Shalina was coming up the stairs from the basement that the mosque was located in when the first bottle was thrown, hitting the wall some distance from her.
“Go home, ragheads!” Jeering and whooping from a group of people across the road, clustered around a pickup truck the size of a lorry. Another bottle, this one didn’t even reach her side of the street.
The males’ exit was on the other side of the building, and she suspected the mob knew that, preferring easier targets. She was tempted to show them a thing or two about easier targets, but for now she focused on herding the others away. More bottles and insults were flung, as well as some rocks, and the tone of the shouting was getting more aggressive. She could taste the tension, urging the older ladies to move faster toward the corner.
The first rock hit. Well, more like a stone. It struck her shoulder but was too small to do any real damage. A weak throw. She clenched her teeth and kept urging the chattering, slightly panicky ladies forward. More rocks, hard throws now, hitting the side of the building. One hit a window instead.
As she turned back to check on their progress she could see another stone flung, straight at the stragglers. Powerless to act she saw it come down straight at old mrs Malaika, just as the elderly mole came up the stairs. The rock struck her straight in the face and sent her tumbling down the stairs. That was the sign for full panic as women started screaming and running. Some members of the mob - realizing the consequences of their actions - ran too, but the one who had thrown the rock didn’t run. She was standing on the hood of the truck, cheering.
One of the rocks had split lengthwise from the impact on the wall. The edges were sharp as razors and the shape fit Shalina’s palm perfectly.
She’d been a mean discus thrower back in school.
She still was.