by Ray Wench
“What’s going on here?” guard number one said.
The couple cowered together. The woman started to point her finger at Becca, but Vince covered it with his hand and pulled her arm down.
Becca said, “It’s him. He needs a doctor. You guys went too far with him.”
Guard one stared at her.
Guard two, however, had more compassion. “Watch her,” he said, and knelt next to the man and tried to take some vitals. When he lifted the eyelids, the guard shook his head.
“He does need a doctor,” he said to his partner.
“All right, report it to the lieutenant. Let him deal with it.”
“No, I’m going to take him now. It may take too long for the doctor to get here.”
Becca stood, her hands above her head. “I’ll help you lift him.”
The soldier nodded to his partner who motioned her to move using the barrel of his rifle. Becca knelt next to the injured man and slid an arm under his head.
“Put the other one under his arm,” the soldier suggested. He looked at her. “We’re not the enemy here. We’re here to help people.”
“Yeah, I can see that.”
His face reddened. “I’m sorry about this. They’re a little angry right now. Someone killed two of our men, our friends. They’re trying to find the killer.”
“Well, it’s not us.”
“I hope not, for your sake.”
They lifted the Hispanic man, and the guard put him in a fireman’s carry. Probably not the best thing for a head injury, Becca thought, but at least he would get medical attention, if he survived the trip. As the soldier walked toward the door, Becca said, “Thanks.”
He looked her in the eyes and said, “In spite of what you might think, we’re not monsters.”
“I guess I’ll find out soon enough, huh?”
He looked like he was about to say something else, but changed his mind. He left.
The other guard backed out of the room, saying, “Don’t worry, honey, you’re next. One of the men who died was a friend of mine. If we find you were the one who killed him, I’m going to volunteer for the firing squad.”
“Awesome,” Becca shot back. “I’ll have a good chance of surviving then.”
The man’s face darkened. “Bitch.” He closed the door.
“Yeah, good comeback!” she shouted.
Forty
Becca replayed the encounter at the window. Something about that face had struck a memory chord. She had only had a fraction of a second’s look, but she could still see the image.
If she were to try again she would have to do it on her own. She doubted her roommates would be much help.
Something tapped at the window. The skinny bitch began to cry again. Becca shushed her.
“Quiet. I need to hear this.”
The tapping came again.
Becca stepped back and ran at the wall. Leaping with all her strength, she managed to get her fingertips over the ledge. She hung there for a moment, and then slowly, digging her feet into the wall, rose toward the window.
Her head was almost at window height when her grip failed and she began to slip back. However, with a sudden rush she was moving upward again. Below her the hairy man stood with one of her boots in each hand.
“Thanks,” Becca whispered.
Outside the window was the face again. It was a round white face of a teenaged boy. Highlighted against the sunlight beyond, he had an ethereal look as if his head were floating. With a start the memory came to her. He was the boy she’d seen when she’d been captured. The boy she had pleaded to help her, and then told to run and save himself. But he had come for her. Her heart leaped. She could not contain the smile.
He tapped the window and pointed at the latch. Becca tried to move the metal, but it was rusted in place. Using both hands and straining with all her might, she broke the latch free. The release threw her off balance and she almost fell again.
“How much longer?” the man below asked.
“Place my feet on your shoulders and hold them from behind.”
He did, and Becca was secure for the moment.
The unknown boy outside was working a knife into the seam where the window closed. Someone had painted the frame closed. The tip of the knife pushed through. Using both hands, the boy worked the blade sideways. It slid ever so slowly to the end of the window. He pulled it out and did the same thing toward the other end.
Becca grabbed the latch and pulled down, but the window still held secure. The downward seams were more difficult to get to. It was a long and tedious process. When the knife wielder had gotten halfway down on each side, Becca tried to pull the window open again. With the boy pushing on the frame from the outside, the window broke free with a groan.
For a second, all eyes turned toward the door. A collective release of air filled the room when none of the guards entered.
“Hi,” she said.
“Uh, hi.”
They broke eye contact for a second while Becca examined the window. The frame opened from the top downward, but did not lie flat. Instead, it angled upward toward the ceiling, making the opening smaller. To get through, Becca would have to get above the glass and slide down from the top. Even if she could get that high, there might not be enough room for her to fit through the opening.
“Can you push me up as high as you can? If I put too much pressure on the window, it will break and the guards will come in.”
“I’ll try. Hold on.”
With a grunt, Vince lifted Becca. She touched the ceiling with her hands for balance. Taking a moment to study the best approach, she lifted one leg and slid it through the opening. A hand grabbed her ankle.
A whispered voice said, “It’s going to be a very tight fit.”
Becca didn’t bother with a reply. Her legs would fit, but how was she going to get her body through without putting her weight on the glass?
“Turn around,” she told Vince.
When he did, Becca bent over and placed her hands on Vince’s head. She lifted the second leg and placed it on the window ledge. The balance was precarious. She moved a hand to the now empty shoulder for a wider base of support and then lifted the leg. Becca was upside down now. Her leg banged against the glass and slid back inside the room. She held her breath, fearing she had broken the pane, but no glass hit the floor.
She looked down into the hairy man’s face. He was struggling trying to hold her. Whatever she was going to do, it had to be now. She slid one leg through the opening at a time, and her mysterious rescuer grabbed them and guided her out the narrow opening.
Vince said, “Don’t forget us.”
“I won’t.”
Becca grabbed and closed the window.
Forty-One
Whoever was holding her outside had a grip on her hips. Hands slid up her body, holding her tight. Unable to hold her as she descended, Becca toppled to the ground landing on top of the boy.
Dazed from the impact, Becca shook her head and took a quick inventory of her body and any registered pain. She hurt, but nothing seemed too major.
Becca got to the boy’s face and covered his mouth to stop his pained moans. Holding a finger to her mouth she looked him in the eyes.
“We have to hurry,” she whispered and was up, running toward the fence.
It took all her willpower not to leap at the fence and scamper over to escape. But to do that would make too much noise. This close to freedom, she didn’t want to get recaptured. Her rescuer joined her at the fence as she began to ascend.
At the top, she swung her legs over the top. She was now face to face with her hero. There was a brief pause, and she climbed down. She ran for the trees and waited for him to join her.
When he arrived she threw a big hug around him. “Thank you,” she whispered. She was already forming a plan on how to save her brother.
It was darker within the trees. Despite her desire to get as far away as possible, she reined in her adrenaline and slow
ed her pace. They needed to be as far away from there as possible before any pursuit began.
She stopped. “Do you have a car someplace?”
He shook his head. “Ah, no.”
Becca frowned. He sounded nervous. “Okay, we’ll have to find one. I don’t think we’ll get too far on foot.”
In the black-haired boy’s hands were a backpack and a bow and arrows. She nodded. She started walking again. They’d only been free for a few minutes when a commotion began behind them. Her escape had been discovered.
She reached back and snatched the boy’s hand. “We have to hurry. They’ll be coming.”
She kept from running, but only barely. They were making way too much noise. Then a sound behind her froze her in place. The sudden stop caused her new friend to bump into her.
She placed her lips next to his ear. “Someone’s coming.” She crouched and moved at a snail’s pace.
All Becca’s adrenaline-soaked nerves screamed at her to run. Her body shook from the effort to fight off the desire. In agonizing stillness, they waited for a sound that would tell them where their pursuers were. After what felt like an eternity of silence, Becca motioned to move.
They went twenty to thirty feet at a time and then stopped to listen. With each move, Becca began to think they might be safer. No sound of pursuit had followed over the last three moves. She gave the signal to move again.
They hadn’t gone two steps before the branches parted and a dark form pounced. Her partner let out a scream and was no longer standing next to her. She spun and kicked the assailant making solid contact. Following that with a straight punch to the face, Becca gained space enough to run.
No longer worried about noise, she crashed through the trees like a rampaging moose. With the cacophony she made, there was no way of hearing if the assailant was after her, but she wasn’t about to slow down to find out.
Then pain struck her back, and before she could react she was driven to the ground. The resulting crash caused her tackler to lose his grip on her for a second. Animalistic sounds escaped her as she clawed, kicked, and punched. A fist landed a glancing blow on her cheek. She snarled and dived for the arm, digging her teeth in as deep as they would go through the material of his shirt.
He slapped her mouth free and used his superior weight and strength to roll on top of her. Becca was pinned, and when she ceased thrashing her head from side to side, her attacker stuck a gun in her face. Her eyes sighted back up the barrel to the face of her attacker: the nice guard who had taken the injured man away. His face was not very friendly now.
Her only defense against the bullet was to close her eyes.
Forty-Two
Mark was surprised by the sudden sound not ten feet from where he hid. Whoever had been stalking him was apparently now in a fight. It wasn’t his fight and he had more important things to do than get involved, but one of the combatants sounded like a woman. He knew what happened to unprotected women.
He crawled forward. The thrashing was just beyond a fallen tree that blocked his vision. Mark peeked above the trunk. A man and woman wrestled on the ground. The woman fought hard, but the man used his heavier body to leverage her under him where he straddled her, pinning her helpless.
Crouching, Mark walked the length of the trunk. Once around the tree Mark made a slow approach behind the assailant.
The woman fought on, even though her efforts appeared hopeless. Then a gun was pointed inches from her face, and the battle was over.
Whatever the man’s purpose, Mark was going to stop him.
“Stop! Don’t make me shoot you,” the uniformed man said to Becca.
Movement over the guard’s shoulder drew Becca’s attention. At first she thought it was another soldier, then she dared hope it was her rescuer coming once more to save her. But when the image came into focus her eyes went wide, and in spite of her predicament and the welling tears, a broad smile spread across her face.
“Hi, Daddy.”
The guard stiffened at Becca’s statement, but didn’t turn. “I’m not falling for that.”
Then the gun barrel touched the man’s head. “I think it’d be a good idea for you to get off my daughter.”
The soldier dropped the gun and put his hands behind his head as Mark instructed. He climbed off Becca, but remained on his knees.
“Becca, take his weapons, but stay out of my line of sight.”
Becca patted the man down and took away his gun and knife.
“Take off your boots.” The man hesitated, but as Mark’s eyes narrowed, he complied. “Take the laces out and tie his hands and feet.”
“Okay, Daddy, but don’t hurt him. He was the nice one.”
“Well, beating on my daughter is a strange way of showing that.” He paused. “Is Bobby …?”
Becca finished her task and walked to her father. “The last I saw him he was all right. But they took him away to torture him for information. That was a long time ago.” She wrapped her arms around him.
Her father gave her a hard one-armed hug.
“Why were they torturing him?”
“I don’t know. I think they believe we killed some of their men?”
“Did you?”
“I don’t think so. I mean, we killed some people, but none of them was dressed in uniform.
“Why did you kill someone?”
“Because they tried to kill us.”
“Is that why you’re torturing my son?” he asked the prisoner.
The man didn’t respond.
“Answer me,” Mark snarled. He cocked the gun and stepped forward.
The man flinched.
“No, Daddy,” Becca said. “Don’t hurt him. He tried to help one of the other prisoners his superiors went too far with.” She walked to the kneeling man and squatted in front of him. “We did not kill your friends. We only kill people who try to hurt us.” She walked to her father’s side. “They must have discovered I escaped. That might mean they brought Bobby back. He would know. Why don’t you ask him? But do it quick, because they’re probably searching for me.” She turned to leave.
Mark said, “Where you going?”
“I have to find my friend. He was hurt. I can’t leave him. He risked his life to rescue me.”
Mark wasn’t sure what to say. There was something very different about his daughter; something very grown up, yet also very scary. It was in her tone and her eyes. When she was gone, Mark focused on his prisoner.
“What do you know about my son?”
“Look, I’m just doing my job. I don’t wish harm to you or your family.”
“Your actions so far don’t support that statement. I also don’t wish to harm anyone, but you have my son. I will not hesitate harming you to find him. Do you understand that?”
The man nodded.
“So talk to me.”
The man hesitated, and then said, “I just brought him back to the holding cell.”
“Is he all right?”
The pause was telling. “Yes, but he was worked over.”
The answer flared anger in Mark. A red veil descended over his eyes. He took a step closer and fought against the increasing pressure on the trigger.
“Please, sir … don’t.”
The words cut through the rage. Mark let the anger go, but his heart was racing. “How many men are guarding the cell?”
“I will not help you kill my friends.”
Mark nodded. He understood loyalty. But this man needed to understand blood.
Forty-Three
Myron’s eyes fluttered open. His head hurt—his vision fuzzy. As the image in front of his face became clearer a strange warmth spread over him. “Am I dead?”
“No, silly boy.”
He stared at the angel hovering over him, losing himself in her eyes.
She smiled. “Can you get up?”
He tried to push up, but his arms didn’t want to support his weight.
“Let me help you.”
Sh
e stood behind him and slid her hands under his arms. “Bend your knees and push.”
He did as instructed and was on his feet seconds later. His head thumped. He touched the spot where it hurt. There was a bump and something crusty. His fingers came away sticky.
“Wh-What happened?”
“You got knocked out. Come on, we have to get going. Can you walk?” She put her arm around his waist and helped him move. “Daddy, this is the boy who saved me.”
“Honey, we’ll do introductions later. Right now I need you to watch our guest. Can you do that?”
Mark handed his daughter the soldier’s gun. “I’ll be right back. Do not take your eyes off him.” Mark backed away from the group and returned a few minutes later with Lincoln.
“Lincoln, this is my daughter, Becca.”
Lincoln looked from Mark to the young woman with his mouth open. “Oh my God, she’s alive.”
He started to laugh, but Mark shushed him.
“From what this man tells me, my son is also alive and held captive inside that building. He may be hurt. I need to get him out, and I need your help. Can you do it?”
“Ah, yeah, sure. What do you need me to do?”
Mark turned to the bound man. “I need your Army Combat Uniform.”
The man shrugged. “Yeah, sure.”
“Lincoln, untie him and step back. Keep him covered.”
Lincoln did.
“Now take off just the shirt.”
The man complied and tossed it to Mark. He put it on while Lincoln retied the prisoner.
“Rebecca, I need you and your friend to stay here and watch our guest.”
“Okay? What are you going to do?”
“I’m gonna get your brother. Lincoln, I need you to come with me. I’ll explain as we go.” Mark turned to the soldier, “I promise you will not be hurt. I will let you go when we get back. However, if you try to escape or call for help, my daughter will be forced to shoot you.”
“With no hesitation,” she said.
Mark and Lincoln started toward the compound. The remaining sunlight was fading fast. Mark threw a hand across Lincoln’s chest to stop his progress. “Did you hear that?”
