The next stop was the old school. Its playground was silent, the swings creaking in the wind. Like the hospital, its main doors were heavily barricaded. Shihab gave a specific knock—three quick raps, a pause, then two more.
After a moment, a lock clicked and the door opened just a c***k. A man with a tired face and a baseball bat peered out, his expression softening when he saw them. "Shihab. Jawad. Come in, quickly."
The inside of the school was a stark contrast to the grim silence of the hospital. The air was filled with the low murmur of voices and the occasional sound of a child laughing or crying. Families huddled in classrooms turned into makeshift apartments. The place was a refuge for those whose neighborhoods had been overrun.
As soon as they entered the main hall, a small boy
