Do-Gooder

by J. Leigh Bailey

  THEY SHOVED me in the back of one of their old-school jeeps. The olive green with rust patches blended in with the surrounding forest, which was probably why they wanted to use it. As soon as my ass hit the hard-as-a-rock seat, one of the guards wrapped a dark cloth over my eyes. He tied it tight enough that I hissed at the pressure on my bruised temple. On top of that, I almost gagged at the scent of motor oil and body odor. Before I could object, rough hands grabbed my wrists, and, after the distinctive ripping noise of duct tape, secured them together in front of me.

  A few minutes later, the jeep started with a grumble and shake that did nothing to ease my nausea. Another vehicle revved behind us, and then we moved.

  Whatever path or road we took was clearly not used much. The jeep shifted along the edges of deep ruts and bounced from potholes. Even though I couldn’t see, I felt the forest pressing in on us. I flinched every time a bush or a leafy branch swept along the jeep’s sides. An oppressive hush hung over us. I couldn’t hear a single bird chirp or bug buzz.

  We hit another pothole, making the jeep rock. The extra rocking motion was too much for me. “I’m going to be sick.” I doubted whether either of the guards in the front of the jeep heard or cared. We continued driving at the same pace, so I assumed they hadn’t. My mouth flooded with moisture, and I had to swallow back bile. I leaned forward in the cramped backseat and tried to lower my head between my knees. There wasn’t enough room, and all I managed to do was hit my forehead against the low seatback in front of me. I blinked at the unexpected pain.

  I’d kept my eyes closed behind the blindfold. It seemed less scary that way. But when I blinked them open I noticed a tiny sliver of light along the lower edge of the smelly cloth. Maybe I could shift the blindfold enough to see something? Between the DKA and the blows to my head, I might have been acting under some kind of weird delusion of cleverness, but I felt surprisingly clearheaded. And I had a plan. It was a long shot, but it was better than sitting there in a daze.

  I leaned forward again, slower this time. When my head rested against the seatback, I pressed down and pulled back. The cloth shifted. Not much, but enough that the sliver of golden light grew. I adjusted my head again and repeated the action.

  “What are you doing?”

  I recognized The Slav’s voice.

  “I feel like I’m going to be sick,” I said. Since he didn’t reply, I assumed he bought my excuse.

  The jeep lurched and the weight of the forest seemed to ease back. I breathed in deeply and noticed a subtle change in the humidity and scent of vegetation. If I were to guess, we’d driven out of the rain forest and into a clearing of some kind.

  I sat upright in my seat and tilted my head back. If I angled my head just right and raised my eyebrows, the blindfold lifted enough I could catch images out the corner of my eyes. The first thing I caught was blazing yellow. Yes, clearly we’d escaped the dense canopy of rain forest. The second thing I caught was… a hippopotamus in a tutu? Maybe I was more delusional than I thought. I blinked and tried to focus, but the jeep bounced and the movement increased my nausea. The tendons in my neck, which were stretched at an awkward angle, twinged. I lowered my chin to relieve the pressure. So my clever plan didn’t work so well. All I got was sunlight and a hippopotamus ballerina, and I was pretty sure I couldn’t trust what I think I saw. Seriously. Dancing hippos? There weren’t even any signs or buildings that could be used as identification.

  My brain grew foggy and my head heavy as the stress of the morning caught up with me. The road smoothed out a bit and, with the gentler ride, I fell into a fitful doze.

  I DIDN’T know how long I was out of it. When I came to, my body ached, both from the illness and the nap in the cramped backseat of an antique jeep. I rolled my shoulders, trying to loosen tight muscles. My lips were rough and cracked from the heat and thirst.

  I cleared my throat. “Can I have some water?”

  The guards ignored my question.

  Awake and uncomfortable, my foggy brain arrowed in on the one thing I’d hoped to ignore: Henry. It wasn’t that I didn’t care about what happened to him, but if I let myself dwell on him, abandoned and alone, at the mercy of mercenaries, I’d lose it. Completely. Unfortunately, my desire to hold off a major freak-out by ignoring the problem couldn’t stand against the panicked images my brain provided. Everything from bruises and bleeding to rape and murder flickered through my imagination. My breathing became shallow and rapid, matching the frantic beating of my heart.

  I bit my lip and forced myself to breathe slowly. It didn’t help. Not only was I terrified about what would happen to Henry, the thought that I’d been so cold to him the last couple of days tortured me. He’d saved me. He’d gone way above and beyond to get my insulin and work with Rat Man to keep me alive. And what did I do? I resented him. I ignored him. More than anything else, maybe even more than I wanted to get away from the mercenaries, I wanted to talk to Henry. To reassure him that I didn’t hate him. That I appreciated what he did, even if I hated that he’d had to do it.

  By the time the jeep slowed, I’d wound myself up so much the change in speed brought me to attention with a surge of adrenaline that left me jittery. I swallowed back a panicked gasp. “Are we there?” I asked.

  Again the guards ignored my question. They started talking to each other, though. In Russian. They sounded a bit like Shorty. There was a crackling sound, like from a walkie-talkie, and more indecipherable muttering.

  The jeep came to a halt, and I strained my senses trying to get any information I could. My eyes were useless, obviously, behind the grungy blindfold. I inhaled, detecting a scent kind of like sagebrush. Sagebrush and dirt. Not green and rot. So we really had left the rain forest behind. The air felt a little dryer too, so it seemed likely.

  Doors slammed from the jeep behind us, and the two mercenaries in the vehicle with me got out too. A heavy hand landed on my shoulder in a painful grip that kept me in place.

  “You brought our product?” Shorty’s voice was unnaturally loud in the quiet space.

  My chest tightened. Was Chuck there? Was I really going to get to go home?

  “It’s here.”

  I almost cried at the sound of Chuck’s voice. So close. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was going to go wrong at the last second. I’d find out it was all some kind of trick or someone would shoot Chuck. Or me. Or an earthquake would strike. Something was going to happen. This was too… easy.

  “Now let me see Isaiah.” Chuck’s voice was cold. If he felt any fear at facing armed mercenaries, I couldn’t tell. Of course, for all I knew, he was surrounded by Special Forces soldiers.

  Someone pulled me roughly from the jeep and dragged me forward a few yards. I stumbled and the guard’s grip on my arm nearly wrenched my shoulder out of its socket, though it kept me from falling to the ground.

  “Once we have verified the contents, you can take him with you.” Shorty barked orders to… somebody. Damn, I really wished I could see what was going on. I felt like I was standing in front of an old-fashioned firing squad. Waiting for a bullet to the brain.

  Minutes dragged by as I stood there. My legs shook and sweat trickled down my face and neck. A hot breeze wafted over me, doing nothing to warm the cold chills racing through my veins.

  Another minute passed.

  Then another.

  Finally, when I was sure I was going to pass out from the stress, Shorty ordered my release. The guard holding me pulled the blindfold off my face and pushed me forward. Sunlight blinded and burned my eyes as I stumbled forward. I couldn’t see where I was going, but that didn’t stop me from heading sightlessly toward my father’s voice. I tried to run, but my legs were too weak to do more than a shambling walk.

  I didn’t even notice that I was crying until my foot caught on something and I crashed into the hard, sand-dusted ground. The wracking sobs made it impossible to stand up.

  “Isaiah!” Gentle arms helped me sit up before I was pulled in a ha
rd hug. I didn’t need Chuck’s repeated mutters of “I’ve got you” to know who held me. It was a bone-deep recognition. A remembrance of all the times he’d held me as a child.

  I dropped my head onto my father’s shoulder as relief, fear, and desperation battled for an outlet. “Oh God, Dad. Henry. They’ve still got Henry.”

  His arms tightened around me, and I let myself be comforted. Just for now. Just for a moment.

  Chapter 21

  SHOCK LEFT me nearly catatonic as plans were made and we were transported to an airfield nearby. Turned out Chuck had brought a couple of people with him. Not Special Forces, but someone to drive and help move crates of chemical weapons components. I didn’t even want to contemplate how or where he’d gotten his hands on them.

  Chuck flew me to a hospital in Brussels. I didn’t remember much of the eight-hour flight. I’d come almost full circle. Less than two weeks and I was heading back to Western civilization. Finally. Only it didn’t happen quite the way I had hoped.

  The plane we’d flown in was nothing like the one that brought me to Cameroon. It was smaller, private, and had enough room for my chair to recline almost completely. The minute my ass hit the seat, Chuck had me horizontal, and then he plugged an IV into my hand. A bag of saline dripped from a stand above me.

  Chuck stayed by my side through the whole flight. Every now and then he’d try and talk to me. The first time he attempted conversation, I interrupted him. “Where’s Henry?”

  His face had closed up, his lips compressed.

  The next time he said something I pretended to be asleep. Tired as I was, the pretense led to the real thing.

  When we reached the hospital, I was immediately admitted, and another bag of saline was hooked up, along with electrolytes and a round of antibiotics.

  Chuck was in his element, ordering doctors and nursing staff alike around like they worked for him at the refugee camp. I wanted to tell him we weren’t in Cameroon anymore and his sphere of influence was a lot smaller here, but I wasn’t talking to him.

  He’d ordered guards placed at my door. Like I hadn’t had enough armed men watching over me over the last several days. At least these guys were there to protect me, not imprison me. So there was that.

  I woke up at one point during the night to the sound of someone crying. Not bawling or howling or anything. Just quiet sobs. I forced my eyes open. Chuck sat in the visitor’s chair, hands over his face, shoulders shaking. My breathing hitched in my throat, and he stilled at the soft sound. I snapped my eyes closed and evened out my breathing. I wasn’t able—okay, willing—to deal with that.

  I willed myself back to sleep.

  THE NEXT morning Mom walked in.

  I whipped back the thin blanket covering me and swung my legs over the side of the bed before she’d taken two steps into the room. “Mom!”

  She looked… frazzled. Mom never looked less than perfect. Usually her dark hair wouldn’t dare to fall out of place, her wardrobe was impeccable, and her makeup tastefully done. But here she was, in jeans and a rumpled button-down shirt, and her chin-length hair looked like she’d stuck it out the plane’s window during her flight.

  I teetered on unsteady legs and fell back onto the bed.

  Chuck cleared his throat. He’d been sitting next to my bed with a tablet computer of some kind. I didn’t know what he’d been doing. I hadn’t asked. He stood and set the computer on the chair. “Hello, Julianne.”

  “Charles.”

  Wow, Mom used her lawyer voice. She must have been pissed. Like just-this-side-of-Armageddon pissed. Then again, I was pretty ticked at him too, but what reason would she have to… oh, yeah. She probably blamed him for me getting kidnapped.

  Strange, as mad as I was at him, and for all the reasons I was mad at him, I hadn’t blamed him for the kidnapping.

  “I’ll let you two get caught up.” Chuck picked up his computer and left the room, shutting the door behind him softly.

  The second the door was closed, she rushed forward and pulled me into a bone-crushing hug. Her familiar scent and the desperate mom-hug cracked something inside of me. I buried my head into her shoulder and sobbed out all the anger, fear, and frustration I’d been holding on to.

  SOMEHOW SHE got me tucked back into the bed. She lay down next to me, rubbing my arm like she had when I was little and had been sick or scared. The whole story came pouring out, a jumble of words and emotions, mostly out of context and out of order.

  “They just left him there, Mom. They left him. And Chuck gave them the chemicals and now people are going to die. And Henry’s going to die. He doesn’t have anyone left. They killed Mrs. Okono, and now he’s got no one. And Snake Eyes made him… to get my insulin… he had to—” The words broke off on a sob.

  I scrubbed my face, trying to wipe away the tears and snot. “Mom? He’s probably going to die and he saved me.”

  “I’m so thankful he was there for you. I owe that boy more than I can ever repay.”

  “We have to help him.”

  She didn’t say anything. I knew it was unreasonable to ask, to hope, but my whole life, there was nothing she couldn’t do.

  “Please, Mom. He doesn’t have anyone.” My lids drooped, and I didn’t have the energy to fight them. “Please.”

  Smoothing back the hair from my face, she kissed my forehead. “It sounds like he has you.” My mind started drifting into sleep when she said, “I’ll talk to your father.”

  “JESUS, CHARLIE, how could you let this happen?”

  “You think I let it happen? I did everything I could think of to keep it from happening. I lost a good friend in all of this.”

  “You nearly lost your son! You promised me you weren’t involved in this kind of thing anymore. I would never have sent him to you if I’d known.”

  “I’m not involved anymore. I haven’t been in years.”

  “Really? Then how exactly were you able to… sarin gas, Charlie. Sarin. How did you manage to…?”

  “I still have contacts with the agency. They were able to get me what I needed.”

  Mom sighed. I tried to keep my breathing steady during the whispered argument. I’m pretty sure the heart monitor blipped faster than normal, but my parents didn’t seem to notice. I wanted… no, I needed them to have this conversation. Clearly I was missing whole pieces of the story, and this was my first chance to figure out what was going on.

  “And what about this other boy, this Henry? He saved Isaiah’s life, you know.”

  This time Chuck sighed. “I suspected. Isaiah hasn’t been willing to talk to me about what happened, so I haven’t had the full story.”

  “Is it true you left that other boy there, in the hands of mercenaries? The man I knew, the one I was married to, would never have left someone, especially not someone so young, in that situation.”

  “I didn’t have a choice! Isaiah was so sick, and I knew I needed to get him out. If I’d had more time, I’d have done more for Henry.”

  “He trusted you!” The words erupted out of me, echoing in the hospital room. “I didn’t need you anymore. I’d learned a long time ago that I could live without a father in my life, but to Henry you were a father. More than a father. He idolizes you. He defends you. Christ, he wants to be you! He trusted you when he didn’t have anyone else to trust, when he didn’t even trust himself. And you’re going to let him just rot there?”

  My hands gripped the side rails of the hospital bed hard enough that the back of my hand throbbed where the IV was inserted. “There were two people in the world he trusted after his mom threw him away. You and Mrs. Okono. Then he finds out that your girlfriend drugged us and set us up, and then he had to watch her be killed. She was the fucking mother of his heart, and he had to watch her die. Then you… you get me out, and he’s still there. You may not have been much of a father for me, but Henry deserves more than that from you.”

  The heart monitor was beeping fast now. A nurse poked her head in, took one look at the stiff fa
mily tableau we made, and, at a nod from Chuck, left without a word.

  “Isaiah,” he said in his best soothing doctor voice, “you need to calm down. The stress isn’t good for you.”

  “Fuck calm. Fuck stress. You don’t get to tell me what to do. You’re not my father. I don’t need you. Henry does.”

  “Isaiah—”

  I cut him off. “No. Until Henry is safe and well, I don’t want to see you. Not now. Not ever.” I looked at Mom. “When do I go home?”

  Her arms were crossed at her waist. Lines creased her forehead and marred her cheeks. She looked older than she had two weeks ago. “I’ll check with the doctors.”

  I closed my eyes until they’d both left the room. When I was alone I let the tears fall. I wasn’t dehydrated anymore, so there were enough tears for me and Henry, with a few left over for the future victims of a sarin gas attack. The ones who were sacrificed to save me.

  Chapter 22

  HOSPITAL STAFF delivered me dinner about the same time Mom left to check into a hotel. Not that she intended to sleep there, but there was nowhere in the hospital for her to shower and change. I really didn’t want anything to do with the chicken breast and steamed broccoli on my plate, but memories of a week of nothing but rice had me digging into the perfectly balanced meal. Chuck came back in before I’d finished the little cup of sugar-free strawberry gelatin. I dropped the spoon on the tray and picked up the carton of milk.

  “Why are you here?” See? I could keep an even tone when I tried.

  Chuck sat in the chair he’d abandoned earlier. Great. He intended to stay. My hand clenched around the milk, and I set it down before I squeezed the liquid onto my hospital gown.

  “I know you don’t want to talk to me right now, but I need your help.”