Heartbreak Warfare

by Heather M. Orgeron

  I gasp loudly in surprise as her body falls to the ground, my eyes meeting Briggs’s across the room. Those liquid amber eyes hold so much emotion. Anger, sorrow, sympathy.

  Black eyes speak directly into the camera. “This is just the beginning.”

  The camera clicks off, and the English-speaking man moves aside while the other two cut my ties and chain my upper arms to the wall, leaving just enough slack that I can kneel, but not fully stand.

  My body is blessedly numb. My heart, however, is not. I feel every excruciating beat. Every pulse is a sob—my heart crying out where my eyes cannot. The blood whooshing through my veins is a current of sorrow. There is no masking this pain.

  Minutes ago, I ordered the death of my best friend, watched her beheaded before my very eyes, and have to fight against every urge I possess not to react to that loss. My teeth cut into my lips as I bite back a scream. I want to unleash this pain. To kill every one of these monsters. To cry. God, I need to cry, but I’m a soldier, and soldiers don’t show weakness. But oh, how I feel it. Feel her blood dripping from my hands. Months ago, I re-enlisted to be a role model, to save soldiers, and today I became a murderer.

  The commotion surrounding me fades as Briggs holds me together with the strength in his gaze. I’m unsure of how long we stay that way. But it is long after our captors depart when I break my eyes away. The evidence of the humanity I lost is in the blood that trails into the darkness.

  They leave her there, where she fell, and I no longer have to reach for darkness; it surrounds me.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Briggs

  Holy mother of God…I have seen some fucked-up things in my life, but this by far is at the top of that list.

  My gut churns with repulsion as I keep my eyes averted from Mullins, where her body still lays on the floor between us—in pieces. No longer warm blood and a beating heart, but a lifeless prop, a glimpse at our fate. My eyes seek Scott’s out, knowing that she needs me, and I swear that I can see her jaw trembling from feet away. I try to relay to her everything in my heart. How sorry I am that I wasn’t able to protect them—sorry that we’re here at all. I want to tell her so badly that I understand the ache, the anger. All the while, I’m fighting hard to mask my own fears—that we will likely die in this bunker, and she’ll never hold her son again. I try to relay all of this while offering her strength. Giving her a safe place, a distraction from the chaos, a reminder that she is not alone. I hold her the only way that I can, and I hope that it gives her some comfort in the midst of this nightmare that we may never wake from.

  Hours pass as we mourn in silence, our eyes connected, bodies broken, fight dwindling as our thirst grows and the pain kicks in. They’re back in the bunker, and though I can hear these fuckers shouting at me in their native tongue, feel the butt of a rifle connect with my ribs, I refuse to react. I see stars, and every breath feels like a knife in my chest. But I won’t let her down. Never again.

  Long after the room has cleared, we sit in silence. I watch her throat move with each swallow. Fiery blue eyes seek mine for answers I don’t have.

  “Briggs,” she whispers.

  “Yeah?”

  “We’re not getting out of here, are we?”

  Fuck me.

  I clear my throat. “I don’t know.”

  She nods her head slowly.

  “How’s your hand?”

  She shrugs. “Can’t feel it.”

  “I’m sorry…”

  “Don’t,” she cuts me off. “No apologies. That’s an order, Sergeant.”

  I can’t help my chuckle. “Pulling rank now, boss?” Being that she outranks me; technically, Scottie is in charge. Not that there is much to take charge of.

  “Tell me about your leg,” she whispers.

  “It’s banged up. Not broken but the gash is deep. I think there may be some torn muscle.”

  “Turn your foot for me.”

  Gritting my teeth, I do my best, and I watch her trained face as she carefully tracks what shit progress I make.

  “Looks like a decent range of motion, but we need to clean that wound.”

  “Kind of between a rock and a hard place right now, Sarge, besides I’m more interested in hearing the plan.” I humor her with small talk, for distraction.

  She’s lost in her thoughts for a moment. “To live…Briggs. I want to live. We stay alive until we’re rescued. That’s the plan.”

  I nod, running my bottom lip through my teeth. “Then we live.”

  I wake some hours later to the creak of the ladder. War has trained me to be a light sleeper.

  “It’s only me. You can rest,” the tiny Iraqi girl whispers.

  Like hell.

  She kneels down beside Scott with a bowl of supplies. Scottie’s eyes fly open.

  “Shhh. Only me, sister. I come to clean your arm.”

  I look on as the two of them speak and learn that the girl is only fifteen years old. Her name is Hiyam, and she is one of many wives of the man calling the shots. Scottie backs away from her efforts. “My arm is fine. His leg needs attention.”

  “I do not touch him.”

  “Then don’t touch him,” Scottie argues, “use the cloth.”

  The girl turns her eyes toward me, and they make a slow pass over my leg. “I can pour the water on it.”

  I shake my head, and Scottie’s sharp tongue bites through Hiyam’s indecision. “Do it. Now.”

  The girl slowly walks my way, fearful, and I turn my leg to give her better access.

  Scottie speaks up from behind her. “Do you have anything to disinfect the wound?”

  “I’m only to help you,” Hiyam responds before trickling the water down so it hits my gash.

  “There is something in my vest. Please see if you can find it.”

  Hiyam nods as she casts her eyes down to avoid connecting with mine. When she’s done irrigating my leg, she moves back to Scottie and kneels in front of her. “Sister, your lips bleed.”

  “What city are we in?” Scottie asks, ignoring the sympathy.

  “I cannot tell you more.”

  Hiyam cleans her wound, wrapping Scottie’s break in a pathetic excuse for a sling. It isn’t by any means a professional job, and who knows how it will turn out if we do make it out of here, but it has to be better than what it was before.

  “You have a husband? Children?” Hiyam asks.

  Internal alarms start blaring in my head. When Scott opens her mouth to answer, I begin coughing loudly. Both women turn in my direction, and I lock eyes with Scottie, shaking my head furiously.

  She scowls at me. “All right, Briggs?”

  Hiyam walks over with a bottle of water. “You’re thirsty,” she says, pouring the water into my mouth.

  I drink greedily. It has been at least twenty-four hours since we were captured, and we’re both parched.

  “Thank you.”

  She nods, handing me a chunk of bread. “I brought you food.”

  The rumble in my stomach at the promise of sustenance echoes throughout the room, but I shake my head, keeping my voice low. “Give it to her.”

  “I have some for her.”

  I refuse the bread and whisper. “Give it to her.”

  Hiyam’s eyes smile as her head bobs. She turns, walking back to her spot near Scott. “You are hungry, eat.” She pours the other half of the bottle of water into Scottie’s mouth before handing her the bread.

  “What he needs—it’s in a small red package. It’s in my vest.”

  “I will find it if it’s there,” she whispers. “Sister, rest.”

  I watch as she gathers into her arms the little bowl of supplies, and when I am positive that she is out of earshot, turn back to Scottie.

  “What was that?” she huffs, clearly annoyed with me.

  “Jesus, Scottie…That girl is not your friend.” I’m exasperated.

  “Come on, Briggs, give me a little credit. I may not be infantry, but I’m sure as hell not a fucking boot. T
wo can play at her game.”

  We have a stare off for a few seconds before I realize just how good of a game she’s been playing.

  I give her the nod she deserves. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Briggs. Briggs.”

  I hear my name in a whisper as I sleep. Forcing my eyes to open, it takes a moment for them to adjust to the darkness. This isn’t my room–isn’t my cot at the base. This is a nightmare, and the worst part is I’m wide awake. Relief covers me when I see Mullins has finally been taken from the center of the room; I must have slept harder than I thought. The ache in my leg screams with a whole new level of agony, an unrelenting burn. The shackles around my biceps are beginning to chafe my skin. It’s so painful. My neck is stiff, and I can barely move to stretch out.

  “Briggs!” she calls again with urgency.

  “Yeah, Scottie?” I ask groggily.

  “Are you awake?”

  I resist the urge to run my hand down my jaw to cover my irritation.

  “Yeah, I’m up.”

  “I need to pee.” Her voice is shaky, and I can tell that she considers this a serious dilemma, but I can’t help it. I laugh.

  The sharpness in her voice breaches the distance between us.

  “It’s not funny.”

  I try to contain my laughter. I do. It isn’t funny. But in the grand scheme of things, I manage to find humor in the situation. “Um…okay, pee.”

  She crosses and uncrosses her legs as if she’s been weighing this decision for hours. “Can you…maybe, turn around?”

  “No. Chained to the wall, remember?” I jiggle my restrained biceps as a reminder.

  “Shit. Just look to the side and close your eyes then.”

  She’s making these little moaning sounds, and I know that they’re due to her discomfort, but my mind goes straight to the bedroom, and I begin to wonder what it would be like to make her moan in pleasure. Then I feel guilty for even allowing my mind to go there.

  We’re in fresh fucking hell, and she’s a married woman.

  And for the moment, my superior.

  Moans should be the farthest thing from my mind, but maybe it’s a distraction I need in this surreal situation.

  I turn my head and listen to the rattling of Scottie’s chains, the panting of her breath—which causes my imagination to wander further, and finally the sound of what I guess to be the best piss of her life. More grunting and chain rattling, and then she releases a huge sigh of relief.

  “Okay, you can look.”

  I turn to face her, hoping that in the dim light she won’t be able to see my discomfort. There’s a dark puddle just to her left, trickling toward the center of the bunker. She eyes it in alarm before blue eyes find mine.

  “If that rolls into my space, I’m retaliating, Scottie.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Katy

  I can’t sleep.

  Each time I close my eyes, I see her face and not the flawless beauty that was my best friend. No. I see purple lips and bulging, empty eyes. Blood. I see blood pouring from her neck, where it used to sit on the mutilated body oozing a few feet behind. I blink, and I blink again, begging my imagination to muster another image, anything other than Mullins. My hope is to wash it away with memories of who she was, but all I see is her death. I open them, and even in the darkness, I can see the ground still saturated with her blood. There’s no escaping it.

  “Scottie?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Can’t sleep?”

  “No.” I hear the shake in my voice and scold myself.

  Soldier up, Katy.

  “Tell me about her.”

  “Get some sleep, Briggs.”

  “Tell me,” he urges across the space that now seems but a breath away.

  “Now’s not the time, Sergeant.”

  “It’s the perfect time,” he insists. “Tell me.”

  The fire consuming the Humvees flashes through my mind.

  “I’m not the only one who lost a friend.”

  He ignores my attempt to deter him. “She was Latino, right?”

  “Please, stop.”

  “I liked her. At least she could take a joke.”

  I glare at him.

  “Wow, Scottie, that hurts. Even in the dark. Think you could use those laser beams to get us the fuck out of here?”

  “Drop it.”

  A beat of silence. “It’s easier, okay? If you talk about her, it’s easier to picture something else. Give it a try.”

  “She taught me how to dance.” I don’t know where it comes from, but it falls so easily from my lips. “We met at boot camp, and when the days were the worst, she wouldn’t let me slip into my head. Instead, she made them a little more grueling with her demands.” A smile I didn’t know I had the strength for crosses my lips. “While we were supposed to be scrubbing the john and floors with toothbrushes, she taught me how to Tejano dance. Cumbia was my favorite. I loved it.”

  “Cumbia?”

  “It was simple but so sexy.”

  “I’m listening,” he whispers low.

  Memories of us dancing after lights out surface as pressure builds behind my eyes. “She was one of those people that just had that spark…you know? A zest for life—and she lived every minute. I feel like my life got a kick-start when we met.”

  “How so?”

  “I fed off her confidence a little, I guess. She was just so sure of everything, especially herself. I envied that a little.”

  “No offense to her memory, Scottie, but you seem pretty fucking confident.”

  “I credit some of that to her. I don’t know how to do this without her. I know I shouldn’t admit it, but she’s always been there. From the beginning.”

  “You are doing it.”

  “I feel like they just took half of me away.”

  “You’re still here. You’re still whole. You’re still a soldier.”

  I sit quiet.

  “Say it,” he whispers. “Whatever it is, just say it.”

  “I don’t feel like a soldier. When we were captured, I didn’t even fire off a single round, because I couldn’t bring myself to reach for my gun. All of my training in those minutes went to shit. What kind of soldier could I be?”

  “It’s because you jumped into action as a medic. That’s what you do. That’s who you are.”

  “I’m supposed to be both. If I had just—”

  “Nothing, there was nothing you could have done, getting one round off wouldn’t have made a difference. We were ambushed. They’d been planning this. Our guys’ll find the Humvees en route and know we’re missing. They’re probably already looking for us. They’ll find us, and you’ll dance again.”

  I shake my head, unable to imagine a time when I will ever be carefree enough to dance again, as his voice breaks through.

  “Yep, we’re doing it, we’re making plans, right now.”

  Swallowing, I nod. “Okay, Briggs, what are yours?”

  “Right now, they consist of an hour-long shower and a medium rare steak.”

  “Bloody, huh?”

  “Yep,” he drawls. “Knock its horns off, clean its ass, and plate it up.”

  “Texan to the end,” I say with a sigh.

  “It sounds like a setup for a joke, doesn’t it?” he asks with a pain-filled exhale. “Three Texans get captured in Iraq…”

  “With no punch line.”

  I can feel the hurt in his voice. “Not this time.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Katy

  “I want to run,” I whisper. “So far and so fast, with no boundaries, nothing on any side of me.” I’m making more plans. It’s the majority of what we’ve done since we’ve been trapped in this merciless earth, a place hell has forgotten about.

  My lips are blistered, and the heat I’m holding inside this uniform during the day evaporates in the unforgiving night. I can barely breathe through my clogged nose as I stomp on a scorpion that I had to thrash off my leg.

  I have
no clue how long we’ve been stuck in this godforsaken bunker. Time has completely gotten away from me. All I know is that it’s getting harder and harder to remember life before being trapped in this hole in the ground. Each day I pray that it will be the one that we’re rescued. And every day I am disappointed. I would stop praying altogether if I didn’t take so much comfort in the ritual of it.

  I’ve watched Briggs’s muscular frame wither before my eyes, and I know that he, too, must see my own rapid decline. We’re filthy. The smell is horrendous. We both eat and sleep where we shit. I grimace, swatting at the swarm of flies collecting around the waste bucket next to me. Dignity is a thing of the past.

  I stare off into space, counting the seconds, one heartbeat at a time. We depend on each other for strength, and I’ve never been so in tune with another person’s moods in my life…not even Gavin’s.

  Briggs has an endless reserve of stories and dirty jokes. Sometimes that laughter is the only thing that makes me feel human. We’re chained like dogs, fed only once a day. There are no showers or teeth brushings. The only relief we get is the occasional dust-off with the baby wipes that Hiyam provides. I can feel the caked dirt in my pores and beneath my nails. My hair is so matted and weighed down by dirt and grime that I’m certain it will need to be shaved when we get out of here. If…If we get out of here. My hope for ever leaving this bunker is dwindling fast, but I will never let Briggs know it.

  I push all thoughts of Gavin and Noah away because it hurts too much, and I can’t afford to break. I need to be ready for whatever comes our way, and they are my greatest weaknesses. I live in the present, in this prison with Briggs. He’s weak, but his words contradict the way he looks, how he must feel. Every single day he rallies, and I know it’s for my sake. My breaths are still painful, and I work my legs and arms daily and make him do the same, to try to escape further atrophy.

  “You’re a runner?”

  “I will be,” I counter. “It was never my thing, but now it seems like a freedom I took for granted.”

  I glance at his leg, which has healed nicely. Hiyam had managed to find the solution and kept it irrigated for the first couple of days. There isn’t a smell or bad color, which is a good sign.