Attack: Terrorist Assaults Leave Hundreds Dead.” The letters danced, slightly out of focus, as disbelief clashed violently with an encroaching dread. The subsequent headlines only deepened the chasm of despair, each one more harrowing than the last. Terrifying images began to unfurl—chaos and destruction steeped in blood. The familiar streets she had roamed just weeks before were now buried beneath debris, littered with remnants of shattered lives and the haunted expressions of those left standing.

The ground seemed to give way beneath her, and she gasped—her throat constricted with an overwhelming sense of helplessness. Swiping to a live broadcast, she caught sight of the anchors, their faces marred by fear and sorrow, their professionalism overshadowed by raw emotion. The camera panned to sirens blazing and families huddled together in stark, dim shelters; the cries of children—innocent and terrified—pierced the atmosphere, echoing within her soul.

Ines’s thoughts spiraled like leaves caught in a tempest. How could this cruelty unfold? The specter of danger loomed perpetually in her line of work, yet this sheer desolation eclipsed anything she had imagined. Years spent delving into distant conflicts, documenting the ravages of war, had shielded her with a veil of detachment, but in this moment, that veil ripped apart, exposing her vulnerability. No longer were these just locations marked on a map—they were the heartbeats of individuals whose stories had intertwined with her own, shaping her understanding of the world.

Her memories drifted back to the bustling streets of Jerusalem, the vibrant life of Tel Aviv, where she had once forged connections and shared laughter with locals. She recalled their eyes, bright with hope, speaking of peace—always flickering, always elusive. Now, their fragile dreams lay in ruins, trampled by violence.

Tears welled up, blurring her vision, but she refused to wipe them away. Each drop felt inadequate—a mere whisper against the roaring tide of sorrow swelling inside her. Attempting to rise, she found herself shackled by the sheer weight of the moment; the day sprawled before her like a crushing burden, unyielding and interminable. Time itself seemed to hold its breath, as if reality paused to mourn the unfolding tragedy.

Ines longed to take action, to channel her anguish into something tangible, yet she felt immobilized by the enormity of the horror unraveling around her. Though distant, the pain resonated within her very core. As updates streamed in like a relentless tide, each report cut deeper, a fresh wound staining her heart. The language of war—casualties, strategic maneuvers, international rebukes—ring hollow, grotesquely devoid of the human anguish she was witnessing.

In the dim confines of her apartment, the weight of the day draped over her like a shroud, suffocating any notion of moving forward. She understood that when the cacophony of the news finally dimmed, when the voices of anchors faded to a whisper, the grief would remain entrenched within her. The world had shifted beneath her feet, and with it, something deep within her had irrevocably changed. There would be no return from this moment; it was etched into her very being.