Path of Jen: Bloodborne

by Sidney Wood

  Sergeant Lynch’s team leaders, two Corporals, ducked their heads into the tent. They were in full combat gear, including ghost face masks, body armor, and rifles. Sergeant Lynch delayed making a call while he considered the options. He looked sideways at Jen with a pained expression and chewed his lip. He appeared seriously conflicted.

  “You say your from Texas?” he asked.

  Jen nodded and said, “Dallas, born and raised."

  “Well, there it is I guess,” Sergeant Lynch said with absolution. “There’s no damn way I’m letting some no name spooks take a fellow Texan while I have something to say about it." He looked at the Corporals standing in the doorway and said, “Give me a 360 degree perimeter. Put the 240’s on the road, and the M2 on the hill. We need a tight net with big teeth, got it? Nothing and nobody comes in." He stood up and pointed at Jen. “Somebody’s coming to take little sister. Are we going to let that happen?”

  “Hell no!” the Corporal’s shouted in unison.

  “Damn straight. Now get your brothers and get ready,” he said with power in his voice.

  Jen felt chills. She looked at Sergeant Lynch and simply said, “Thank you.”

  “Just put on the vest and head gear I gave you and keep your butt inside. I don’t want any of my boys getting distracted by seeing you out there. Can I trust you to stay in here? Even if things get noisy?"

  Jen nodded and immediately started getting into the combat gear the Sergeant issued her the first night in camp. “Will you let me help if you need me?” she asked. “I know how to use rifle.”

  “Not a freaking chance,” he said with finality. He shrugged into his vest and set his helmet on his head. He picked up his rifle and said, “Stay inside. I mean it,” and then he walked outside.

  Thirty-seven minutes later, the first shots were fired. Jen heard a distant and rapid, “Pop-Pop." There was a three second pause, and then she heard three or four more, “Pop-Pop,” bursts. They were mostly coming from the direction of the approach road, and were suddenly drowned out by a chainsaw ripping burst of automatic gunfire. The machine guns fired in short overlapping bursts, or so Jen imagined. From the camp it was hard to discern how many guns were firing, and how far apart they were. She remembered Sergeant Lynch ordering the 240’s to face down the road, so she imagined them on either side, firing at an approaching enemy. A distinctly different weapon began firing, and Jen compared it to the difference between a Harley Davidson and Kawasaki motorcycle engine. The new gun was firing at a slower cadence, but it sounded much deeper and more powerful. It came from the hillside south of the camp.

  Jen had no idea she would feel so frightened for the Marines out there fighting to protect her. The gunfire was sporadic, and with every short burst or single shot, she wondered if they were dying. She closed her eyes and prayed hard. “Dear Lord, please listen to me now and help these Marines. Father, they are out there fighting for me, when they don’t even know me. Please help them Lord. Keep them safe…please,” she asked out loud. Her thoughts shifted to Dustin and her heart sunk. “Heavenly father? One more thing…please keep Staff Sergeant Parks safe. I feel like you brought him into my life for a reason. Please, don’t take him away. In Jesus’ name, amen.”

  The firing continued and Jen noticed a shift toward the east. Sitting on her cot she was facing northeast. The gunfire started in the northwest and was now ahead of her. “Are they pushing the Marines, or is it the other way around?" Waiting and wondering was becoming unbearable. “Sorry Sergeant Lynch,” she said to the empty tent. “I can’t just sit around while you all bleed for me. There has to be something I can do.”

  Jen looked for a weapon, but there wasn’t anything just laying round. “Come on Jen! Think of something!” she muttered as she quickly looked through the tent and then outside. Under the camouflage netting, but near the entrance to the camp, Jen saw a tan colored four-wheeler with cargo racks, front and rear, and a rifle case jutting up at a 45 degree angle over the rear fender. She raced over to the off-road vehicle and unlatched the cover to the rifle case. “Oh heck yeah!” Jen thought. She was looking at a black, pump style shotgun, with a pistol grip and hooded sights. It looked like something out of a science fiction movie.

  Jen pulled the Remington 870 shotgun out of the case and turned it over. She tried pulling the action back, and it slammed open with a satisfying “Rack!” sound. She saw a red shotgun shell pop out of the magazine tube and onto a lifting lever, ready to go into the chamber. Jen turned the shotgun back over and pulled it tightly into her shoulder while placing her trigger finger up along the metal side of the receiver. She grinned with anticipation and pushed hard on the action, shoving it away from her with her support hand. As expected, it slammed forward and the action closed with another satisfying “Rack!” sound.

  She took the rifle out of her shoulder and rotated it to look at the safety. It was a button near the trigger that, was pressed flush to the trigger guard. She pressed it from the other side and saw that doing so exposed a red band. “Okay, that’s not on safe." She pressed it the other way and the red band disappeared. “And that is on safe,” she thought. “Okay, then,” she thought, slinging the rifle over her shoulder. “Which way do I go?”

  Jen spun in a slow circle, listening for gunshots. It was quiet. “Is it over?” she wondered. “When did it stop?” she said out loud. She stood still and waited. She waited for a full minute and there was still no sound.

  Jen looked at the four-wheeler again. There was a key in it. “Driving one of these can’t be that hard, right?” she reasoned. “I’ll just go see if they’re okay. That should be alright." She swung a leg over the saddle-like seat, and almost knocked the shotgun off of her shoulder. She ducked her head through the sling to wear it cross-body behind her, and turned the four-wheeler ignition to run. “Okay, let’s see…” she thought. “I see FWD, N, and REV." She moved the lever to N, and pressed the green start button on the handlebar. The machine rumbled to life. “So far, so good,” she thought excitedly. She squeezed the brake on the handlebar and pressed the brake near her foot. She moved the lever to FWD and slowly let go of the brake lever. She slowly lifted her foot off the lower brake. Nothing happened. Jen pressed the thumb paddle lever on the handlebar and heard the engine rev faster. The four-wheeler lurched forward and Jen immediately let off the lever. It stopped. “Okay…” she said and pressed the paddle lever again. The four-wheeler began rolling forward and Jen steered it out of the camp. She pressed the lever harder and raced down the road.

  About a hundred yards ahead the road turned to the north. As she rounded the corner, Jen saw a black SUV with its doors open and windows shot out. There were two men laying on the ground next to it, and a Marine laying beside the road face down. Jen slammed on the brakes and pushed the lever to N. She jumped off the four-wheeler and unslung the shotgun as she ran to the Marine. She dropped to her knees and lay the shotgun down. She rolled the Marine over and pulled up his mask.

  Jen gasped.

  “No!” she shouted. It was Lance Corporal Sharp. His eyes were lifeless and fixed open. Jen cradled his head in her lap and cried. She gently closed his eyes and lay him back on the ground, then pulled the mask over his face and picked up her shotgun.

  She walked cautiously toward the SUV and saw that something was moving in the back seat. Jen gritted her teeth and used her trigger finger to push the safety off. She side stepped to see into the open rear door and raised the shotgun. “Who are you?” she angrily asked the man who was struggling to sit up. He was wearing body armor and tactical gear over a white Tyvek jumpsuit and rubber gloves. He wore a clear plastic face shield that was fogged up from his own breath. He held one hand pressed tightly to his throat, and blood was pulsing out between his fingers.

  “Help me,” he mouthed. There was no sound aside from muffled gurgling and the rustling sound of the paper suit as he struggled.

  Jen pointed the shotgun directly at his head, and considered exactly how she should help him. “I should
put you out of your misery for hurting my friends, you jerk,” she said through clenched teeth. Jen wanted to pull the trigger. She wanted to pull it badly as payback for Lance Corporal Sharp, but a small voice in the back of her head told her, “He’s already done for, just keep moving.”

  The man fell back on the seat and stopped struggling. He was getting weaker, and his hand slipped away from his neck. Jen grimaced and the blood flowed freely. “He’s done."

  Jen took a quick look around the vehicle and returned to the four-wheeler. She re-slung the shotgun across her back and put the four-wheeler in gear. With more confidence, and a healthy dose of anger, she sped off down the road. About fifty yards past the black vehicle there were tracks leading off road to the east. She slowed just enough to make the turn, and followed the tracks.

  The trail was bumpy and Jen was having a hard time keeping control. She had to slow down and concentrate on the terrain directly in from of her instead of scanning ahead for Marines or bad guys. She crested a rise and nearly ran over Sergeant Lynch. “Oh no!” she yelled, slamming on the brakes, she lurched to a stop. The front of the machine hit a kneeling Sergeant Lynch in the back and knocked him forward onto his face.

  Sergeant Lynch groaned and pushed back onto his knees. “What the hell?” he swore. His body ached, but it would have been far worse if he had not been wearing kevlar body armor. He worked his way to a kneeling position and suddenly turned, raising his rifle toward Jen.

  “Wait! It’s me!” she shouted. She raised her hands above her head and asked, “Are you okay?”

  Sergeant Lynch dropped the muzzle of his rifle and sighed in frustration. “Didn’t I freaking tell you to stay inside?" He stood up on shaky legs and stretched his sore back. Jen saw pock marks and tears on the front of his body armor.

  “Did you get shot?” she asked with undisguised worry in her voice.

  Sergeant Lynch looked down at his gear and said, “Yeah, I guess I did. It’s nothing." He pointed at the four wheeler and asked, “Did you get that on your own, or did one of my guys make it back?"

  She shook her head and frowned. “Nobody made it back. The shooting stopped and I had to see what happened." She pointed back down the trail and choked on her words. Her throat tightened up and she couldn’t say what she wanted to.

  Sergeant Lynch saw her struggling and noticed she was getting emotional. “Yeah, I saw him too,” he said with a nod. “Sharp was the first to go down. He took two or three of those bastards with him though." He paused for a second and looked her in the eye. “They opened fire first, Jen. They weren’t looking to do this the nice way." He shook his head in disbelief. “They came in with the intent of killing all of us, not just taking you. Why?” he asked. “It doesn’t make any sense!”

  Jen remembered the man in the SUV wearing personal protective equipment. “They knew about the blood borne pathogen!” she realized. “Do I tell him? Will he understand, or will he blame me for all of this?” Jen wondered. “Oh, who am I kidding? This is definitely my fault!” she finally admitted.

  Sergeant Lynch slung his rifle and motioned for Jen to scoot back. He was going to join her on the four-wheeler, and he was going to drive.

  Jen held up a hand and said, “Wait, there’s something you need to know." She took a deep breath and readied herself to level with him. “I have a disease. That’s why everyone wants me,” she said.

  Sergeant Lynch looked confused.

  “When I was kidnapped,” she started in a shaky voice. “They…experimented on me." Jen saw by his expression that he was trying to control his anger, but his interest was piqued. She continued, “They made me a…I don’t know, a biological weapon. My blood is dangerous, Sergeant."

  He frowned. “So they were eliminating the threat…which included my men." He turned his head and spit angrily on the ground. “Screw those guys, and screw anybody else who tries." Sergeant Lynch motioned for Jen to scoot back again and swung his leg over the seat.

  “Hold on,” he said in loud voice. Jen hooked her hands into the arm holes of his body armor and held tight. He shoved the gear lever to FWD, and pressed the throttle. Just as they lurched forward, he let off the throttle and hit the brake. They stopped and he said “Oh, and do me a big favor. Don’t bleed on me,” over his shoulder.

  Only one other Marine from Sergeant Lynch’s squad was alive. It was the half-naked Lance Corporal Jen had met outside the tents on the first day. They had given up on finding anyone alive when they found him stumbling back into camp with one good eye and a shot up leg.

  “What the hell happened to you O’Brian?” the Sergeant asked the muscular Marine as they pulled up next to him on the four-wheeler, just outside the camouflage netting. He cut off the engine and they dismounted. They had already circled the camp and found all of the other Marines and assailants dead. The Marines had given at least as good as they got, but the men who came for Jen, were professionals too. It was a tough fight.

  “What?” O’Brian asked. “Oh, you mean this?” he said pointing at his bloody eye socket as if it was nothing. “Well, the first guy got lucky and hit my leg before I got him." He hopped once and presented his bad leg, showing the gnarled calf and outer thigh area. “That was my bad for standing still for too long. I got the second guy between the eyes just before the third guy shot my gun. Hit it right in the barrel.” he said, shaking his head. “So I limped over to him and whacked him with it, but he was a big son of a…" He paused and looked at Jen. “Sorry ma’am. He was a big guy. Anyway, we grappled and went to knives, and well…I hate to say it but I think I cut my own eye. It happened too fast. All I know is, I lost an eye, but the other guy still has my knife punched up through his neck and into his skull." He looked at Jen again and said, “I’m sorry ma’am. That was pretty graphic.”

  Jen just stood there with her mouth open. “Are you kidding me?” she said. “Don’t apologize! Geez, what are you guys made of anyway?”

  The Lance Corporal shrugged. “We’re Marines ma’am." He looked around with his good eye. “Where’s the rest of the guys? Didn’t anybody else make it?”

  “It’s just us, Lance Corporal,” the Sergeant said without emotion. “Get your ass into the tent so I can patch you up. Don’t think you’re done for the day either. You’ve got work to do, so hurry up.”

  As soon as the Lance Corporal limped off to the tent, Jen punched the Sergeant in the arm. “What is wrong with you?” she whispered harshly. “He just got shot! And he killed a guy with is bare hands! How can you make him work?”

  The Sergeant rounded on her sharply. “First, don’t question me. Second, what the heck do you think is going to happen as soon as he stops moving? He’s going to go into shock, that’s what. I am not an idiot, lady. I know he’s been through it, but he's a United States Marine. I’ll be damned if I’m going to let him sit round and feel sorry for himself."

  Jen took a half step back and swallowed. She didn’t know what to say. She was angry, embarrassed, and sorry at the same time. “I really don’t understand these guys at all,” she admitted to herself. The conflicting emotions passed quickly, and she simply felt awkward. Rather than speaking, Jen nodded and pointed toward the tent. She raised her eyebrows as if asking, “Well? Are we going?”

  Sergeant Lynch snorted and shook his head. “After you,” he said. She started walking to the tent and he held his hand up. “Wait,” he said. “On second thought, I think you’d better wait out here. No offense, but I don’t want my guy catching whatever you’re carrying.”

  Jen opened her mouth and started to protest, but he shut her down.

  “Hey! Toughen up!” he shouted. “This isn’t personal, got it?" He pointed toward the tent. “He’s bleeding all over the place! Just..” and his tone softened as he realized he was being a world class jerk. “Just gimme a few minutes to patch him up, and then you can come in okay?”

  Jen nodded, still unwilling to talk to him after his tirade.

  “Besides, I like the idea of somebody watchi
ng my back out here,” he added. He turned and walked into the tent to tend to his Marine. Jen unslung the shotgun and sat on the four-wheeler.

  A buzzing in the background grew louder and Jen looked around for the source. “What the heck?” she thought until she looked up. There, circling slowly above, was a gray airplane. “No,” she thought. “That’s not an airplane, or at least not a real one. That’s a drone." She watched it for a minute before it hit her. “A drone!”

  She hopped off the four-wheeler and ducked under the camouflage netting. “Lynch! There are more coming!” she shouted. “They’re coming!" She pushed her way into the tent and found Sergeant Lynch wrapping the Lance Corporal’s leg with a bandage. They both looked at her in surprise.

  “What are you talking bout?” the Lance Corporal asked.

  “There’s a remote controlled airplane!” said Jen excitedly. “Doesn’t that mean somebody’s watching us? They might be coming here!”

  The two Marines looked up, instinctively, even though they couldn’t see beyond the roof of the tent. All of them could hear the noisy engine of the little airplane, and Sergeant Lynch said, “Aww crap.”

  The Lance Corporal pushed his hands away and said, “I got this Sergeant. Go do what you gotta do. I’m right behind you." He took the bandage and finished wrapping it. The bandage didn’t need to be tied. It had a plastic hook on one end that, when twisted, secured the bandage and applied pressure to the wound. He opened another bandage and wrapped it around the wound on his calf in the same manner.

  Jen followed the Sergeant out of the tent and asked, “What can I do?”

  Sergeant Lynch looked at her without emotion. “Pray” he said.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Fouzia and Sarah sat in the Ahmadi’s living room watching television. The nightly news was on and video footage from yet another mass refugee migration to Europe from the middle east was being featured.