Won't Back Down

by J. D. Rhoades

  “I told you,” she says, keeping her voice steady, “I don’t know where he is.”

  “But I will bet that you have his number,” the woman from the door never loses her smile. “You are his…what’s the phrase Americans use? Baby mama?”

  As if on cue, Francis’s voice comes from the bathroom, querulous and uncertain. “Mom?”

  The two who came in through the back door turn toward the sound, reminding Marie of hunting dogs on a scent. The woman from the door never takes her eyes off Marie. “Sisters,” she says. “Go fetch the boy.” She turns to Marie. “And you. Call Jack Keller.”

  ONE HUNDRED-

  NINETEEN

  Ben Jones is as frightened as he’s ever been. It’s man’s most primitive fear; alone in the woods, in the dark, with God knows how many things out there who mean him harm. And all he has to defend himself and the people who depend on him is a weapon he barely knows how to use. He doesn’t know if he can bring himself to pull the trigger on another human being. If recent experience has taught him anything, it’s that he’s no Jack Keller. Even when he most needs to be.

  He takes a few steps, stops, and listens. All he can hear is the chaotic din of what sounds like a million insects. He walks forward again, into a cloud of gnats, a couple of which he quickly inhales. He flails at the swarming bugs, gagging and coughing. Shit. So much for being stealthy. When he recovers, he crouches down and listens some more. He thinks he can hear something moving out there in the dark, but the slight breeze stirring the trees may be playing tricks with his hearing. The movement of the leaves in the sparse moonlight filtering through from the treetops could be doing the same with his vision. Still, it’s the only thing he has to go on, so he stands up and starts moving toward what he thinks he heard.

  “Hold it right there, kid.” The voice comes from behind him. As he turns, he sees a bright red dot appear on his chest. He stops turning and his knees begin to shake as he realizes that it’s a laser. “You got another dot like that on your back,” the voice says. “Drop the gun, step away, and get your hands up.”

  For the second time in a night, Ben has a weapon taken away from him. This time, it’s by the short woman he saw at his mother’s farm. She walks forward, grimacing as if every step pains her, and picks the gun up off the ground. A man appears out of the darkness behind her, a rifle pointed at him. He can see the scarlet glitter of the laser sight, and he begins to shake. The woman examines the weapon. “9 Millimeter Makarov,” she says, then looks at Ben. “Where did you get this?”

  “I…I bought it.”

  “You’re lying.” She walks closer, the gun held in front of her. “This is the model sold by the Russians to the Iraqi army and security forces before the war.”

  Ben can’t meet her eyes. “I didn’t know that.”

  In answer, she points the gun downward at his left foot and pulls the trigger.

  ONE HUNDRED-

  TWENTY

  Keller hears another gunshot, followed immediately by another agonized scream. The forest goes quiet for a few seconds, shocked into fearful silence by the sudden intrusion. As the sounds of the night slowly begin to ramp up again, Keller breaks into a run, headed for the sound, and nearly falls over the body lying across the trail. He crouches down, noting the long beard and the tattoo on the arm, the simple word FREE crudely inked on the bicep. John-Robert Troutman, Keller presumes. He sees the AR-15 lying a few feet away and picks it up, slinging the shotgun on his back as a backup. Another thought makes him turn back and quickly rifle through the pockets of the man’s camo pants, coming out with a pair of extra magazines. Weapons ready, blood pounding in his ears, he moves through the night, hunting.

  ONE HUNDRED-

  TWENTY-ONE

  Ben lies crumpled on the ground, sobbing.

  The woman stands over him, a look of disgust on her lined, ugly face. “Get up,” she says. “You’re not even hit. But the next one will be in your foot. Or a hand. And then, if you continue this silly resistance, the other foot, or hand. And so on. Now, tell me, young man, where are the Iraqis? Alia and Bassim Khoury?”

  Ben sits up, hugging his knees to his chest, his nose running and tears streaming down his face. He tries to say something, but chokes on the words. She sighs and points the gun again, this time directly at Ben’s left foot. He looks up at the two gunmen. He can’t see their eyes behind the night vision goggles, but he can see them grinning. He closes his own eyes and waits for the pain he knows is coming.

  From close by, a female voice calls out. “Ben!”

  The woman’s head snaps around to look for the source of the voice. She turns back to him and smiles. “You can thank your friend for saving you a great deal of pain.” She nods to the gunmen. “Gag him. We don’t want him warning anyone.”

  ONE HUNDRED-

  TWENTY-TWO

  Keller stops at the sound of the new voice. It sounds like Meadow, but he can’t be sure. But where she is, the others are likely to be also. He changes his course to move toward the sound. She calls again. “Ben! Are you alright?”

  Keller realizes that if he can hear her, the others can, too. He slows, then stops, listening. He hears movement to his left and drops prone to the ground. In a moment, he sees a group of people moving up the path. The one in front has his hands behind his back, possibly bound. His head is down, looking at the path in front. Keller thinks it might be Ben, but he’s not sure. Behind the leader are two figures with guns pointed at his back. He can’t make out those figures, either, but he has a pretty good idea who they are. That assessment is only confirmed by what he can make out of the last person in line, a short female figure leaning heavily on a cane. He can hear her labored breathing from where he lies. She’s struggling in the rough terrain, but Keller knows that doesn’t negate her threat. When the group passes, Keller rolls to his back and pulls out his cell phone. He’s not surprised to find that there’s no signal. These mountains may be old and worn down by the slow grind of years, but anyone roaming in them is on their own. Keller rolls over, stands up, and silently follows the column moving through the woods.

  ONE HUNDRED-

  TWENTY-THREE

  Alia sees Meadow put her hand to her mouth and let out a low moan as Ben enters the clearing, mouth gagged, hands bound behind him, followed by a pair of men with rifles. It’s the person who brings up the rear of the column, however, that most concerns her. The woman leaning over her cane, exhausted as she appears to be, is the one in charge. She’s the one Alia is going to have to deal with. Neither she nor her family has ever been devout, but she bows her head now. Allah, the beneficent, the merciful, protect us now from evil.

  The woman catches sight of Alia and her face lights up in a smile that chills her with doubt that her prayer has been heard. “Miss Khoury,” the woman says. “At last our charade comes to an end.”

  Alia stands up, trying to keep her voice steady. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  The woman nods sadly. “I know, little one. You’re caught up in the madness your father started. But,” she shrugs, “here we are.”

  “Whatever your problems with my father,” Alia says, “they don’t have anything to do with me or my brother.”

  The short woman raises an eyebrow. “Nothing? How about the money your father stole?”

  Alia sags. “The money. Always with you Americans it is the money.”

  The woman shrugs. “As they say, it makes the world go ’round. And, lest we forget, this was money stolen from the United States of America.”

  “So you say,” Alia says. “But I don’t care about that, either. All I want is for my brother and I…and our friends to be left alone.”

  “Yes. Well.” The woman smiles with the cold friendliness of a bureaucrat telling a supplicant nothing can be done. “All information has to be corroborated. Especially if it’s obtained under duress.”

  Alia blinks in confusion. “I don’t understand.”
>
  “It means,” the woman says, “that whatever you tell me would need to be confirmed.” That cold smile never wavers. “Did you know that the ancient Romans would never accept a confession that wasn’t the result of torture? They believed in two things as infallible guarantors of truth. The first was drunkenness, which lead to their joke about in vino veritas. The other,” she gestures to the man standing behind Ben, “is pain.” She smiles with a terrible whimsy. “Since we don’t have any wine present, we can only verify what you tell us with pain. Your boyfriend’s pain, for one thing. Or perhaps your brother’s.”

  He’s not my boyfriend, Alia wants to scream, but she knows it won’t matter. They just want to hurt someone. Anyone.

  One of the men takes off his night vision goggles and re-lights the Coleman lantern, and the sudden brightness has everyone blinking.

  The other man whips off his own goggles, then grabs Ben by the back of the head, twisting his hand cruelly in the boy’s hair. He uses the grip to propel Ben toward the rain barrel. “Come on, tough guy,” he snarls. “You didn’t want to talk out there in the woods. Let’s see how talkative you get after a quick dip.”

  “Stop,” Alia begs.

  The woman shrugs. “Count your blessings. It’s just water. Your father died much harder.”

  “My…my…”

  “Oh, didn’t I tell you? He, too, was stubborn about where the money was. So, he died screaming.” She smiles like a fond aunt. “But you can comfort yourself knowing that he didn’t give up you or your brother.” She nods at the man holding Ben. “Go ahead.”

  ONE HUNDRED-

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Keller sees the sudden flare of light ahead and slows down, raising the gun to take aim. He can see the figures in the clearing ahead, but he can’t make out who’s who until he gets closer. What he sees then makes him grit his teeth in frustration. Alia, Bassim, and Meadow are standing in a line, between him and the men with the rifles. The woman he’d met in the church, apparently the one in charge, is standing to one side, talking, but she’s not the main threat. As Keller begins to move sideways, searching for a better shot, he hears a soft growl behind him. He turns slowly, trying not to make a sound.

  A huge brindle-colored mastiff is crouched a few feet away, tense and quivering as if about to spring. A shiver runs down Keller’s back, the ancient fear of man confronted by a large angry carnivore in the dark. The dog gazes at him, then looks toward the clearing, then back at him, assessing the threats. Keller starts to raise the rifle, then stops, realizing that that might very well move him up on the list. He doesn’t want to shoot the animal, especially since that would give away his position prematurely. The two of them, man and dog, stand frozen in place, stalemated.

  ONE HUNDRED-

  TWENTY-FIVE

  “No,” Meadow cries out, and tries to run toward where the smaller of the two men is dragging Ben to the rain barrel.

  The other man has a sickening grin on his face as he steps between them and drives the butt of his rifle into her stomach. She cries out and falls to the ground, gasping for breath. The man stands over her, laughing. “Business before pleasure, little girl,” he sneers down at her. “But when we get done here, you and me are gonna have some…” It’s the last thing he says before a monstrous black shape comes streaking out of the forest, into the light, and leaps onto his back. The man screams as Hera’s jaws close on the back of his neck and the weight of her body bears him to the ground. He barely has time for one more scream before she whips her great head from side to side and shakes him like a rag doll. She’s gotten a better hold on this prey than her mate; The sound of bones breaking fills the clearing, and the man falls silent. Meadow gets to her knees as the dog releases her limp prey and turns to the other gunman. That one’s shoved Ben to his knees and picked his own rifle back up. Hera advances toward him, snarling, hackles raised, her fangs glistening red with blood.

  “No!” Meadow screams again, and lunges toward the dog as he takes aim.

  ***

  Meadow’s scream apparently makes up the dog’s mind for her. For a huge animal, she moves blindingly fast. She’s past Keller and into the clearing before he truly comprehends what’s happening. He turns and follows. The line has broken up, but now the dog is blocking his shot as she springs onto the gunman he sees standing over Meadow. He swings his rifle around in time to see the other man taking aim at the dog. Meadow throws herself on the animal’s back as Keller and the rifleman fire at the same time.

  ###

  Alia grabs her brother and pulls him with her as the dog attacks the man standing over Meadow. Her first reaction is to turn and flee, but as the second gunman raises his rifle, she sees the woman holding her father’s pistol raise it and point it at the dog and Meadow. A flash of rage roars through her. I have had enough, she thinks. I have had ENOUGH. She crosses the clearing in three quick strides, barely registering the gunshot from the darkness and the sound of bullet meeting bone as the other gunman falls backward, his rifle discharging its second and third shots into the night sky. The woman turns, a shocked look on her face, as Alia slugs her across the jaw, putting all of her fear and anger behind the punch. The woman cries out and falls to the ground, the gun slipping from her slack fingers. Alia reaches down and picks up the weapon, bringing it to bear on the woman on the ground. She sits up, a dazed expression on her face, rubbing at her jaw.

  “Stay down, bitch,” Alia snaps.

  The woman scowls up at her. “You don’t have it in you, child.”

  “Don’t I?” Alia pulls the trigger and fires a round into the dirt beside the woman, who flinches away and holds up her hands in a gesture of surrender. “Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you right now.”

  “Because you’re not a murderer,” Jack Keller says as he steps into the light. “She’s unarmed. She’s helpless. Powerless.” The woman glares at Keller as he goes on. “I shot a man in that situation once. I thought I was doing the right thing.” He looks over to where Bassim is using a knife taken from the dead man’s belt to free Ben from his bonds. “I thought I was doing the right thing,” he repeats. “But that’s haunted me ever since. It destroyed a big part of me. Of my life. It’ll do the same thing to you if you take her life.”

  Ben looks away.

  “I’m sorry,” Keller tells him.

  “Um, guys?” Bassim says.

  Keller looks and sees Meadow’s still on the ground, her face white. She’s holding her side. The dog is licking nervously at her face, but then she glances off toward the house, trots off and wiggles her way under the porch. They can here the yipping and whining from beneath the house.

  “I just wanted to see the puppies,” Meadow whispers. Keller kneels next to her, gently pulling her hand away. Her side is red with blood, the stain spreading. She doesn’t seem to notice. “I wanted to see the puppies,” she says again, clearly in shock.

  Keller looks up. “She’s hit.” He tries to pull the edge of her t-shirt up to look at the wound. She makes an irritated whining sound and shoves it back down. “I need to look at the wound, kid,” Keller says.

  Her eyes can’t seem to focus. “Don’t call me kid,” she says weakly, but she lets him look. “Meadow,” he says. “Does your dad have a first aid kit? Bandages? Anything?”

  “F’course,” she mumbles. “In th’ house. By th’ door.” She’s starting to turn gray and her eyes flutter.

  Keller smacks her lightly on the cheek to wake her up. “Come on, Meadow. Stay with me.”

  Bassim appears at his side with a large green nylon rucksack with a red cross stenciled on it. Keller opens it to find a fully equipped combat first aid kit. Troutman had truly been ready for anything, and Keller’s glad of it. He quickly applies a field dressing, wrapping the bandage completely around Meadow’s small frame. Some of the shock is wearing off, and she begins to whimper with each movement. “I know it hurts,” Keller says. “But it looks like a through-and-through wound. Yo
u’re going to be fine if we can control the bleeding. Just stay awake, okay?”

  She just nods, her teeth gritted.

  Keller looks up to see Bassim, Ben, and Alia standing over him, looking down with horrified expressions. He looks beyond them. Iris Gray has disappeared. “Where’s Gray?”

  “Who?” Bassim says.

  “The woman. Iris Gray.”

  Alia looks around. “Oh no.”

  Ben picks up the rifle dropped by the dead man. “I’ll go after her.”

  “No,” Keller says. “She’s alone and unarmed. Any luck at all, she’ll get eaten by a bear. Right now, we need to get Meadow to a hospital. Find an ax and cut two saplings, about six feet tall. Someone get a blanket. We’ll make a stretcher.”

  They stand there looking at him for a moment, until Ben speaks up. “Come on. Let’s do this.”

  ONE HUNDRED-

  TWENTY-SIX

  Iris Gray moves as quickly as she can through the darkened woods, which is not fast at all, especially since she dropped her cane in her haste to get away.

  She was up as soon as the stupid Arab girl took her eyes off her, headed back in the direction from which they’d come. At least she thinks so. She tries to get her bearings by looking at the sky, but clouds have begun to roll in and she can see neither moon nor stars. She also doesn’t see the ravine yawning in front of her until she trips over a stone at the edge and goes tumbling head over heels, down the nearly vertical slope, crashing through the brush until her head finally smacks against a granite outcrop at the bottom.