How ironic, she thought, that now, after they’d broken up at her call, not his, that she should figure that out. She was grateful for what he had to do. She understood now what he needed in life: a woman to help him heal, bring him back, not make him jump through a bunch of hoops of her own selfish choosing. She also understood how Connie felt, but she was sure the woman had her own set of issues that warped her worldview and made it impossible for her to be the support he needed. Being totally honest with herself, Marcy wasn’t sure she had it in her either. But she knew she’d feel like a complete heel if she didn’t at least try. She owed the man an apology.
She closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep when she heard footsteps at the door.
The familiar voice of her oldest captor spoke in broken English. “You are awake I think. Time to prepare you for your new life as the vessel of our pleasure.”
“I’m not the vessel of your pleasure, or anyone’s pleasure. I’m a woman whose freedom has been taken from her, but who still has her dignity left. Nothing will ever make me a vessel.”
He smiled and patted her arm. “We’ll see about that.” He pulled back the blanket and peered down at her naked body. “I can help you with a shower, if you like. Would you prefer to wash up before we get started?”
Marcy calculated what she’d have to give up for the chance to have her wounds cleaned and decided the most important part of her current survival plan was her health. She attempted to sit up and found she had been bound about the waist, to the rolling hospital cart. Her arms felt heavy and though unrestrained, were useless to her. She suspected her legs would be the same as she couldn’t feel her toes.
“Yes, the effects are wearing off, so I had to restrain you. That means I will have to help you to the shower.”
She wished she had more choices, but needed to see what was outside the room, and she needed to get as clean as possible.
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?” he asked.
“Yes, I’d like a shower.”
“Very well. The boys will be pleased when they get back, that you have prepared yourself for them.” He pulled back the brown blanket that stunk of him, unbuckled the large leather strap around her waist, and slipped an arm beneath her, lifting her to sitting position. She tried to lean away from him, but there was nothing to hold her up. He adjusted her balance so she didn’t do a backward roll off the gurney, bringing her forward and against his chest and abdomen.
His hand softly thread through her hair while she drooled a bloody mixture down his shirt, unable to stop him. His wild scent as pungent, without cologne, smelling more of rancid oils mixed with days of sweat. Her stomach churned and she heaved, but without anything in her aching stomach, she produced nothing.
“Yes, a little nourishment, too. Would you like that?”
She didn’t trust his feigned sweetness. She tried to imagine what he’d look like eviscerated, or hanging from a tree, or torn limb from limb. The violent thoughts came easily, her fear fueling her imagination. Or perhaps it was the effects of the drug he’d given her.
“Water. I need some water,” she managed to mumble.
“You can drink in the shower.”
He was a small man, and had difficulty getting her out to the living quarters off the storeroom, down the hallway to the bathroom. Her toes dragged on the concrete surface and she knew they were bloody with patches of skin scraped off. Again she tried to raise her elbows, and was more successful than before, but at last her strength gave way and she allowed them to flop down over his arms wrapped around her waist. As he moved her into the shower, her head bobbed back, and although she tried, she was unable to hold it upright.
He sat her on the tiled handicap bench seat, leaning her back against the cool tile wall of the shower. She looked at her bloody feet as he disrobed, slipped off his sandals and then stepped close to her.
“I have watched you shave yourself.”
She tried not to react. The water began to flow ice cold, and she shuddered. “Sorry we have no hot water here, but I think you’ll enjoy this anyway.”
He hoisted her up, into the spray and she stiffened, found the cold sent blood pumping to her legs and for a minute, she had enough traction to fight him off. But it was short-lived. Her knees collapsed and he was once again propping her up, facing into the spray. She opened her mouth and drank the cool water. It smelled of sulfur and rust. The drain and shower floor was light orange.
Marcy felt tingling in her extremities and allowed her heart a moment’s triumph. It did feel good to get the sweat and remaining vomit from last night off her. It felt invigorating to have a drink of water. When he positioned her back onto the wooden bench seat in the corner she looked at his face for the first time that morning.
Though the young man smiled, his eyes were hard and did not smile. The covetous stares seemed to inflame something inside him that did not appear human. She could see how mad he truly was. He was living in a bonfire of hell, and it was of his own choosing.
She slumped forward involuntarily, and he pushed her back again as her head lolled forward.
Her eyes were focused on the tiled floor, fixated on something that was blurry at first. As her eyes came into focus, she saw a bottle with a large plastic pump spout in the corner. He bent and squeezed some of the clear gel into his palm, rubbed his hands together making a lather and began to rub his palms over her now-slippery flesh at the shoulders and then on to her breasts. She couldn’t react as he squeezed her flesh, as he pinched her nipples. Her eyes continued to focus on the shower gel in the corner.
Slowly he lathered her arms, her belly, her thighs and legs, kneeling like a servant in front of her. Though she didn’t show it, her spine became rigid. She could push her feet against the floor of the shower, felt the cool water and for the first time, she was able to squeeze her fingers into a fist.
Staring at the bottle still, she pushed herself forward over his shoulder, draping her body over him, and then allowed herself to topple, sliding down to the floor. He was frantically trying to right her, but with her slippery skin not giving traction, was unable to lift her up to set her back down on the bench. Her right hand reached for the shower gel and she watched as she tried to hold it one-handed, which would have been impossible even without the drugs, and the bottle tipped, scooting out of reach. She released the support from her legs and she collapsed to the floor under the stream, her back curved against the wall, her feet pushing against the wall perpendicular to it.
Her captor began to say things she didn’t understand. But he was unhappy and getting more agitated by the minute.
Bending over her, he managed to get his arms around her lower back and tried to pull her up, but Marcy resisted, feigning lack of control. She rotated to her upper torso, to her back, looking up to him. His feet were slipping on the slick shower surface. He was focused on his arms, and when he squeezed his eyes shut to pull her limp body up, Marcy put both palms around the shower gel bottle and with all her might, forced the spout into his neck just below his chin. Even after the spout entered his skin, she pushed, feeling the delicious crunch of cartilage that was his windpipe.
Her captor screamed. The spray from his blood covered the walls and poured over her, coating her with the deep red of his precious fluids, momentarily blinding her. She pushed with her legs and managed to head butt the man out of the shower, where he fell onto the bathroom floor, still struggling to get the spout from his neck. His legs frantically bicycle-kicked as he tried to find something else to push against. He was trying to get air. His gurgling screams got less intense. His almond-shaped eyes stared back at her in panic, and she realized the same time he did that she had just successfully inflicted a mortal wound.
His struggle was over. A light bloody spittle leaked from the right side of his mouth. With brown eyes fixated on her, she saw the moment when life left his body. She continued to lay on her belly, gasping for air, the water sluicing over her backside and upper thighs, sending
her ribbons of calm and bursts of hope. She didn’t know how she was going to function against the men who would be coming back, but she knew she couldn’t wait around to find out. Somehow, she had to get out of the cabin and to some place safe. Some place that had tools and sharp objects she could use to defend herself.
Carefully she sat up. Her legs were coming back to near full strength, the activity in the shower and adrenalin pumping through her veins apparently aiding this process. Marcy grasped the wooden slats on the bench and because it was bolted to the side, supported herself as she stood for the first time. She placed her palms on the tile, pushing until she was balanced and was standing on her own without aid.
Each movement was slow motion for her. She allowed the water to wash off all the blood, rinsed her mouth, taking more drinks of the precious liquid, and emerged, trying to avoid the growing pool of blood forming from the gash in her captor’s neck.
Using the doorway as a brace, she stepped out and into the hallway she new led to the living quarters.
Her own clothes were left on the floor in the storage closet where they’d been discarded next to her purse. Though they were dirty, she welcomed something familiar, something that smelled like freedom, grateful for shoes she would need to run through the forest to find help. Pawing through her purse, she found her cell phone and anxiously checked for service.
Her stomach leapt as she realized the battery was dead. She placed the phone back in her purse, slung it over her shoulder, picking up a couple of bananas and a half-full bottle of water and exited the dwelling.
Outside, she heard Middle Eastern music pumped loud, echoing throughout the long building on her right. She was grateful for this. Whomever was inside, then, could not have heard the screams of her captor. She bent her knees, crouching, and slipped into the edge of the forest. Once protected by the cover of greenery, she began to run. She knew right where she was going to go.
Chapter 37
‡
LUCAS HELPED COOP bring the drone cases. Kyle had Fredo continue to monitor with SOC, so he could lead the team. They all had their specialties. Armando was their best shooter. Coop was their medic with the most deployments with SEAL Team 3, but if he was working the drone, T.J. would take over in that department, with nearly the same experience.
Lucas was also trained at the Army course at Ft. Bragg, certified by the SEAL instructors there. He was also their second sniper. Fredo was their communications and explosives expert and had lovingly said to Lucas one time when they were relaxing, “If they don’t want to talk, I send a little fire their way. And guest what? They talk!”
As a unit, everyone was trained for one specialty, but cross trained to be able to work in more than three others, if need be. Lucas breathed slowly and deep to calm his nerves. He was put up on the ridge out of sight, but nearly fifty yards from Armando. Fredo was next to Armando working the comm. Coop was over on Lucas’ side, getting his drone out, clicking the wings into place. With a flick of the switch they heard the soft whir of the drone’s belly. The small tablet screen lit up as the drone was readied for it’s mission.
Coop searched his spot, searched the sky and then leaned over to Lucas. “Eyes for their birds, Lucas. I got interference, I need to know.”
“Roger that, Coop,” said Lucas.
Cooper stood, leaned back, clutching the drone in his right hand, then propelled it forward and let it go. At first the white bird swooped down, then was corrected to stay high until Coop got her tracked. With a thumbs up to Fredo, Kyle was told, “Eyes in the air, Kyle. Good to go.”
Jake and Tyler had disabled the sentries when they first took up their positions. The sentries were bound, gagged and tied and wouldn’t wake up for several hours. They now joined the plateau where Lucas and Coop were perched.
With his high-powered scope, Lucas followed the two teams below, who separated, coming from different directions. Two SEALs were left near the entrance to disable the guard shack after their breech was discovered. Everyone else was going to go through the holes they were cutting in the fencing material. One breech was behind the long warehouse, the other was in the area of the camp’s vehicle storage, well masked behind a fleet of white vans.
Their Invisios clicked to life. “On three, two, one, go!” Kyle’s voice commanded.
The front gate exploded, the doors bursting wide open. Small explosive devices and smoke bombs were tossed into the long warehouse, starting a fire as chemicals began igniting, ending plumes of flame nearly fifty feet high. Several earth-shaking explosions took out the side of the metal building, sending burning debris and pieces of twisted metal all over the area. The thick black smoke nearly made it impossible to see.
The team near where the hostages were was taking on fire. Armando picked off three combatants within seconds, sending others, who had ventured out into retreat. Lucas followed as several of them hid behind a storage tank of some kind. Lucas’ one well-placed round caused the tank to explode in a hail of fire. Tires on several of the vehicles began to burn.
He studied the area where they knew the girls had gone yesterday and saw the front door to the structure open slowly. One gunman had the girl with a forearm across her throat, a pistol aimed at her temple. The sheik, whose robes were bloodied, walked behind one of the local girls. Lucas recognized her as the daughter of the contractor.
Armando was shifting position, adjusting his range, checking the wind and then, as the young girl stumbled in front of the gunman, took his shot. The blonde girl and the Sheik behind her were covered in the spray from the man’s exploded head. The Sheik was armed with a small automatic and as he pointed it in the direction of the screaming young girl, Lucas took the shot Armando wouldn’t be able to make and the tall man dropped to his knees first before one of the SEALs did the double tap to his head.
Having lost the two leaders, the rest of the group dropped their weapons.
Fredo was giving out information. The SEALs pushed the captives to the ground on their faces.
Lucas had only seen two hostages, but both appeared to be out of danger, for now. He spoke to Kyle in his headset. “Where are the other two?”
“We got ’em. Donna’s okay.”
Lucas breathed a sigh of relief. Something about Donna told him it was important she didn’t have to stay overnight in the camp.
THEY UNLOADED THE girls over at the dorms where the soccer team was staying. Coop worked on the girl from Michigan while Donna sat by her side, holding her hand, speaking to her in broken Pashtu. Donna herself had a pretty good-sized bump on her forehead, but was completely focused on the girl.
She nodded up to Lucas and smiled her thanks.
The blonde girls were brought food and drinks by the soccer girls, allowed to shower and were given changes of clean clothes. Jenna called her dad, who was on his way over. Sheriff and fire crews were on their way to relieve the SEALs who had stayed behind with the prisoners.
“I think she’s gonna be good to go here,” Coop said. “See if you can get me an ambulance, Lucas.”
“Sure thing. What about Donna?”
“I’m staying with her. I’m fine. But let’s get her to the hospital,” Donna answered.
Lucas ran the hundred yards to their buildings and sent an EMT crew over to the ladies dorm.
DECOMPRESSION WAS A bitch, Lucas thought. Easier to stay pumped up, but when you went through a firefight, and usually they were short and sweet, like this one, it took awhile for the adrenalin to subside. Everyone retreated to their own brand of recovery while their bodies adjusted. The mission was a success, but wasn’t really cause to celebrate. This was, after all, an operation on U.S. soil. They had gotten all the way over here, had set up a camp—hell, had set up multiple camps—and nearly pulled off a tragic loss of American life. It was all handled small, which was their way of saying it caused as little disruption as possible.
When his cell chirped, Lucas jumped, having forgotten he even owned one. It was Nick. That’s when he rea
lized there were two other calls from Nick as well.
“Hey, what’s up, Nick?”
“Man, you’re not going to want to hear this, but we just got a call from Marcy. Devon and I were sick with worry when she didn’t come home last night.”
“What do you mean? Marcy’s in San Diego.”
“No, she’s not. She’s up in Sonoma County. She left yesterday to go look for a place to stay—”
Fuck me. I’ve messed up again.
“—escaped, she thinks she killed one of them. We’ve called the cops.”
“Where, Nick?”
“Cloverdale, man. She’s at your cabin.”
“What the fuck?”
“There’s one of those groups up there. She escaped, but she’s all alone in the cabin waiting for the cops. Just wanted you to know.”
Lucas searched his memory
Immediately Lucas’ heart began to race. He had to find Kyle. Somehow he was going to have to get to her, even though he was clear across the country. He knew he was probably too late, but nothing in the world would be able to keep him away. He just hoped the Navy would understand.
Chapter 38
‡
MARCY WATCHED AS the bars went back down to zero on her phone. She knew Nick would send the police. She knew she’d feel more relaxed when her cell had enough power to be in permanent communication.
She looked through the windows, searching for evidence the camp members were coming after her, and wondered if they even knew about this place. She’d broken the bedroom window, the same one that had been used for the thieves—and then it hit her. They did know about the house, because they were here!
The remaining captors were all young, and she doubted they would have done the damage to the place without their leader, so perhaps she was safe. Maybe they had outside help. Maybe they’d be blinded by revenge. Every bird, every sound coming from the forest put her at edge.
SEAL Brotherhood Lucas Page 21
