by Boo Walker
Moving low around the bushes, with my elbows in the dirt, I looked down the street. A man was standing under the streetlight staring at me. I couldn’t make out his face. He made no move. He didn’t look like he was armed. I had no idea if he was an enemy or a civilian, so I didn’t fire. I watched him for a moment and then kept looking around. No one else was nearby.
I rolled to the other side of the bushes and looked down another road, the one right in front of Abner’s house. Another man was standing there. Unarmed. Not moving. His arms were crossed. It was beyond terrifying.
I kept looking behind me, too, with no freaking clue how many men were out there. Or, out of respect to Francesca, I should say how many people were out there. The truck helped hide my position somewhat but they knew I was there. If I could only get Francesca into the truck bed, I might be able to make it to the driver’s seat and get away.
As if they had been reading my mind, there were four quick shots from a gun with a silencer. The bullets tearing through the air were louder than the shot from the gun. All four of my tires began to wheeze, and the truck drooped and eventually settled on the rims.
I lowered myself back down into the ditch. I wasn’t 100 percent by any means, but I was functioning with control and clear thought. Protecting Francesca gave me strength. I took out my phone and dialed 911. I told the operator I was an Army guy, gave her our location, told her the situation, and hung up. Depending on response time, if I could keep us safe for five to eight minutes, I figured we’d be okay.
I noticed a drainage pipe, which was starting to look like my only option. It was barely big enough to crawl through. I weighed the possibilities for a moment. How could I get Francesca in there and move us both quickly enough to escape? And what was in there? How far could we go?
CHAPTER 41
As I saw things, there were two options: attempt to negotiate the drainage pipe or stay where we were and try to hold them off.
It was not an easy decision to make. The biggest problem with my first option was having no idea where the pipe led or even if it lead to anything. I had no light, so there was no way to tell. I had a feeling that by the time I could get Francesca in there and start dragging her, they’d be onto us. A couple quick shots would be all they’d need to take us out.
So I had my answer. I needed to hold our position until the cops showed up. At that point, all I cared about was saving Francesca. The want for retribution paled in comparison. Put me in jail for all I cared. Just get her out of here.
I took the gun from her shoulder holster and found an extra clip in her jacket. I listened for a minute, peering up out of the ditch. Didn’t hear a sound. Couldn’t see anything moving.
I fired into the darkness, emptying the magazine of her Glock, spraying shots in every direction. Seventeen in all. Enough to wake every neighbor within a half mile. The more 911 calls made, the better. Needless to say, I was also hoping the spray of bullets would at least keep anyone from making a run at us.
While loading another magazine, a voice pierced the silence. It was a man and he was speaking loudly, probably from fifty feet away. “Mr. Knox. I’ve got ten men surrounding you. Your friend has been hit by a tranquilizer, but we do have much deadlier weapons pointed at you. I’m afraid we will use them unless you’d like to surrender to me. I can assure you neither one of you will die.”
“Cops are on the way!” I yelled back.
“I’m sure they are.” He didn’t sound worried.
“Who are you?”
“We don’t have time to discuss such things. If you’ll come with me, we’ll have all the time in the world. What say you?”
“No, thanks.”
“We have night vision goggles. You will not get out of this alive if you choose to fight. Your friend will suffer terribly if you make the wrong decision.”
I rose to my knees and fired two shots in the direction of the voice. I went back down to my stomach.
Silence.
“That answer your question?” I yelled.
“No, no, no, Mr. Knox. Not a good idea.” The voice was coming from somewhere else now.
I was over the conversation. Crawling on my stomach, I eased my way out of the ditch and moved back under the bushes. Looked around, searching for some movement. Someone fired a shot and it hit somewhere in the dirt behind me. But it was close. Too close. I didn’t have much time. I slid back down into the ditch, grabbed Francesca’s torso, and pushed her into the pipe headfirst.
“Mr. Knox. You’re not listening to me. Come out of that hole with your hands high in the air. I will give you ten seconds. Then I will order that my men kill you both.”
My mind was racing. I was about to stand when I heard the sirens.
A ray of hope.
I pushed Francesca further into the ditch while trying to watch my back. It wasn’t the easiest task. Her body wasn’t cooperating. It would have been easier to get on the other side of her and pull, but I wanted to stay in between her and any bullets.
Footsteps. Many of them. People running toward me. I turned and saw a man coming around the back of my truck. I fired. He dropped. Another man came running and I put him down, too.
I got back to my knees and looked for my next target.
Something hit the back of my neck. A sting. I reached for the wound and felt a dart. I instantly felt a flush of confusion and blurriness, and the last thing I remember was falling face-first into the grass.
IV
“The water in which the mystic swims is the same water a madman drowns in.”
- Joseph Campbell
CHAPTER 42
I came to with no earthly idea of time. No idea of where I was. Everything in my body felt wrong. Everything in my head felt wrong.
The drug was working its way through my system, blurring my thoughts, wrenching me away from any sense of clarity. Soft organ music played in the background. I was on my back. I could feel that my body was tilted, elevating my legs above my head. I tried to move them but they were restrained. My arms were also strapped down at the elbow and wrist.
I opened my eyes. Still darkness. Something was covering my face.
Something was in my mouth. I bit down. It was a wet cloth. I did my best to spit it out but I couldn’t. Another cloth was draped over my face. I could feel the wetness on my cheeks. I’d been in this situation before but it took me a few more seconds to figure it all out. The drugs had slowed the recognition. But the truth came to me in an overwhelming way.
Even with the drugs mushing up my mind, the idea of being waterboarded was sobering and absolutely terrifying. I felt my body losing control again, in an attack so powerful that nothing I had learned could fight it. Paranoia and anxiety and helplessness all blended into one high-octane cocktail. Just let me off! Make it stop! I silently pleaded, like a patient at a hospital who had overdosed on LSD.
I had been waterboarded before. Never by the enemy. Only by choice. The first few times were during training. The others were amongst fellow soldiers, whether we were making bets or drinking or whatever. Yes, that was our idea of fun at one point in time. Even when you know who is doing it to you, even when you know you’re going to be okay, it’s a nightmare. It is not a simulation of drowning. It is drowning. You are drowning. You are dying a terrifying death.
Scared out of my mind, I took some deep breaths through my nose and tried to break my restraints. Nothing budged.
Then it began.
“Harper, this holy water will begin to purge the demon,” a voice said. “It will be a slow process to make you one of us, but it will happen. First we must break you and cleanse you of the past. It began with our mark on your body, and it will end with forgiveness and rebirth. See you on the other side.”
A hand went to my forehead, holding me down. I felt the pressure of the water as it hit the cloth covering my face and began to drip into the other cloth in my mouth. Tapping into what I’d been taught, I focused on relaxation and began to inhale very slowly through
my nose. It was the only way to last.
You couldn’t imagine how on edge I felt. I wasn’t thinking about PTSD specifically—it’s not like that—but that’s what was coming out of me, surging through my veins, making my heart over-pump, making me relive all the pains of war, all in fast flashes. My body or mind wasn’t equipped to handle torture anymore. At one point, I could have dealt with it, and I had. But not now. Not ever again.
And yet…there wasn’t a choice.
My body finally acquiesced. I had to breath out. That’s when the water began to rush in. Water filled my mouth and throat and nasal passages and even went up into my sinuses. It was excruciating. I might as well have been thirty feet underwater. The pressure in my head became overwhelming and it felt like the blood vessels in my brain were close to rupturing. I needed oxygen so badly but there was none. The screaming inside my head was so loud.
At the moment when death was becoming a welcome escape, someone pulled the rag out of my mouth and removed the hand from my forehead. I sucked in air with everything I had and felt the comfort of oxygen replenishing me, filling up my lungs, passing through my veins, and reaching all the way up to my brain. A glimpse of clarity washed over me.
“Do you know why you are here?” a man asked.
He slapped me on the cheek.
“Hey, are you listening?”
I nodded, still feeling the replenishment of deep breaths.
“Do you know why you are here?”
I shook my head and cursed, but my words came out weak and hopeless.
“You chose the wrong side of this war.”
His hand went back to my forehead as he pushed the rag back into my mouth.
The water came again.
Three, four, five seconds.
At seven seconds, it was unbearable. At around ten seconds, my body gave in again and the water filled my head. Kill me, fucking kill me, I kept thinking. I could hear the gurgling coming from my mouth. I tried to yell but I had no power at all.
I started to lose it, but just as I was fading away, he pulled the rag from my mouth. I filled my lungs with oxygen and coughed up water that ran down my cheeks. The anger I felt earlier was gone. No threats came out of my mouth. I wouldn’t beg, but I wanted to die. All I wanted was this guy to finish me off.
“It’s not easy paying for your sins,” the voice said. “Many people have been in this room, and they’ve all been saved.”
I recognized that voice but I couldn’t place it. But I started to realize what was going on, what all of this was about. Singularity. Soldiers of the Second Coming. Jameson Taylor. Daniel Abner. They had us pinned down at Abner’s place. Francesca had been hit. Francesca!
The rag hit my mouth again and I shook my head, maybe saying “no” out loud, maybe just pleading to myself. I don’t know.
They repeated the process several more times, maybe ten more, but I’m not sure. Enough to where I was sure my brain was going to give out, even without drowning.
They did their work well and beat all the fight out of me. The depth of the nightmare became indescribable. I heard screaming and gunshots and IEDs and bodies exploding around me, and I could taste blood and smell death.
So much so that I eventually found myself pleading to them when they jerked the rag from my mouth.
“Fucking kill me,” I said. “End it!”
A little laugh. “I think we’re getting somewhere.”
“I’m sorry, Ted. I’m so sorry. Please kill me.” I’d been broken.
“Sorry. Not yet.”
“What do you want?” I asked.
“For you to become one of us.”
“Who are you?” I asked, and it was barely audible.
No answers. All they kept saying to me was something about paying for my sins, having to learn the difference between good and evil, having to break me, making me one of them.
They finally stopped. They unstrapped my arms and then put my wrists together and cuffed me. A taste of freedom came over me as the other straps binding me to that bench or table were loosened. I suddenly found a little urge to live again.
Someone grabbed my arm and pulled me off the table. I tried to get my feet under me but I fell down hard, my knees crashing into the floor. My eyes were still covered. A man lifted me up and said, “Come with me.”
Not that I had a choice. I followed his lead and walked for a while. He opened a door and pushed me in. I fell to the floor. He closed the door, and I was alone. No more sounds. I lay on my back and breathed for a while. Once I got a grip, I reached up and pushed the blindfold off my eyes. I was in a walk-in closet of sorts with white walls.
I pushed myself up against a wall and took in more breaths, savoring what we so easily take for granted.
CHAPTER 43
Minutes, hours, days later. They’d taken me in and out of that closet several more times, subjecting me to further waterboarding and several beatings. Then, I’d finally drifted off from pain and exhaustion. Finally, some peace.
They’d put fresh, clean clothes on me, though I didn’t remember them doing it. Some very soft cotton beige pants tied at the waist. A white shirt of similar fabric. No shoes. I was clean, too. They must have bathed me. I sat up and felt the pain in my side from where they kicked and punched me. Maybe even hit me with something. I couldn’t remember.
I was now in a bedroom. No windows. The walls were stacked logs, like those of a log cabin. No paint anywhere. The queen bed had clean white sheets. The room was bare, save the slippers waiting for me on the floor and the small bedside table with a book on it. It was the Holy Bible.
I sat up and ignored the slippers as I stood. The room began to spin and I let myself fall back onto the bed. I rubbed my face and a couple minutes later, decided to try again.
Where’s Francesca? I wondered.
I stumbled to the door. There was no handle. I realized that a bit late as my clumsy hand went to turn it, grasping empty air. I tried to peel the door open by pushing my fingers through the cracks but it was sealed.
I had an urge to beat on the door but held back. They were probably waiting on that. Perhaps I had a few minutes to collect myself. See if I could get out of there. Nothing is truly foolproof. First, I looked for a camera or microphone. Were they watching me? I couldn’t find anything. Come to think of it, it was extremely quiet. No sounds from the outside. Dead silence. I touched the wood of the walls. The more I looked, the clearer it became that I wasn’t getting out of there unless someone opened that door.
I went up to it and hammered on it with my fist. It didn’t make much noise, the wood absorbing my strength. “Hey!” I yelled. “Hey…you want to let me out of here?”
No one answered.
I went back to the bed and sat down. Tried to run this all through my mind…well, my half-mind. How had they known we would go to Abner’s place? Had Wendy told them? How long had they been waiting? What had they done with Francesca?
A click pulled me from my thoughts. Someone opened the door. It was a young, petite Korean woman, dressed similarly to me. She couldn’t have been much more than five feet tall. “Hi. My name is April. I need you to put these on. You can keep your hands in front of you.”
I smiled for the first time in a while. “You think I’m going to put your handcuffs on? You kidding me?” I stood.
“I am not kidding. It is best for you to comply. We removed them so that you could get a good night’s sleep. Now, please. It will make things easier for all of us.”
“Where am I?”
“There are three large armed men outside the door who will be happy to put these on for you.” As she said that, two of the men appeared at the door. “We also have Francesca Daly. You are in no position to disagree with me. You have seen what we are capable of. If you make this difficult, you will only waste your energy and perhaps lead to her harm. We know who you are. We are fully prepared. Now put your hands out, okay?”
“I see why they sent you in. You’re quite convincing
.”
She smiled again as she latched the cuffs around my wrists. “Put your shoes on and follow me.”
I nodded, thinking that I was going to have to make a move sooner rather than later but I had no idea what that would be. Hell, I didn’t even know where I was. I limped out the door, past the three men—who were indeed armed and bigger than me—and I followed the woman down a hall. She pushed open a door and rays of sunlight flooded in. She held the door open for me and motioned for me to come.
I limped outside into the cool air and almost into a dream. The drug was swirling through my blood and dragging me down, making it all seem like some sort of twisted fantasy. The setting sun shined through a line of evergreens, lighting up ten to twelve acres of farmland that was cut into a valley of trees surrounded by mountains. I turned and saw the building I’d just walked out of. It was a newly built, one-story log cabin reaching back toward the tree line. There were other cabins, too, lined up like barracks. I could hear the gentle movement of a stream nearby.
On the other side of the farm, there was a larger house—some kind of Victorian—that looked like it had been there long before the other buildings. Past that, there was a dilapidated barn. People were spread about across the field in the center of the property, and it became evident that this was a commune of sorts. A group was sitting in a circle in the grass talking. A little past them, two women were on their knees with trowels working in a well-maintained garden. A boy was playing fetch with a black lab. A couple was strolling through a patch of wildflowers. Near the trees, Elvin, the young man from the cabin, was doing a bad job at chopping some wood. At that rate, he’d be at it all day. Each of them stopped what they were doing and stared at me for a moment before going back to their own business. I’d seen some crazy things in my day, but this place had to top it all. It was a creepy reminder of how strange and delusional people can be, how groupthink can manipulate your mind. They probably thought they were the normal ones.
