The Slave Warrior

by Marilyn Donnellan

  A deep masculine voice but with a rather fuzzy, muted quality asked quietly, “What are you doing here?”

  “Is it okay if I sit up?” she asked.

  “Sure, but no sudden moves, missy.”

  She moved slowly into a sitting position and looked up at her attacker, probably six feet tall, wearing a camouflage jumpsuit and the strangest helmet she had ever seen. The helmet had a facemask she could not see through. Although she saw no signs of a laser rifle, given the way he moved and the muscles rippling under the jumpsuit, she knew she didn’t want to tangle with him unless forced to.

  “As to what I’m doing here, it’s pretty simple. I’m here to join the White Warriors.”

  She didn’t expect the explosion of laughter her statement produced.

  “What’s so funny?” she asked with a frown as she stood up.

  “You think you can just waltz right into our camp and join the White Warriors? You gotta be kidding me!”

  He proceeded to look her up and down. “You are what, 5-feet tall? Maybe less than a hundred pounds? What makes you think you have what it takes to be a White Warrior?”

  Before he could blink, she suddenly threw him on his back and had his own knife at his throat, straddling his now prone body. She saw him gulp as he realized the danger he was in. He carefully reached up and pushed a button on the side of his helmet and the faceplate receded. The man appeared to be a few years older than her, rather handsome, his eyes a chestnut brown, and his head shaved. She saw traces of a dark beard on his chiseled jaw. As she looked him over, he started to grin.

  “Now that’s a pretty neat trick. And I must admit I allowed your small size to underestimate you. How about we start over? I’m Second Lieutenant Michael Scott. And you are?”

  Unwilling to trust him for a second, she kept the knife at his throat and snarled, “Well, Second Lieutenant Scott, how about you take me to your leader?” She smiled, “I’ve always wanted to say that and now you can fulfill my wishes.”

  Still grinning himself, Scott carefully moved into a seated position, very aware the knife at his throat did not tremble a bit as he moved but it kept the same, steady pressure. “Honey, I am more than happy to fulfill your wishes, if you know what I mean?”

  With a snarl, she applied some more pressure and a trickle of blood began to move down his neck. “Whoa! I didn’t mean anything, just trying to be friendly.”

  As he carefully raised his hands in a sign of surrender, she started to back slowly away from him, keeping the knife in plain sight. Believing she was safely out of his reach, she started to relax. He suddenly whipped his long legs around and knocked her on to her back. The air went out of her in a whoosh, and she fell. It was the last thing she remembered. Everything went black.

  She had no idea how much time elapsed before she tried to sit up. She groaned and reached back to touch a bandage on the back of her head.

  “You better take it easy,” she heard a voice behind her say. She blinked and tried to shake blurred vision from her eyes. Bad idea. The room began to spin, and she felt nauseous. Someone grabbed her before she fell off the gurney and gently laid her down.

  “You probably have a bit of a concussion, so no fast movements until the blurred vision goes away. Apparently, you hit your head on a rock as you fell.”

  She managed to open her eyes to small slits. Standing over her was a woman dressed in a combat uniform but with a stethoscope around her neck.

  “I’m Doctor Hurtado. You can call me Doc. Everybody else does. Now hold still and let me take your blood pressure.”

  Moving her head slowly and as little as possible, she tried to look around the room, apparently, she was in some type of hospital room. She saw other gurneys in the room through a gap in the curtain around her bed, but only a few were occupied.

  “Okay, blood pressure is back to normal. Now, a few questions. What’s your name?”

  She opened her mouth to answer and found only a huge blank spot.

  “Who am I?” She struggled again to answer, but nothing came out of the dark and she started to panic.

  The doctor laid his hand on her arm and said, “Hey, don’t push it. It often happens with a blow to the head. A light amnesia which usually goes away in a few hours, or at most, a few days. You need to rest now and give your body time to recover. But before I let you sleep, there is someone who wants to see you.”

  She watched as a tall soldier pulled the curtain open and walked up to her bed. He looked familiar, but for the life of her, she had no idea who he was. The expression on his face seemed to convey guilt, but she had no idea why.

  “How are you doing, missy?” He asked.

  “Okay, I guess. Do I know you?”

  “Well, it’s like this. You and me, we had a bit of a tussle and I’m the reason for your bump on the head. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  He looked so sad. He reminded her of a puppy dog she once had. Wait, where did the memory come from? I don’t know my own name, but I remember a puppy?

  “It’s okay. Frankly, I don’t remember a thing.” She started to move her head and the sharp pain reminded her to stay still. She winced as she continued, “I’m sure it was an accident. The doctor says I should have my memory back in a few hours or days, so until I do and figure out how to get back at you, you’re safe.”

  A big grin split his face. He wasn’t bad looking at all. “That’s great! And in case you’ve forgotten, I’m Second Lieutenant Scott. If you need anything at all in the meantime, you just let Doc know and I’ll come a runnin’.”

  “Okay, Scott, a long enough visit. My patient needs to rest, now get back to your duties.” The doctor pushed him out of the room.

  Suddenly tired, she closed her eyes, hoping when she woke up she remembered who she was. The next time she awakened, it appeared she had been moved to a military barracks, lights were turned down low and everything seemed quiet. She needed to pee and tried to slowly sit up. After the room stopped spinning, she carefully stood up and started to open the curtain but was stopped by an IV hooked into her arm. Without thinking, she ripped it out. Alarms started to ring and an orderly ran into her area.

  “Whoa! What do you think you are doing? You need to keep the IV in. You’ve been injured and need to be hydrated.”

  “What I need is to pee,” Josie said with a snarl. “Now point me in the direction of the latrine.”

  The young orderly, who didn’t appear to be more than 16 years old, gulped, and pointed to the left. Her legs were shaky, but as she moved slowly toward the bathroom her strength seemed to return. She could feel a breeze on her backside as she realized the hospital gown was open in the back. She looked behind her and saw the orderly’s face had turned a bright red. Was he blushing? Good God, what kind of hospital had orderlies who blushed from seeing a woman’s rear? She made it to the bathroom okay and sat down gratefully. Much better. As she stood up, she saw herself in the mirror over the sink. Her face was a mess; a face she didn’t recognize. Covered in dirt, a huge scar ran down the side of her face. The eyes staring back at her didn’t look right; two different colors. That’s weird.

  She looked around and saw a sanitary wipe, which she used to scrub her face to remove the dirt. The scar just washed off. And when she touched her eyes, she realized she had contacts in, and one of them looked like a glass eye. She popped the contacts out. Both eyes were dark brown, almost black. But still, her memory didn’t recognize the person in the mirror. Why was she wearing a disguise? And suddenly the headache came back with a vengeance. Moving carefully, she headed back to her bed where she collapsed and immediately fell into a deep sleep.

  The next time she awakened, she discovered her wrists shackled to the sides of the bed. A moment of panic threatened to overwhelm her. She took some deep breaths and tried to calm her racing heart. She looked around. The curtains were pulled away from around her bed and she saw it was daylight. Standing at attention near the door to the room was a well-armed soldier. Hi
s eyes fastened on her and there was a grim look on his face.

  Had someone discovered who she was? Was she someone dangerous? She didn’t even know where she was, other than in some type of military establishment.

  “Hey,” she hollered at the soldier, “Get somebody in here. I want to know why my wrists are shackled.”

  The soldier didn’t react, but someone from the far side of the room moved into her view, an older woman with gray hair. She was a heavy-set woman but moved gracefully as she walked toward her.

  “Good morning. How are you?”

  “How I am is very angry because I’m shackled, and I don’t know why. I want someone in here to answer my questions. NOW!” She hollered.

  “No need to shout,” the woman responded. “I’m Nurse Hammond. Before I bring the doctor in, and before your questions are answered, let me check your vitals.”

  She struggled to calm herself, knowing she probably wouldn’t get answers to her questions by trying to intimidate a nurse. After taking her blood pressure, temperature and looking at her pupils, Nurse Hammond pronounced her ready for breakfast. She struggled to keep from yelling in frustration.

  She suddenly realized she was starved, and decided breakfast was a good idea. A little cooperation on her part might speed things along.

  “Sounds good. I just realized I’m hungry, and no idea when I last ate something.” She tried to move her wrists. “But how am I going to eat lying down and with my wrists shackled?”

  “Oh, we’ve got it covered,” Nurse Hammond replied, “Higher-ups think you are too dangerous to be unshackled, so I get to feed you. Lucky me. Now, let me move your bed to an upright position and I’ll go find a breakfast tray for you.”

  Gritting her teeth at the delay, she tried to recall, again, why she was here and who she was. Nothing. Nada. No memories before waking up to find herself in the hospital with a gigantic headache and a very, very large blank where important stuff ought to be. It seemed to take forever, but after suffering the humiliation of being spoon-fed her breakfast, and having to use a bed pan, she still hadn’t seen the doctor. Her bed seemed to be isolated from the rest of the beds, located at one end of the room. She saw probably a dozen beds in the room, but again, none occupied.

  Someone in authority soon walked into the room. Walking toward her she saw a tall woman, dressed in a white jumpsuit fitting her slender but muscular body perfectly. Her short hair was white, her eyes a brilliant emerald green. She looked vaguely familiar, but Josie’s cloudy mind refused to tell her who it was.

  “Good morning, Sandra,” the woman said. “What’s the matter, you don’t recognize me?”

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t. The doctor said the knock on the head did some damage to my memory. Everyone has been calling me Josie, but you just called me Sandra. I don’t understand. What is my real name?”

  “I know you are a brilliant actor, Sandra, but this really takes the cake. Pretending you don’t know who you are or who I am, well that’s just too much.”

  The woman obviously struggled to maintain her temper. But she was clueless how to respond.

  What did I do to make her so angry? She started to panic. She was in shackles. She had no memory and this woman, who appeared to be in an authoritative position, seemed convinced she had done something to her. Bells and alarms started to ring as she began to fade away into the welcome darkness. Now she didn’t need to remember anything.

  When she came to later, the warrior woman had disappeared. Nurse Hammond walked up and raised the head of the bed.

  “Welcome back, sunshine. I’m going to let the doctor know you are awake.”

  As she waited, Sandra struggled again to retrieve her memory and stay calm. Nothing. Doctor Hurtado walked into the room, the woman in white with her.

  “What happened to me, Doc?” Sandra asked. “Why did I pass out? And who is the person with you?”

  “First things first,” Doc replied. “You evidently had a panic attack and passed out from the stress. Your heart rate was over 200, so you probably had a mild supra ventricular tachycardia event. May not ever happen again, but we’ll be monitoring you for a while to make sure. If you feel your heart starting to speed up, just take a few deep breaths and it should calm down. As to your second question, let me introduce you to Brogan Finlay-Douglass, leader of Book Liberator’s rebel alliance.”

  At the sound of Brogan’s name, Sandra’s face turned white and suddenly her memory came flooding back, almost overwhelming her. Her heart started to race, but she carefully took some deep breaths and tried to calm down, an exercise she now remembered also using before she went on stage.

  “Are you okay, Sandra?” Doc asked anxiously.

  “I think so, Doc. My memories just came back and I’m a bit overwhelmed. Can you give me some time alone with Brogan, please? She and I have a lot to talk about.”

  After a nod from Brogan, the doctor left the room and she sat down beside Sandra’s bed. Sandra struggled to know where to begin. She decided to start with the hardest thing.

  “How did you figure out who I am? I distinctly remember using a fake ID.”

  Brogan shrugged. “Easy, we simply did it the old-fashioned way. We checked your DNA while you were unconscious. With our connections at a research hospital, we checked it against the national DNA database. Your name came up as a 100% match.

  “As soon as the doctor realized who you were, she contacted me. Being consort of the Emperor carries with it, shall we say, a high degree of notoriety? And, given your past behavior toward BL council members, we believed it prudent to shackle you until we knew your story.”

  Brogan tilted her head to the side and said, without humor, “I wanted to just throw you in the brig, but the doctor wouldn’t let me, so here you are.”

  Sandra swallowed hard and asked Brogan to give her a drink from the glass of water sitting on the table near her bed. Her throat suddenly felt incredibly dry and she wasn’t sure how to phrase what she needed to say.

  “Now I remember who I am, I know why I am here. I know you can never forgive me for what I did to you and the rest of council members; it was horrendous and can never be taken back.” Tears started to flow.

  “I believed I was in love with Priest and agreed to betray the council when he asked me to. But what I did not realize until later he is a psychopath. I know firsthand because I was usually the one who experienced the brunt of his anger and frustration, which I probably deserved after what I did to you and council members.

  “But three years ago, he threw me across the room one too many times and I escaped from him. I’ve been on the run ever since. About a year ago, I heard rumors about the White Warriors and began to train, hoping to join in the rebel fight against Priest to lay to rest some of my demons, as well as make up for the terrible things I did.

  “You have every reason not to trust me. And I wouldn’t blame you if you and the council decided to execute me. It is no less than what I deserve. But I might also be able to help you get to Priest. I know of a secret way into his sanctuary. It is how I escaped. I know I don’t deserve any consideration. But I gladly put my life in your hands.”

  Brogan sat in silence for several minutes while she considered what Sandra said. It might be a trick, a terrible ruse by Priest to infiltrate the rebel alliance. Or she might be telling the truth. Little evidence remained of the elegant, arrogant actor Brogan met for the first time in Mazatlán; traits easily seen even through the young boy disguise.

  The doctor told her Sandra had evidence of abuse and bone fractures all over her body. She could see Sandra was haunted by what she had done. She recognized it because she saw the same thing in her own eyes until after her talk with her father. After she’d forgiven herself, it became easier to forgive others. But she needed to know if Sandra really understood the impact of her betrayal. Brogan steeled herself to say what she had wanted to say to her for a long time.

  “My beloved partner, Bryan, died because of what you did. My friend, Ja
nice, a brilliant professor and delightful person, died because of your betrayal. I was raped so many times in prison, after I escaped, I hemorrhaged and had to have an emergency hysterectomy. My friends, Marco, Allison and Juan had their lives turned upside down because of what you did. I don’t know for sure, but what you did probably led to thousands of lives lost in our fight against your former lover.”

  Tears streamed down both of their faces. Sandra trembled as she was again confronted with the impact of her betrayal. Brogan did not say anything Sandra hadn’t said to herself every day for the past three years.

  “I forgave you, not because you deserved it or asked for it, but because I had to and to move on with my life, but also because God demands it of me. I urge you to do the same thing. The next step is for me to review your situation with council leaders. They will make a decision on what to do with you.”

  Brogan stood up and started to leave the room. But she turned around and walked back to Sandra’s bed. She looked at her for a minute and said, “I know from experience what a horrible thing it is to hang on to guilt. I know all about the nightmares, the emotional and spiritual struggles and the toll they can take on a person’s life. But I also learned until I forgive myself, ask God to forgive me, and strive to live the rest of my life as He wanted me to live it, motivated by love, not hate, there is no happiness.”

  After Brogan left, Sandra considered what she said. She’d never been a religious person. In fact, she classified herself as an atheist. But, for the first time in her life she realized some things might need, or required, a belief in a higher power.

  For the next several days, Sandra only saw the doc and the nurses. She had plenty of time to think. Finally, when they deemed her well enough, they moved her to a small prison. She was given opportunities to exercise on a treadmill as her health improved. Every step became a journey toward personal healing. Although often shackled and watched constantly by a soldier, she didn’t mind. She deserved it and more. Occasionally Scott visited her, but he seemed uneasy around her and soon his visits stopped. She didn’t blame him. About a week after her arrival, Brogan came to the prison.