The tunnel was silent when the echo of rapid footsteps and intermittent whispers resounded in its depths.
Daniel raised his head, apprehensive.
It wasn't long before the earthen entrance opened and four resistance fighters entered, dragging three bodies covered in dirt and blood.
They laid them on the ground, while the air filled with the smell of dust and smoke clinging to their clothes.
It was clear that they had come from hell.
Yusuf approached quickly, his voice tense but steady:
"Where from?"
One of the fighters replied, panting:
"Tunnel 3... It collapsed after the raid. Two prisoners were killed... and three of our brothers.
Only these survived."
Yusuf's face paled, and he bit his lip as he muttered:
"Among the martyrs... Mahmoud?"
The fighter replied sadly:
"Yes... he was next to me when the ceiling collapsed."
Yusuf closed his eyes tightly, as if the blow had struck him directly in the heart.
Mahmoud was his childhood friend, his companion in the neighbourhood and at the beach. Now he was a corpse under the rubble.
But he had no time to grieve.
He pointed to one of the prisoners lying on the ground, his shoulder covered in blood:
"He's injured. Bring clean water and a tourniquet."
Yusuf sat down next to him, removing the torn cloth to reveal a deep wound that was bleeding profusely.
Daniel muttered as he watched the scene in amazement:
"Are you... a doctor?"
Yusuf replied, without looking at him:
"I told you, I used to be a vet. Today... I'm just trying to keep this dog alive."
The injured man, Uri, had a grim expression on his face, his teeth clenched together in pain, but he still glared at everyone with a haughty look.
He muttered in Hebrew, his voice weak but full of hatred:
"Filthy Arabs..."
Yusuf looked at him, not with anger in his eyes, but with a cold, cutting gaze:
"You will stay alive despite yourself... so that you may die one day as you deserve."The other two prisoners sat apart:
Khaled, a thin young man, turned his face away, swallowing nervously, his eyes darting
in all directions.
Naoum, a girl in her twenties, tried to hide her fear with a sarcastic smile, dusting off her
clothes and muttering to herself in Polish before succumbing to silence.
Daniel sat watching them, his heart beating fast.
The tunnel that had been his little tomb... was now crowded with other prisoners. Each of them had a story, each of them had a heavy shadow trailing behind them.
In the corner of the tunnel, Yusuf sat, clenching his fist tightly.
He wanted to be in the field, where martyrs fell and faced the enemy face to face.
But he knew that his place was here.
He was responsible for these people... and for those who remained.
He raised his eyes to the dirt ceiling and muttered to himself:
"O Lord, make this hole in the ground a fortress for us, not a grave."