by Edwin Dasso
“I actually could use a good party.” She locked gazes with him. “And you look like a real party animal.”
She stepped close to him then sprayed the pepper spray into his eyes. He dropped the knife and swiped at his eyes. Amanda jumped toward him and jammed a knee into his crotch. He fell to the ground, moaning and holding his hands over his fly as he writhed. She instantly spun and raised the spray canister at the boy to her left. When he raised his hands to cover his face, she kicked out, smashing her foot into his knee. A sickening cracking noise told her she made a great connection. He fell to the ground, rolling onto his back and holding his knee.
Before she could turn to the final opponent, a hand crashed down on her wrist, knocking the pepper spray can from her grasp. He grabbed her in a bear hug from behind, squeezing so tightly she could barely breathe. She wasn’t strong enough to break free of his grasp, so she had to take another tack to loosen his grip.
“Help!” Amanda shrieked. “Rape!”
The boy threw a hand over her mouth. “Shut up, you bitch!”
Her ploy had worked. She clamped her teeth down on his hand, crushing his skin and tendons. Her jaw muscles burned as she chomped down, and the taste of blood seeped over her tongue.
“Ahhh! You crazy bitch! You bit me!” The boy shoved her away and held his injured hand in the other, staring down at the oozing wound.
Amanda smashed a fist into his jaw. He staggered back, flailing his arms. She didn’t hesitate but jumped to deliver a powerful snap kick to the tip of his chin. He flopped onto his knees but dove at her legs and wrapped his arms around her ankles.
“Hold on to her, you dumbass!”
She looked around in the direction she’d heard the other voice. A fourth man stepped into view. He was hiding in the bushes! She hadn’t thought about that possibility. Someone clamped a cloth over her face. It smelled sickeningly sweet. What the hell? I remember this smell. Her mind clouded quickly. When I had my knee arthroscopy. She twisted her head wildly and held her breath. Don’t…breathe…it… She was already dizzy, and her lungs burned. She couldn’t hold her breath any longer, finally gulping in a lungful of air. Images of an operating room flashed through her thoughts. No! She threw her head back in a final effort to escape. Then blackness overtook her mind.
31
That night Hank pushed the empty TV dinner container to the side and slammed the drawer on Jack’s desk closed. Dammit! Nothing! Not a clue! He rubbed his chin as he turned slowly in a circle, searching for someplace in Jack’s office that he might have missed in his previous search. Why did you go to Rocky Bottom, Jack? What’s there? Jack liked hiking, and there are good trails in that area, but there was no way he’d have gone that far and for this long without telling Amanda and him. Hank shook his head. No—this wasn’t a pleasure trip. It’s gotta be something else. He groaned and let his shoulders slump. He didn’t want to think about what the “something else” might be.
Hank rubbed the back of his neck as he lumbered to his room. He glanced at his watch, hoping Amanda wasn’t going to call any second to ask if he’d found Jack yet. He stopped and stared at his desk a few seconds, then his gaze floated to the large US map on the wall above it. Hank had used it to track all the places he’d visited at one time or another. He ripped the map from the wall, plopped onto the chair, and spread the map over his desk top.
Think, Hank! What could be there? Why would he go there?
He ran his finger along possible routes from the house to the location of Jack’s phone in Rocky Bottom. He stopped his finger on several small towns along the route.
“I can’t think of anyone he knows over in that neck of the woods…”
Hmmm. I wonder… He pulled a straightedge from his desk drawer and used it to draw a straight line from the location of Jack’s home, through Rocky Bottom, and all the way to the edge of the map. He set the ruler aside and stared at the chart, tracing a finger along the route of the red line, rubbing his forehead as he squinted at the map. He finally scooted back from the desk, shaking his head.
“Damn, Jack—where have you got yourself off to?”
He blew out a long breath and ran his fingers through his hair as he studied the map again, his eyes drawn to where the red line ran through remote areas of forest in the Appalachian Mountains.
His heart suddenly raced, and he jumped from the chair. “Oh, damn, Jack! You didn’t! Why the hell would you go there?”
32
Jack inched an eyelid open a slit. It was hot. He tried to kick his blankets off, but something was wrong. He was lying on something warm. Something soft but firm. But there were no blankets.
A warm breeze wafted over him. What the hell? He ran his fingers over the surface around him. Sand? This feels like sand! He rolled onto his side and opened both eyes, struggling to focus on the surface in the dim, diffuse light. He blinked several times then looked again. Huh? He pushed himself up, leaning on one arm as he stared at the ground around him.
“It is sand!” He twisted his head around, peering into the murk, then looked down at himself. He was wearing camouflage scrubs, the standard field issue for the Army Medical Corps. Where am I? What’s going on?
He looked around again, taking in what view he could in the dim light. The light was odd—like a cloud-covered moon on a dark night. He looked up but could make out no details that would give him any bearings. He pulled at the collar of his shirt and wiped sweat from his eyes. This heat…the sand. Iraq? How did I fall asleep out here in the desert? He needed to get back to camp! He jumped up.
Is that footsteps? Jack snapped his head around and peered into the shadows, squinting to see what might have made the noise. Were Iraqi soldiers sneaking into his compound again? His gaze stopped on a hazy contour at the fringes of his view. He slowly stood and took a step toward the object. Is that a dune…or a person lying the ground?
He crept forward a few more steps and stopped, again squinting to try to make out details of the form. His heart suddenly raced, and he stiffened. What if it’s an Iraqi soldier? I-I don’t have a weapon…no way to protect myself. His gaze darted around the ground at his feet. Nothing! It could be one of my staff who needs help. He set his jaw. I’ll have to take my chances.
He slid one foot forward in the sand then the other, trying to move as soundlessly as possible. He stopped a couple of yards away. The shape…those curves. It looked like a woman lying on her side on the ground. She might need help! Jack vaulted the last few steps and dropped to his knees next to the woman. He gently touched her shoulder then snatched his hand back. Sh-she’s cold. How can she be so cold when it’s so hot here? He took hold of her wrist and pressed a finger over her radial artery. Damn! No pulse! There was nothing he could do to revive her, but…who was she?
He ran his gaze over her. She looked athletic and had long, wavy, light-colored hair. He couldn’t make out any signs of obvious trauma. He slid his hand under her head to support it while he turned her onto her back. Sharp fragments jabbed the skin on his palm, and a sticky liquid oozed between his fingers. Blood?
He rolled her carefully to her back, softly resting her head onto the sand. He ran his hands carefully over her body, again searching for any sign of injury. His fingers bumped against a hard object lying next to her hip. He ran his fingers over it. A flashlight! He wrapped his hand around it and slid a switch with his thumb. The bright beam blinded him for a few seconds.
He shone the light over her, starting at her feet and methodically working his way up to her head. He froze when he shined it on her neck. It was covered with rivulets of dried, caked blood. His heart pounded harder, and he swallowed as he creeped the beam up to her face. The red, round bullet hole stood out starkly against the pale-gray, mottled skin of her forehead. Blood matted the wavy strawberry-blond hair. Lifeless eyes stared at Jack. He jumped to his feet and threw the flashlight as hard as he could.
A baritone voice came from the darkness. “While you snuck off and hid, she got killed. He
r death is on your hands!”
That sounded like General Smithson! Jack grabbed his head in both hands, shaking it hard as he paced in circles. “I didn’t hide, George but I couldn’t stop them! I’m sorry! I know she was like a daughter to you.” He squeezed his eyes closed, hoping to erase the image from his mind.
He shuffled back to the corpse and fell to his knees at her side then fell across her body. He wrapped his arms around her cold form and held her close, sobbing into her chest. His throat suddenly constricted and he struggled to draw in a breath.
“I am so sorry, Lori. I should have protected you…”
Jack’s eyes flashed open. He quickly scanned his surroundings then bolted upright. He wiggled his fingers against the warm, wet sheets beneath him. He blinked hard several times then gazed around his bedroom. He blew out a long sigh and let his shoulders sag.
“A nightmare,” he mumbled. He pressed a palm against his forehead then rubbed the back of his neck as he twisted his head around. “It was just another damned nightmare.” Or was it? He wasn’t sure anymore.
He wiggled his toes and felt something gritty between them. What the hell? He wiggled them again. That feels like…sand. He stared down at his feet as he spread his toes apart then bent and ran a finger between a few of them. Slowly, he raised his fingers to look at them as he rubbed the grit between his index finger and his thumb.
“That is sand!” He jumped up and marched rapidly around the room. How the hell did I get sand between my toes? He stopped suddenly. Oh, no! Am I wandering during my nightmares again? During blackouts when I have a bad flashback? He shook his head hard.
“I am so tired of this shit.” He blew out a long breath. “If it wasn’t for Amanda, I’d swallow a bullet.”
33
Hank was up early the next morning, preparing for his trip to where he thought Jack might be. He’d never gone into battle unprepared. Never. He figured that was why he was still alive when many of his past colleagues were not. And he wasn’t deluding himself—if Jack was where Hank thought he might be, this was likely to become a battle. He absently ran a finger over an old bullet wound scar on his thigh. Just like the last time the two of them had been there.
He drained his coffee cup then flipped the flap closed on his ruck and cinched it tight then set it on the floor next to his desk. He slid two gun cases that sat on his desk nearer and opened one then pulled out his Glock 23, turning it in his hand to examine it. He squinted to look through the barrel to make sure it was clean, though he cleaned it daily, then let the slide snap closed. Satisfied it was in tip-top shape, he slid the full clip into the butt of the pistol then pulled the slide back to put a round in the chamber. He took a deep breath and blew it out then inserted it into the tactical holster fastened on his belt. He’d already gone through the same routine with his Glock 43, which was packed in his ruck, ready to be strapped to his ankle when Hank arrived at his destination.
Hank shook his arms to relax his tense shoulder muscles. Relax, dude! You been here, done this…it’ll be fine. He snatched his ruck off the floor and hopped from the chair. I hope…
As he walked down the hall, he dug his phone out and scrolled through his contact list until he found Amanda’s name. He thumbed the call button. He phone rang until it went to voicemail.
“Huh.”
He glanced at the reception bars on his phone then hit the dial icon again, and again, her phone rang until it went to voicemail. He glanced at his watch. Probably in class. He hesitated, debating whether to leave a message, then shook his head.
“No need to bother her with this. She needs to stay focused on school.”
He arrived at his car and threw his ruck in the trunk then climbed into the driver’s seat, squeezing both hands around the steering wheel.
“I sure hope Jack hasn’t gotten himself into something where I might need to start shooting—again.” He reached up and hit the garage opener button then started the car. “But...it is Jack Bass.”
He twisted to look out the rear window and slowly backed his car out, stopping at the end of the drive to watch the garage door close completely. He slid the transmission into drive and gripped the steering wheel tightly as he stared out the windshield. Let’s go find out. He touched the accelerator, and the old-but-pristine, copper-colored, 1977 Buick Regal rolled quietly down the street.
34
The piercing scream barely awoke Jack from his slumber. His mind was slogging along as if he was hungover after pulling an all-nighter. Something thudded hard onto the ground on the far side of the hole where he was imprisoned. He opened one eye a crack for second, peering into the dense darkness where the sound had come from, then wrapped his arms tighter around himself against the frigid temperature. It’s just another dream. He shifted around, trying to find a place on the packed dirt that would spare his back from being jabbed by stones. You’ll wake up in your nice, warm bed any second.
Jack heard whimpering and slowly opened an eye. There it was again! A soft sob. He opened his other eye and craned his neck to listen. It sounds like a young girl crying…or is it just some animal that fell in here? He pushed himself up on an elbow and squinted into the opaque night, unable to see a thing. This is different. He slowly rolled onto his hands and knees then crawled in the direction of the moaning, holding a hand out in front of himself to feel his way. He touched something warm and soft and was quickly rewarded with a blood-curdling scream, followed by a foot kicking his hand away.
“Whoever you are…ju-just stay the hell away from!”
Jack rocked back on his haunches. “Are you real?” he croaked, his throat and mouth so parched he struggled to get the words out.
“What? What kind of stupid question is that? Of course, I’m real!”
That voice…it sounded so real. No! He was he just dreaming again. Jack shook his head and cleared his throat. “Wh-what’s your name?”
“None of your damn business! Just stay away from me.”
Jack clambered to his feet, swaying slightly as he gawked into the dark
“Amanda?” Jack cleared his throat again. “A-are you Amanda?”
“How did you know my name?” Footfalls scuffed on the dirt and gravel, then the person brushed at their clothes. “Wait a minute…Dad?”
Jack’s heart raced, and he shuffled toward Amanda, stumbling over the uneven ground. “Yes! It’s me, baby! It’s Dad!”
Jack held his hands in front of him, and his fingertips brushed against her hands. He grabbed her and pulled her against his chest, cradling her head in his palm. Amanda hugged him against her and sobbed into his chest.
“I-I can’t believe I found you!” she sobbed.
Jack stroked her hair then stopped suddenly and backed away a step. “A-are you sure you’re real, Amanda? Please tell me you’re real,” Jack said, his voice cracking.
“Why do you keep asking that?” She was silent a few seconds. “What’s wrong with you?”
“I-I don’t know… I just keep having these horrible nightmares…” A shudder ran over his entire body. “I can’t tell what’s real anymore…”
“Trust me, Dad, I’m real!”
“Let me touch your face.”
Jack stretched his arms out in front of him. He felt Amanda’s warm hands touch his. She grabbed his wrist and pulled it toward herself, gently placing the palm of his hand against her cheek. Jack’s heart raced as he ran his hands over both of her cheeks then her nose.
“You feel real.”
“Stop it! I am real!”
Jack slid his hands down her neck onto her shoulders. “You don’t have a coat…and you’re shivering.”
“Yeah, well, those assholes didn’t exactly give me time to pack,” she growled.
Jack hurriedly peeled off the light jacket he wore and draped it around her shoulders. “Here, pull this tight around you. It’s not much, but it’s better than nothing.”
Amanda pushed the jacket away. “What about you? I can’t let you freeze.�
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“I’ll be fine.” Jack chuckled. “I’ve gotten used to it.” He pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her. “Let me help you get warmed up.” He shuffled her toward a wall. “Let’s go sit over here and cuddle.”
They put their backs against a wall and slid down, squatting on the floor. Amanda huddled close, and Jack wrapped his arms tighter around her. They shivered together for a couple of minutes in silence.
“Now what?” Amanda asked.
“We survive until morning,” Jack replied through chattering teeth.
35
The clanging of the metal bucket against the rocky ground awakened Amanda. Her gaze followed the rope from the bucket up to the edge of the pit, only able to make out a silhouette.
“When do we get out of here?” she hollered.
No response.
She crawled over to the bucket and peered inside. As she’d found for the past two days, it contained some protein bars and two bottles of water. She’d immediately been suspicious of the water bottles when she noticed they’d both been opened then capped up again. She didn’t like the way her father was acting and thought they may be using the water to drug him. She was getting extremely thirsty but unscrewed both bottles and dumped the contents onto the ground. There were several muddy puddles where she’d done this before.
“Can we get some more water?” she called up.
“No! You’ve got all you’re going to get.”
“But…I’m thirsty!”
“Then stop dumping out the damn water!”
Amanda crumpled up a bottle and heaved it up at the person. “Prick!”