by Ray Wench
The hairy man said, “You shouldn’t antagonize them. You could get us all killed.”
She looked at him with contempt. “Yeah, lamb, go to the slaughter without a fight.” She walked to the injured man and sat next to him. The woman sobbed loudly. “And tell that bitch to shut up before I shut her up.”
The woman became more inconsolable. Becca put her head against the wall and thought about Bobby. Please let him be all right.
She lifted the injured man’s head and placed it in her lap. Putting a comforting hand on his back, she waited for her turn.
Thirty-Six
Myron crawled to the edge of the trees, his heart beating a cadence that could march an army. No one was investigating the noise he made the first time. Myron was determined to sneak back and get another look at the woman. He dashed to the fence and climbed once more. The woman was still there. Her eyes were closed, head tilted back, her face up. She appeared to be a little older than he was.
Myron had been watching and fantasizing about rescuing her and having her fall in love with him, when the door opened and a man brought in and thrown to the floor. His fantasy girl and another man moved to help the injured man.
Myron watched the man with growing jealousy. Was that her boyfriend? The thought made him angry. He watched the interaction between them and tried to determine the relationship. The man looked tough. Myron wanted to rescue the woman and show her he was better for her than the other guy. Maybe he would leave the guy and just rescue her.
With his arms getting tired of clinging to the fence, Myron lowered silently to the ground and hid in the trees. He wanted to help the people inside escape, but wasn’t sure how to do it. Also he was still waging a war inside battling his paralyzing fear.
Were the small windows even big enough for a person to squeeze through? What was keeping them closed? Maybe they were sealed so they wouldn’t open. He’d have to go inside the fence and look. The thought made him sweat.
To bolster his courage, he wanted to look at the woman again. He climbed the fence again and draped an arm over the top bar. The door opened and a group of soldiers entered. One man talked to the prisoners. Myron’s heart leaped to his throat when his fantasy girlfriend poked the speaker in the chest.
Then everyone was pointing guns at her. Myron wanted to cry out to her. His arm extended over the fence toward her. His mind was tortured by visions of her death. He saw her doing the bullet dance the woman in the field had done. He didn’t want to watch, but couldn’t turn his head away.
The man sitting next to her jumped up, snatched a gun, and pointed it at the speaker.
For anxious minutes, the standoff continued. Then, to Myron’s shock and dismay, her savior lowered his gun.
“No!” he said.
When the soldiers pushed her face-first into the wall, Myron almost jumped the fence. He looked back inside the building in time to see the man who had grabbed the gun be led out the door. Fear gripped him. What if the woman was dragged away next? He couldn’t allow that to happen.
Myron jumped to the ground, oblivious to any sound he made. How can I save her? He looked at the fence. He could climb it. That part was easy. But what then? The window was too high to reach. He couldn’t rush the guards in front.
He began to pace. A good forty feet from the end of the building, Myron stopped, suddenly realizing he could be seen. He ran for the woods. Once under cover he squatted and tried to relax. What would a real hero do?
Myron looked at the building again. Once inside the fence how would he get up to the window? He looked around for anything that might help. His gaze stopped on a stack of logs to the left of the building, cut for use in a fireplace or pit. An idea came to him.
He glanced toward the sun. At least two more hours of daylight remained. The smart thing to do would be to wait for nightfall, but by then, it might be too late to save her. He would have to go now.
He forced his legs to move and was surprised when they did.
Thirty-Seven
Myron worked his way back to a point where he was concealed by the building. He left his pack and bow and arrows, but carried the knife and gun with him. Stopping at the base of the fence, he fought fear for control of his body. With a sudden move he scaled the fence to the top.
There he swung his leg over the crossbar, trying not to think about what he was doing. Myron attempted to sink his foot into a link, but missed. His body fell, his back leg catching on one of the prongs. He stopped his plummet, but felt the metal pierce his thigh.
Myron bit back the scream. The pain was severe, but then, his endurance was never that great. He pushed up on the top bar, controlling the sharp bite as best he could, and lifted the trailing leg over the top. He hung suspended by his hands for a moment before finding a link with his toes. Supported now, Myron descended to the ground.
As soon as his feet touched down, he limped to the wall. There he crouched and felt the hole in his leg. His hand came away red. His stomach threatened to revolt. He swallowed the rising bile and took in short rapid breaths.
Now was not the time to panic. Myron pushed up against the wall as if using it for balance. He looked from the fence to the window overhead. His breathing began to slow.
Myron reached for the window. If he stretched, he could touch the ledge. Maybe he could jump and grab the brickwork, but then he would have to pull himself up to see inside. There was no way he could hang there long enough to get the window open. He had to have something to stand on.
Myron slid to the end of the building and peeked around the corner. Then he turned toward the woodpile and tried to judge how long it would take to get there. He would be in the open. Anyone could see him. But there was no getting inside without the added height a log would give.
Okay, be brave. You can do this.
What was the best approach? If he ran he would get there quicker, but wouldn’t that draw the most attention? If he walked, the amount of time he was exposed would be longer, but maybe if he was seen no one would react. Aw! He grabbed his head as if it were about to explode. Just do something!
He took one unsure step away from the building, and then another. When he was far enough away from the corner to see the hangars and jets, his legs began to shake. People moved around the planes. They were a long way from him, but if they sounded the alarm, the guards at the door could be on him in a second.
Myron tried to remain calm as he took one step after another. When he’d gone more than halfway to the pile, he looked over his shoulder. No one had seen him yet. Unable to control his fear anymore, he broke into a run and dived head first behind the wood pile. He grunted from the contact, banging his arm on a log.
He rolled around, holding his arm and trying to swallow his cries. Forcing himself to look, he stopped his contortions and lifted his head above the logs. Myron fully expected to see armed men racing toward him. He was shocked to see he had gone unnoticed.
Minutes went by before Myron thought about moving.
Several peeks later confirmed he had so far gone undetected. Getting back, however, especially carrying a log, would be much more difficult.
Myron looked through the pile until he found one he thought would give him enough height to reach the window and a large enough base to keep him from toppling over. He reached up and rolled it behind the pile. Myron hefted it to make sure it was something he could handle.
Rolling the wood to the end of the pile, Myron readied to make his dash. An explosive roar rent the air and his heart nearly exploded from his chest. He dropped to the ground and covered his head. The deafening noise continued. Fearing he had been discovered, Myron forced a quick look.
To his great relief, no one was coming for him. The source of the noise was one of the jet’s engines igniting. Myron lifted the log and took off running. In his haste, he tripped and fell, and the log flew from his grip. He rolled, came to his feet in a crouch, and looked toward the jet. Just then, the engine died.
Myron eyed the log
and sprinted for it. He scooped it up, almost fell again, and then regained his balance and made it to the building. He set the log down under the window and sat down next to it. He couldn’t stop his body from shaking. He had never been so scared. His mind threatened to shut down. Tears mingled with the sweat pouring freely down his face. His breaths became labored.
At any moment, he expected armed men to come around the corners and shoot him. Myron lowered his head to his knees and covered it with his arms. No amount of inward anger could get him to rise from the ground. The rescue was going to have to wait until his panic attack was over.
Thirty-Eight
After explaining what he’d discovered, Mark said, “I think I have an idea where he might be. I hope I’m wrong though ‘cause getting him back would be difficult.”
“But that’s a good thing though, right?” Lincoln said. “Not finding his body. If they wanted to kill him his body’d still be there, wouldn’t it? I mean why take a body?”
“Yeah, there’s that. My concern is why would they take him at all? And if they interrogate him, what information will he give up?”
“Ah man, I hadn’t thought about that. He could tell them everything.”
“That’s why we need to hurry. Hopefully they haven’t started on him yet.”
Mark crossed the main road and headed farther south than he had gone before. Afraid someone might be waiting for him if he showed up in the same place, Mark drove well past the airport, and then cut across until he was a mile from the runways on the far side of the airport.
He parked behind a house. They checked to make sure the house was vacant and then proceeded into the woods. The height and density of the trees were sufficient to keep the sun out, making it much cooler and darker under the canopy.
Mark set a quick pace, not worrying at this distance about making noise. Every minute Juan was in enemy hands was another minute his captors got closer to finding the other families. When he judged they were within a quarter mile of the base, Mark slowed.
Several times Mark stopped to listen. He couldn’t shake the feeling they were being followed, but there was never anyone in sight. The standing hairs on the back of his neck set his nerves on end. He crouched without warning Lincoln. The football star bumped into Mark and then ducked, making too much noise. Mark opened and closed his finger around the trigger. What was out there that had him so jumpy? Closing his eyes, he focused on his hearing, but the only thing he could pick up was Lincoln’s rapid breathing.
“What?” Lincoln whispered.
Mark shook his head. “We must be close to the base. We do not want to engage these people if at all possible. Try to avoid being seen. Only shoot if we have no choice. Understood?”
“Uh, yeah, as long as they understand the same rules.”
“Slow and quiet from here on.”
Fifteen minutes later, Mark held up a fist and knelt on one knee. He grabbed the binoculars from a belt pouch and scanned the field. They were at a corner section of fencing. The western fence ended and turned on a southwestern heading. Two runways went off in that direction.
Straight across, the tower stood. The main terminal was underneath. Several other buildings and hangars flanked the terminal. No people were on the ground. However, a man stood inside the tower as before. Mark watched him, hoping to find a pattern he could use.
Mark backed up until he was next to Lincoln. “There’s a guy in the tower watching for any intruders. That’s how I was spotted the first time. If we approach from this direction, he could spot us from the south or east window. If he spends about the same time at each window, we’d have six to eight minutes to get in and find cover.”
Lincoln frowned. “We don’t even know if Juan’s in there. This could be a real bad decision.”
“I understand, but I have to go in. I have to know if he’s there. You stay out here and watch my back.”
“What are you gonna do if you find him?”
“I’ll try to sneak him out, but if I can’t, I’ll try to bargain with them. If they see us and start shooting, it’s up to you to keep their heads down. Can you do that?”
“Yeah, but now I wish I’d brought more bullets.”
Mark handed Lincoln the rifle and his spare magazine. “Hopefully, I won’t need it. If I get in a gunfight inside, I’m gonna be dead anyway. Take good shots and make them count. Oh, and stay out of sight of the guy up there.”
Mark left Lincoln and moved through the trees toward the first building inside the fence. It was a one-story brick building. He would use the building to shield his entry onto the base.
Mark had gone no more than thirty feet when a noise came from the woods to his right. He froze. Someone was there. He lowered to a prone position and waited. Someone was moving toward him, stealthily, as if with a purpose.
Mark slid the gun forward just above the ground. He angled it up. If the intruders kept coming, they would stumble right over him. Mark slowed his breathing and waited.
Then the sound stopped. Whoever was out there was being as cautious as Mark. Are they aware of me? Is someone tracking me?
He was in a deadly game, and whoever moved first would lose.
Thirty-Nine
Becca could barely stand the waiting any longer. She released one agitated sigh after the other and tapped the back of her head against the wall. She would have screamed if she weren’t cradling the injured man in her lap. It had been more than an hour since General Dickhead had taken her brother. She couldn’t sit still another second.
The injured man had fallen asleep. As gently as she could, Becca lifted his head and set it down. He shifted, but did not wake. She was certain the man had a concussion. At some point she recalled learning that sleep wasn’t good for head trauma, but she couldn’t remember the details, and besides, there wasn’t much else she could do.
The couple across from her huddled so close together they looked like they’d melded into one being. Her eyes were closed, but the man watched Becca.
Becca stood and stretched her aching muscles. She studied the windows as she did. They were small, but she thought she could squeeze through. The problem would be getting up to them. She stepped to the wall under one window and extended her arm upward. She was more than a foot away.
Becca backed up from the wall took a couple of steps and jumped. She smacked into the wall and fell back, landing on her butt. She was eye level with the man and saw the smirk on his face. “Let’s see you do any better. For that matter, let’s see you try to do anything at all.”
“No way. I’m not gonna piss them off. Look what it got your brother.”
“At least he had guts enough to stand up to them.”
“And they’re probably beating him to a pulp now.”
Becca took a menacing step toward him. “Shut up before I beat you to a pulp.”
The woman woke up. “Vince, what’s going on?”
“Nothing, babe, just Miss Super Bitch flexing her muscles.”
“Why don’t you leave us alone?” the girl squeaked.
“Why don’t you make yourself useful and give me a hand up to the window?”
The man’s mouth dropped open. “Are you crazy? What if they walk in? Uh-uh, don’t get me caught up in your stupid schemes.”
“No problem, chicken shit.”
“Here, miss, I’ll help you.”
The voice behind startled her. The injured man had woken. He looked better, his eyes more focused. Well, eye – the other one was swollen shut.
He pushed to his feet and swayed like he would fall over. Becca leaped forward and snatched his arm, keeping him upright.
“Dizzy. Just give me a minute.”
“Look, maybe you should sit down. I think you have a concussion.”
“No-no-no, if you can get away, you have to go. I have friends who will come for us. I’ll tell you where to go. You bring them back. Will you do that?”
“Of course I will. I have to come back for my brother anyway.”
The man nodded. “Okay, let’s do this.” He held onto Becca’s arm as she guided him across the floor. He leaned against the opposite wall and held his head. “I’m sorry, I must rest.”
“Okay, don’t push yourself.”
Something scratched at the window above her. She looked up. Was someone out there watching and listening to them, or was it a branch brushing against the glass? The sound came again, and then louder before stopping. Becca wasn’t so sure of her plan now. Maybe one of the soldiers was sealing the windows so they wouldn’t open.
“I think it’s best if I get down.”
Becca gave him a smile. She understood. There was no way his head injury would allow him to stand. But then he surprised her. He got on hands and knees and crawled under the window.
“Okay, this is better.”
This man was tougher than he looked. Becca put one foot on his lower back and tested it.
“Vince, stop her. She’s gonna get us all killed.”
Becca glared at Vince. “Yeah, Vincey, come stop me. Keep your mouth shut, and if I get out of here I’ll rescue you too. What’s it gonna hurt? I may be your best chance.”
Vince nodded his concession.
Becca pushed up on the kneeling man and heard him grunt. She rose slowly so as not to lose balance on her unsteady plank. Before she reached the window, the scraping sound came again. She froze. What or who was out there? She had to find out. What difference did it make? If there was someone out there preventing her escape, she wasn’t any worse off than she was now. Besides, her lift was only going to last so long.
Placing her fingers on the ledge, she pulled, rising to her full height. In the window was a face. She let out an unintended scream and fell backward to the floor. The injured man collapsed in pain. He rolled, holding his head.
Someone outside was using a key to open the door. By the time the guards came in, Becca was back in her original place. Both men had their weapons up.
