Fighting For Valor

by Patricia D. Eddy

  I try to turn away, but I’m so thirsty. And when the cool liquid touches my lips, I can’t help myself. After several sips of tea, the room starts to spin, and I struggle to focus on the man who pulled me out of that fucking well. “Drugged…me.” I whisper. “Bastard.”

  “No!” His denial is so sharp, so vehement, I believe him. “Have more tea. You are still dehydrated, and you have a high fever from the scorpion venom.”

  Faruk shifts, and his arm bolsters my shoulders enough for me to sit up. The sheet falls away from my chest, and I see the devastation. The swollen bites all over my torso. Some stitched up, others still bright red and hot. I couldn’t stop myself from flinching every time, and that only angered the little shits more.

  “Antibiotics and rest will help.” He offers me more tea, and though I want to resist, I don’t. It’s been so long since anyone touched me with the intent to help and not hurt. I need to regain my strength before I can figure out what the fuck I’m supposed to do now. And how to get out of here and back to my team.

  I fade in and out, unsure what’s real and what’s all in my head. Sounds drone on and on a few feet away. A news report? In English?

  Focus!

  The words have a heartbeat of their own. A life. They ebb and flow, and I can only pick out snatches. “…for the man responsible, Sergeant Richards…”

  Richards. Me.

  “…murder, treason…”

  I don’t understand. Squinting as Faruk presses a bandage to one of the wounds on my chest, I think I see the glow of a television in the corner. The image flickers, then there’s only static, and I can’t fight anymore.

  I’m alone. Finally. And I think maybe…I’m strong enough to get up on my own. Throwing off the sheet, I grimace at my ravaged body. I’ve lost more than fifty pounds since our ODA team was captured six months ago. My first attempt to stand sends me back on my ass on the bed, but after a deep breath, I manage to stay upright. Someone put thin, loose pants on me, and they feel so foreign.

  One step. Two. Three. I’m so tired. The room must be two miles across with the door at the end of a long tunnel. At least that’s how it feels. One foot in front of the other.

  I can do this. I can make it. Find a way out of here. If only I knew where here was. My fingers wrap around the door handle, but it doesn’t turn. Shit. They locked me in.

  You’re fucking Special Forces, asshole. Find a way out.

  On the nightstand, several discarded needles lie on a tray. If I’m really lucky, I might be able to use them to pick the lock. But now…I have to walk across the room again. In both directions. One step at a time.

  My legs give out halfway back. And then…footsteps. Down the hall. Rushing. A key rasps in the lock, and I scramble for the needle that fell from my hand.

  “Isaad!” Faruk lifts me to my feet and slings my arm around his shoulders. “You should not be out of bed.” As he helps me back to the narrow cot, I try to hide the needle, but my fingers are shaking too violently, and it clatters to the floor.

  Another man shouts, “Get away from the traitor!” Faruk jerks, lets me fall the last foot onto the mattress, and backs up a few paces.

  “I am sorry, Amir Aazar. I only wished to bring him water.” Faruk withdraws a bottle from the pocket of his tunic and shows it to this other man. He’s taller. Stronger. Meaner.

  “He does not deserve water. Or anything else.” Amir Aazar strides forward and punches Faruk in the gut hard enough to make him double over. A rough hand fastens around my arm, and then he yanks me off the cot. My head hits the floor, and my vision dims as Amir Aazar drags me down the hall, around several turns, and through what I think is a lavish parlor.

  Back outside, the harsh sun beats down on my face as sharp rocks cut into my bare back. “Open the well!” Amir Aazar shouts.

  “No…please,” I beg. I’ll do anything to stay out of the well. “Take me…back…to Hell Mountain.”

  “You will never see the mountain again,” Aazar snaps. “Your little trick with the computer? It got the other two men from your unit killed. Days ago. The mountain is gone. Now, there is only you. Here.”

  No. Not Ryker and Dax. No. He’s lying. He has to be.

  Another man drags the wooden cover off the well, and I claw at Aazar’s leg, trying to hold on so he can’t throw me down there. It has to be the middle of the day. I’m burning; the scorpion bites feel like they’re on fire.

  “You are the only one left, Sergeant Richards. And you will pay for the crimes of the rest of your unit.” Aazar bends down and grabs my chin, forcing me to look at him. “You and your men killed my family. You will suffer for their deaths.”

  He shoves me down, throwing off my hold easily. As he rises, he brushes off his hands. I try to roll over, but I can’t. I’m too weak to do more than lie on my back, blinking rapidly in the bright sun, as half a dozen men stand around me.

  “Make sure he is alive when he goes back into the well,” Aazar says. “But you may do whatever you wish to him before that happens.”

  Someone clutches the waistband of my pants and rips them off of me, and when another man grabs my hips and raises my ass in the air, I send my mind as far away as I can, so I don’t have to feel them take the only thing I have left.

  What seems like hours later, I land back in the well, and as the wood slides over the opening, plunging me into darkness once more, I don’t even care that they left me down here to die. Broken, violated, bleeding from…places I never wanted to think about. Death…will be a blessing.

  Chapter Three

  Ripper

  Why can’t I let go? Stop myself from drinking the water they throw into the well? I want to. But every time…I fail.

  “Your little trick with the computer? It got the other two men from your unit killed.”

  Ryker McCabe was the strongest man I’ve ever known, with Dax Holloway a close second. And this asshole—my captor—had the power to murder them. It might have been Aazar who ordered their deaths, but I’m the one responsible.

  My stupid attempt to tell someone—anyone—where we were got them killed. And landed me…here. Broken. Used by half a dozen men until my ass bled, kicked, punched, choked, and tossed down into this hole. How long this time? Five days? Seven? I can’t sleep. Too much pain. The only relief I find is when I pass out.

  The scorpions are out again. My only indication of day or night. They don’t consider me much of a threat anymore. One crawls along my thigh, and I don’t move, don’t react. I haven’t moved in hours. Maybe even a day. My hands cup my dick, the only sliver of self-preservation I have left.

  But my breathing must annoy the little bastard, because it skitters up my chest and drives its stinger into my cheek. Half my face goes numb, and I cry out as I shake my head. Fumbling for the water next to me, I pour some over the wound, swallow the rest, and then I start to hear voices.

  Ry. Telling me to fight. Then Dax. He wants me to know everything will be okay. Behind my shuttered lids, I see Hab as Kahlid slit his throat in front of us. A second before the knife pierced his carotid artery, he mouthed, “Never give up.”

  Fuck. I wish I could honor his wishes. As another scorpion gets tangled in my mess of matted, too-long hair, and my weak, keening cry echoes off the stone walls. It feels like a hundred of the fucking things are crawling all over me, and panic sets in. My entire body convulses, and I fall over, the pain fading away. Now I’m floating. Somewhere quiet, where maybe…maybe I’ll never wake up again.

  “Isaad. Open your eyes.”

  The kind, smooth voice sounds like it’s under fifty feet of water. I smell soap. Incense maybe. Colors fade in and out, lights swirling around me. As I force my heavy lids open, sharp pain lances through my skull.

  The pale beige walls pulse in time with my heartbeat, and I’m soaked with sweat. Sucking in a wheezing breath, I try to turn my head, but I can’t.

  Something cool touches my forehead. “Trust me, Isaad. I will protect you. Do you believe me?”<
br />
  “Uh huh.”

  Why did I say yes? Where am I? Who’s with me? Am I dead? Shit. Why can’t I think straight?

  A thin face shifts in and out of focus. Gray eyes. I’ve seen those eyes before.

  The man shakes his head, his hand over his heart. “I killed Amir Aazar. I did not wish to, but he would have tortured you until you could no longer go on, and I could not let that happen. He will never hurt you again, Isaad.”

  “Let me…go…please,” I beg.

  “I cannot. Your friends are gone, Isaad. I am very sorry, but your government blames you.”

  “Wha….?”

  An arm slides under my shoulders, and he lifts me, supporting my head so I can almost make out a glowing screen across the room. “The news has carried the story for the past week, Isaad.”

  A man’s voice—with an American accent—fills the room. “A United States Special Forces Team was laid to rest at Arlington National Cemetery today. Only two bodies were recovered from the Hindu Kush. Their names are being withheld at the request of their families. A third member of the team, Sergeant Jackson Richards, has been implicated in their deaths and is currently wanted on charges of treason. This has been Simon Jones reporting.”

  “Ry…Dax…”

  “Dead.” The man lays me back down, and his face swims in and out of focus. “You are safe here, Isaad. But only here. And only if you trust me.”

  No. This isn’t right. I can’t…think. Can’t form the words. Everything’s…fucked. My unit. My…family. “Not…Isaad.”

  “You must be. The man you were…he can never be again. You are Isaad now.”

  A glass touches my lips, and water trickles into my mouth. So good. So cold. Sweet. I need more. The man’s face is familiar. I’ve seen it before. Where?

  “Who…?” I manage.

  “Faruk. You remember me?” As I nod, he continues, “Good. After I killed Aazar, I took over. I am now Amir Abdul Faruk, and you will call me Amir Faruk. It is the way of things here. If you do this, I will keep you as safe as I can. Listen to me, and you will never end up in that well again.”

  Voices. No. One voice. Over and over again. I don’t know what he’s saying. Who is it? Why can’t I think?

  Searing pain consumes me, and I scream—at least in my own head. I can’t tell if anything around me is real. It’s all darkness. The stench of the well. The scorpions crawling over my naked body, filling me with poison.

  Then water. A cool cloth.

  And that voice.

  “You killed your team, Isaad. You will be executed if you return to the United States. You are safe here.”

  No. Here is bad. Here is pain. Do I say that out loud? Nothing makes sense. Is any of this happening? Or is it all in my nightmares?

  “Do you trust me, Isaad? You must trust me. If you trust me, I will make the pain go away.”

  I want to trust him. Fuck. I’ll do anything he wants if he can put a stop to this endless torment.

  A gentle breeze stirs the air around me. It’s morning. A slash of sunlight hits the bed through slats on a window to my left. There’s a brisk knock at the door, and then Amir Faruk enters, another man behind him carrying a tray.

  “Good morning, my friend,” Amir Faruk says. “This is Zaman. He is my most trusted man. Tell him your name.”

  Zaman sets the tray down, and my mouth waters. A light broth, spiced, with chunks of vegetables. A glass of water. Glancing up at Amir Faruk, I know what he wants me to say. What I need to say. And though a piece of my soul shreds into pieces, I clear my throat and whisper, “Isaad.”

  You don’t lose yourself all at once. It happens in stages. Isolation. Confusion. Fear. Amir Faruk comes to see me often. Always with food. With kindness. With words I can’t help but listen to.

  There’s a doctor, too. A man who helps me shuffle over to the toilet to piss, who speaks only Pashto, forcing me to respond in kind. He tells me how bad things were under Amir Aazar. How Amir Faruk is kind and just. How the invading forces—American, British, French, and more—are searching for the Special Forces traitor. How lucky I am that Amir Faruk saved me.

  Deep inside, I know I’m not this…Isaad. But then the lights go out. Every night, I wake screaming, the scorpions crawling over my naked skin. It’s only when I fall to the floor—off the cot—and realize I’m wearing a loose pair of pants that I realize I’m not in that dark hole. If I don’t do what Amir Faruk wants, I’ll end up back there.

  Three times, I’ve fought the doctor. Tried to escape. Three times, Zaman has caught me and thrown me back into the well for a day…sometimes two. I won’t survive if he does it again.

  Now, I’m locked in. “For your safety,” Amir Faruk said the last time he carried me back into this room, dirty, weak, and out of my mind from the scorpion venom. “You cannot fight me any longer, Isaad. This is your home.”

  The lock clicks open, and I push myself up, my back to the wall. I need to appear strong.

  “Isaad. You are looking well today,” Amir Faruk says as he closes the door behind him, approaches the bed, and slides a tray onto the table. “I have brought your evening meal and more antibiotics.”

  “My name is Jackson—”

  “No!” His kind tone disappears, and he snatches up the hypodermic needle, grabs my arm, and injects me before I can protest or try to pull away. “You are Isaad. The man you once were is responsible for the death of two high-ranking Special Forces officers. If he were to live, you would be repatriated to the United States and tried for treason. Or the local Afghan Allied Forces would slit your throat themselves.”

  His words sink in as my eyelids droop. Yes. That’s right. I have to stay safe. But…Special Forces…we don’t lie. And this…is a lie. Isn’t it? “I don’t want to…be Isaad. I take…responsibility…”

  “I do not want you to suffer, Isaad,” Amir Faruk whispers as he holds a glass of a sweet liquid to my lips. “I can protect you. There is so much you can do to atone for your mistakes. Here. Where you are safe. What is better? Dying for your crimes? Or using your skills and talents to redeem yourself?”

  Could I really do that? Atone for my sins? Maybe that would be better. I let him feed me, my limbs leaden. His voice is smooth, gentle. Kind. And he keeps repeating my name. Isaad.

  Isaad is safe here. Isaad can do good with his life. Isaad knows Amir Faruk saved him.

  “You will rest now, Isaad,” Amir Faruk whispers as he pats my shoulder, and I want to do everything he tells me. When he locks the door, I try to remember that other name. The one I know I can’t lose. But, it’s just out of my reach. I’ll remember. In the morning.

  Chapter Four

  Six Years Later

  Isaad

  I sit at the terminal, moving forty thousand United States dollars from one offshore account to another. The transaction requires finesse, and I’m exhausted. I failed my previous task—hiding the purchase of ten surface-to-air missiles from the Afghan government. They intercepted the shipment and seized half a million dollars before I could reverse the transaction, and Amir Faruk ordered me to fast for seven days as punishment.

  This is day six, and every time I stand, I have to brace myself on something.

  “Isaad!”

  His tone tells me any delay will earn me additional punishments, and I shuffle as quickly as I can down the hall and into the parlor.

  “Yes, sir?”

  Amir Faruk stands in front of a woman dressed in a long abaya. She looks vaguely familiar. Shit. The doctor. The one who specializes in Alpha Thalassemia, the disease Faruk’s son was born with.

  He had me research her. I never thought he’d actually kidnap her. Or even be able to find her. Zaman holds her by the arms, and as I meet her gaze, I see her terror. All because of me.

  Looking from Faruk to the woman and back again, I wait for my orders.

  “Erase all evidence of Dr. Josephine Taylor from public records in America. She does not exist anymore.” Faruk shoves a passport at me, and
Josephine lunges for it.

  Zaman grabs her by the hair, then kicks her in the back of the knees to send her to the floor. “Please,” she whispers, holding up bound hands. “You can’t just make me disappear.”

  “I can. Very easily,” Faruk says with a smile. He casts a quick glance over his shoulder at me, and the look in his eyes…I want to throw up, but there’s nothing in my stomach. “Your friends will be sold in two days. They are being prepared for auction as we speak. You, however, are too valuable to let go.“

  I hold Dr. Josephine Taylor’s gaze for a long moment, hating myself, my part in all of Amir Faruk’s businesses, and the weakness inside me that stops me from doing something…anything about it.

  I bow my head, turn, and hurry from the room before I say something that will get me thrown back into the well. I have to do what Amir Faruk says or my life will be over, and I don’t want to die. Except…days like today, I think maybe that would be better.

  Several hours later, I’m staring at a picture of Josephine Taylor on the Massachusetts Department of Transportation website. She’s forty-three years old, has lived in Boston for almost ten years, and has a savings account with sixty thousand dollars in it. A sister and mother in San Diego.

  I know everything there is to know about this woman. At least, everything one can learn online without using the dark web. I can’t do it. Can’t take everything she is. But if I don’t, Faruk will hurt me. My stomach rumbles, and I reach for my sixth cup of tea of the day.

  Staring into the pale liquid, a memory threatens. Coffee. I haven’t had coffee in forever. The first sip in the morning. The jolt.