Free BreadCrumb Trail (The Yellow Hoods, #2): Steampunk meets Fairy Tale by Adam Dreece Page A

better birthday.
    Mounira’s family had made a point to arrive at the parade early, so that the children could line up at the rope that sectioned off parade participants from spectators. The smallest of the children were up on the shoulders of uncles and aunts. Everyone danced to the street music.
    As the official walking band arrived, the crowd went wild. Mounira waved her homemade flag. The band was followed by schoolchildren and merchants, and then the first of the royal family. The royals threw flower petals from baskets held by beaming volunteers.
    “The princesses are so beautiful! Look at their dresses!” yelled Mounira to her cousins, who were yelling the same thing back. No one could hear a word over the crowd’s roars.
    Then time slowed down for Mounira, and all she could hear was her heart beating: dub-dub, dub-dub, dub-dub.
    The king and queen, who’d been walking toward Mounira to shake hands with the crowd, fell down. The princes and princesses started running, and some of them fell down, too. Soldiers started pointing at people with their rifles, and made people fall down, while other soldiers pointed their rifles at those soldiers, and made them fall down. Bursts of red mist appeared in the air. None of it made sense to Mounira.
    Mounira wondered if it might be some kind of game. Maybe everyone knew about it and was playing along, and she’d missed it somehow? She hadn’t been paying attention on the walk to the parade. Had her parents tried to tell her? It was getting hard to think. Her heartbeat was so loud that she was getting dizzy.
    Standing there, right arm frozen in the air in the middle of waving her flag, she turned to see some of her cousins lying down, others running. Some seemed to have strange cherry stains on them. So many people were either running or lying down; hardly anyone was just standing anymore. Mounira felt left out and confused.
    She turned the other way to see her father, ten yards away, looking upset and confused. She wondered if he’d been left out, too. When he saw her, his look changed—and he charged toward her. At that point, time resumed normal speed. Mounira could barely react before her father snatched her up and ran for all he was worth.
    “Baba, why is everyone screaming? Why are their guns firing? Is this a game? It’s scary. Baba, what’s happening?” she repeated. Her running father offered no response.
    They were halfway up the hill to their house when a soldier appeared in the middle of the cobblestone street. The green outfit and black sash around his waist were now a symbol of fear. Mounira’s father slowed for a moment before deciding to proceed—there was no way to know whether the soldier was friend or foe.
    As they approached, the soldier raised his rifle. Alman stopped, closed his eyes briefly, and the soldier fired. Realizing the target was behind him, Alman resumed running. Glancing over his shoulder, he spotted several other soldiers in green and black ready to return fire.
    Mounira felt a quick tingle, which erupted into intense pain. She felt her body weaken and she started to slide off her father. She could see his face melt from fear to anguish as he guided her to the ground.
    Her father’s tears fell on her face like cold droplets of ice. She wanted to reach up to wipe them, but saw only her left arm go up briefly, before coming down. She felt heavy.
    “Baba, it hurts…” she whispered with all her might.
    “Mouni!” he yelled. She tried to understand why he was so upset, but passed out.
    She awoke in the back of a horse-drawn wagon. She saw her father walking beside it, and then she fell asleep again. Mounira couldn’t remember how many times she’d briefly awoken, or how many times she’d tried to say she felt cold or hot. Time didn’t matter.
    In the darkness of sleep, only one thing kept her company—the pain, the horrible pain. It haunted her dreams and waking moments. She was scared, but didn’t have the strength to call