Brown nearly panicked when he looked over the Captain’s shoulder at her. “We do not want to get stopped in North Korea with blood literally on our hands. Take your clothes off and clean up in the snow.” He rooted around in the van and tossed down a sweater and the white smock of an ambulance attendant. “That’s all we have.”
Lincoln jumped down to help her. Carole’s hands were shaking as she pulled her jacket and jersey off. He stuffed them into a plastic bag, along with her pants. It didn’t bother her to strip almost naked in front of the big man, and he appeared focused on cleaning her up and getting his team out alive.
“Brown is right. It will be a miracle if we get out of here without getting stopped. And if we do there is no way we’re going to pass as Korean.”
Within minutes Carole climbed into the ambulance and tugged on her dark wig. Lincoln took his place on the stretcher, working on covering his legs with padding used on burn victims. Watching her Commanding Officer disguise himself, Carole explained in Korean, in regional perfect dialect, “I didn’t kill the physicist. It was a set up. General Samish lied.”
Every head swiveled towards her. Lincoln growled, “Don’t tell me this, Private. Do not tell me this.”
“Shit, bitch, then who’d you kill?” Horne glared.
“General Samish and Ambassador Causer.”
The confession caused momentarily stunned silence. Carole went through the motions of an EMT as her orders required. She jabbed a needle into the IV tube connected to Wright’s arm. A saline bag hung above his shaking head. The entire pact watched her with expressions she couldn’t bear to see. Her heart sinking, she dispensed the needle full of valium into Wright’s line.
“We are so ff—” his words drifted off as he slipped away. Brown leaned over Lincoln and wrapped burn pads over his face. No one else said anything. Wright had about said it for them all.
IT TOOK TWO days to get out of North Korea. They weren’t two days that any of the Pact could take pride in, or care to remember, and Carole knew it was her fault. But not once did a single member of the team say a word against her. It wasn’t the elephant in the room, it was the elephant the men pretended wasn’t there while trying to drag it out of the country, and it seemed to get heavier with each step. Wright and Imars would possibly lose some toes to frostbite. Carole had to knock Horne unconscious and stuff him into a trunk, something a misogynist would probably never forgive. Brown stopped speaking to anyone during the final sixteen hours, even with hand signals. By the time they crossed the border in the belly of a septic pumping truck, the men were ready to snap.
Standing in a snowy field, covered in filth, their contact refused to let them into his van.
“Give me break, you two days late! I give back other car, but I wait for you. Two days I wait! I no sign up for this,” he gestured at them in disgust. “This my car. My family car. You know how much car cost in Korea?”
Carole turned on the men before they could kill the driver. She relieved Imars of his ever present gun and shot at the ground, coming far too close to Brown to ever be forgiven.
“Stop it! We’re out now. We’re safe. I’m sure we can find someplace to clean up and get a ride. Probably food too.”
Lincoln marched right up to her and took the gun out of her hand, tucking it into his waistband.
“She’s right, and we’re all in far more trouble than this—shit.” He tugged at his sweater. Like the rest of them he was covered in a mixture of the dregs of the septic tank and his own vomit. Lincoln turned to the driver of the van. “You need to call your contact. Have him send a message to Lieutenant Colonel White. Tell him we have a Judas Judge on our hands.”
The driver stared at him a moment, then motioned with his head. “Get in, there no hot water for miles. When you get to base, you tell White. He there.”
Five voices said the same word. Carole kept silent. This was her fault, and she had absolutely no proof to offer for failing in her mission. They didn’t have to explain the term Judas Judge, because she knew she was Judas.
“HE’S LETTING US sweat,” Horne said. They were the first words any member of the Pact had said in front of Carole in the two weeks since they’d returned to base camp. Camp was an island, technically part of The Marshall Islands, right in the middle of the South Pacific. Officially this particular island didn’t exist anymore than Carole did. Without looking at her, Horne continued, “I’ve been expecting to be pulled out of bed at night for water-boarding. This guy has a reputation.”
Lincoln dropped his rations tray on a table and started peeling a mango. “Ted White doesn’t have people water-boarded. The man is an intelligence genius. Don’t start trying to outthink him; your head will explode.”
“Point is when a team no longer follows instructions they’re no longer a team.” Brown appeared to be talking directly to the large piece of fried fish in his hand. He hadn’t even looked at Carole since North Korea.
Horne twisted in his seat to glare at Carole. Though they hadn’t been speaking to her, they ran, practiced maneuvers, and ate together. In the close confines of the air-conditioned commissary, the stony silence had finally given way. She sat in front of a platter of grilled pineapple topped with avocado and black beans, slowly making her way through it, and ignoring him.
“Bitch, why couldn’t you just have taken out the physicist? That was your mission. Not to decide who was guilty and hatch a new plan. That is not how it works.” Carole kept eating and Horne addressed the rest of the team. “If the Colonel gets rid of her, problem solved. She’s the one who didn’t follow orders. She’s the one who almost got us killed in North Korea.”
“I’m guessing you put your opinions in your report, Horne? Shut it for now and do me a favor? Stop calling her bitch.”
Horne inquired as to the appropriateness of a different name and Lincoln flew across the table, his usual resilient nature morphing into something dark and angry. Carole jumped out of the way as the rest of the Pact joined in the fray, half their bodies on the sturdy rectangular table, half off. Her plate, along with most of her dinner, ended up beneath Horne. The loss of the food bothered her the most. She understood the fight, understood fists better than the quiet subterfuge the men engaged in around her. If she was really part of the Pact she’d be in there with them, trying to knock a couple of Horne’s white teeth down his throat. But she knew as long as she stayed out of it no one would get really hurt. These men respected each other.
The voices began to criticize the men, but she knew that Horne was right. She was the one who almost got everyone killed in North Korea. The Pact worked by different rules than she did. They followed orders to the letter. She followed orders until they interfered with the moral code that the voices had instilled in her long ago. Despite her occasional defiance, the voices were impossible to ignore. Besides, it wasn’t just the voices—nothing in her would allow her to kill an innocent man, and the consequences of her actions were being paid by the entire team. She did not belong.
A squad of Military Police broke up the fight, placing them under arrest. MP’s escorted them across campus, but they never made it to the brig. A young Private raced after them, halting the procession to announce orders in a voice that still crackled from the changes of puberty.
“Lieutenant Colonel Ted White sends word, Sir. Instead of the brig they’re being sent to summer camp.”
After executing an about face, the Pact marched obediently down to the beach, to wait on the docks. Apparently they were being moved to another island. Judging by the sympathetic looks shot in their direction, Carole had a bad feeling that the brig would have been a far more pleasant option than summer camp.
THE PACT STOOD at the dock waiting. Base camp activity buzzed around them. Most of the teams were there to regroup and train for missions, but the sound of rock music drifted from the main camp, the smell of a charcoal grill in the air. A helicopter landed on the far side of the complex, past the gymnasium, and several speed boats took men to w
aiting ships. Nobody paid any attention to the Pact. The men waited under guard by the kid still in the throes of puberty. He looked younger than Carole but smoked a cigarette while keeping one finger on the trigger of his M16. Carole knew this too, Imars would never forgive. She stood apart from the group, staring over the water and ignoring the prattling voices inside her head. They were urging escape before the Pact got her alone and retaliated.
Despite the overshadowing military presence, the islands were a tropical paradise. Clear turquoise water rippled and creamy sandy beaches ringed volcanic islands. Lush green vegetation darkened the interior of every island, hiding ugly barracks. Sunset eventually turned the azure sky flame-orange, ruby-red and gold. Palm trees became dark silhouettes. Carole focused exclusively on the scenery, ignoring the voices and successfully tuning out the arguing of the Pact. A coral reef grew beneath the water and she could sense teeming life. She focused on identifying marine creatures, using that part of her brain that couldn’t be held prisoner by a boy with a machine gun.
A white speedboat pulled up to the dock, and two formidable marines with automatic weapons loaded them into it. The Pact leaned sullenly against the sides of the boat as it motored over the water. The sun set by the time they approached their destination, leaving only orange and red streaks and blinking blue boat lights striping the water. The boat motor cut off well before reaching shore. One of the guards poked Carole with the tip of his gun and growled, “Get out.” She immediately did so, toppling over the side and treading water in the darkening ocean. A few members of the Pact argued about sharks and their still bleeding injuries before joining her in the water. Heavy splashes sounded as their supplies were tossed in behind them. The boat motor turned over, and the craft maneuvered back towards the main island.
Someone shoved a rubbery pack towards Carole’s head, splashing water over her face. A volley of cussing followed. “Figure out a way to get that to shore, bitch.” Shoot, she realized, it wasn’t Horne, but Wright. The man had apparently gotten over any feelings he might have once harbored for her. Lincoln’s long dark form passed by, swimming for the island in the distance.
Between alternately shoving and towing the bulky pack, the long swim tired Carole. She sensed fresh water, food, rope, and clothing inside the pack and in the endless water she sensed no sharks. That knowledge reassured her, but the men struggling around her didn’t have that reassurance. The moon rose by the time they made land. Carole allowed the men to reach the beach first. Despite what the voices thought, she didn’t think the Pact would hurt her, but it didn’t seem like a good idea to give them any further reason to want to.
Tugging the case ashore, she dragged it over the beach, well out of reach of the tide. The members of the Pact simply dropped on the shore and went to sleep wherever they landed. Carole leaned against a palm tree and made certain they were all asleep. Judging by the few supplies they’d been given, the food and water wouldn’t last long. They would have to work together to survive here. That task would have once been an unspoken given, but because of her everything had changed. Because of her the Pact was fragmented, and she knew it couldn’t be fixed until she was out of the equation. I don’t belong. Exhaustion finally allowed Carole to succumb to sleep.
FROM THE STORE of meager rations, Carole ate only cheese, peanut butter, and her share of water. That left more dried meat, noodles and energy bars for the men. Yet Horne said she was pissing him off, and that she ate like a spoiled child. Picking a large black beetle off a tree, she popped it into her mouth and chewed. Lincoln, always the leader setting an example, laughed and he followed suit. The insects had a strange minty taste to them, and they were protein. Carole could no more eat processed food than she could kill an innocent man, but she got hungry too. The voices didn’t allow her to eat a processed granola bar, but they were perfectly good with beetles and woodlice. She could sense the tiny crustaceans crawling through the rotting trees in the jungle brush. They were small, but there were plenty of them. Grabbing an empty bottle, she headed towards the trees to gather her lunch.
The Pact spent day one mostly searching the small island. It took less than two hours to walk the beach and come upon their own footprints again. The interior of the island consisted of thick jungle, and they found evidence of many prior visitors. The remnants of huts, hammocks, snares, and tents had been reduced to sparse piles of rubbish. Useful supplies had obviously been removed to make life sufficiently painful for new arrivals. The only structures standing were manmade obstacle courses. According to the orders tucked in with their meager supplies, they were to participate in the various rope courses three times a day, employing specific handicaps. Lincoln took charge, announcing their schedule, which included the most basic course first.
During daylight the course took no real effort, although Wright swore at Carole throughout. Afterwards the Pact separated to dig through everything left behind on the island, looking for anything of use. With no freshwater on the island, their biggest need was anything that could be used to desalinate seawater. By dark they’d accumulated enough material to make a rough attempt at solar desalination. Tired, the men tucked down to sleep a couple hours before they’d need to wake and run the basic obstacle course in the dark.
Deciding it would be wise to sleep away from the Pact, Carole moved towards the trees. Sand stuck to her wet boots, trickling between the laces as she walked. Lincoln shouted after her.
“Not you, Blank! You don’t eat much, but you drink your share. There’s only enough water for another day. Let’s see what you can do to fix our water problem in the next two hours.”
“Sir? There’s no light.” Their supplies hadn’t contained a single flashlight, and clouds blotted out the moon. Besides that, it would take the entire team to build anything big enough to supply as much water as they needed.
“Are you arguing with me?”
“No, Sir. Would you have me build a fire, Sir?”
“Absolutely not. I’d have you pull more than your own weight since you’re the one who got us into this—situation. Build it in the dark, Judas, and wake us in two hours.”
THE INCESSANT ROAR of the voices mounting their soapbox dimmed in comparison to the black dreams. Horrific visions of witch burnings, hangings, and a general assortment of torture paraded through Carole’s consciousness. She was being punished far beyond what Lincoln could inflict on her. Maybe the voices had cried wolf too many times, or maybe the anger coursing through her veins helped, but Carole managed to stay focused on her task despite the divine retribution in her head. Forcing the scent of burning flesh and hair to the back of her mind, and using her extra senses she moved through the darkness unhindered by lack of sight, dragging branches, tenting poles and tying canvas to PVC piping. If she could trust her senses, and despite the background clamor, she thought she could, she sensed a pocket of water beneath the island—and it was very likely fresh. If she could trust visions she’d seen in her dark dreams, then a windmill could provide the energy to vacuum it from the ground—if she could fit the pipe properly through the opening in the rock. Carole shuddered as part of her brain watched a man in a town square being tortured, his skin being slowly peeled off his body.
Two hours later Carole stood over Lincoln, drinking from her rations bottle. The water tasted faintly brackish, but she had no doubt it was potable. The moon broke through the cloudy sky for a moment. Carole poked Lincoln with the toe of her boot. Hair had started to sprout on his normally bald head, and part of her wanted to dump water on it. To tell him if he gave an impossible task to the crazy marine with the legion of mad veterans in her head, it got done. She didn’t dare, her head already screamed with pain, she certainly couldn’t afford to antagonize her mad mental menagerie further. Lincoln ignored the boot.
“Sir? It’s time to run the night course.”
“Sod off, Blank,” he intoned, turning over.
“That bitch is drinking our water!” Wright’s voice cut through the night. With a head full
of screeching pain, Carole didn’t realize he was coming until he slammed into her, knocking her over Lincoln. The metal water bottle fell, landing right on Lincoln’s forehead. He woke fully, swearing. Wright’s weight crushed Carole into the sand, and pain exploded in her head as white light. Blackness came, blissful, welcome, then nothing.
She tried to stay there. There were no voices in the dark, no dark dreams, nothing. But from far off voices called to her, and Carole struggled to ignore them, she’d had enough of the voices. She needed peace. An unfamiliar physical awareness intruded, grinding against her. Hands pressed hard against her chest, rubbing over her breasts.
“Oh, God. Oh, God. You are so beautiful. Let me in, let me in,” a voice whispered the words over and over, so low that she could hear them over the returning demented dissertation she was so familiar with.
“Stop him. Hide. Hide, hide, hide. He feels you.”
Familiar body odor wafted up her nose, and a wet mouth lapped at her face. Carole twisted away. Clouds covered the moon again, but she knew who pressed against her. Wright’s body odor always reminded her of the time one of Martin Happy’s emus had been killed by coyotes and then left to fester in the desert sun.
“Get off me!” she shouted into his ear.
He ignored her, grinding against her, whispering softly, “God, oh, God, please!” He was a heavy, solid man. She’d hit the sand hard, and felt half buried in it. At that moment Lincoln and Horne located Wright in the dark, and hauled him off of her. Despite the dark, Carole sensed Lincoln throw Wright. He landed flat on his back in the sand, and to her horror he started to cry.
“Blank! Are you okay?” Lincoln shouted.
“Yes, Sir,” she answered, but her voice sounded small. The sound of Wright’s sobs horrified her.
Heartless A Shieldmaiden's Voice: A Covenant Keeper Novel Page 6
