Picking Up The Pieces

by Brenda Adcock

  “You’ll be in good hands soon, girlie,” the man said.

  Athon shook her head and gritted her teeth. “N-n-o d-ddoctor. N-n-no m-m-money,” she said as she continued to shiver uncontrollably.

  “Don’t you worry about that, honey,” the woman said, brushing Athon’s hair away from where it was plastered to her forehead. “What’s your name, baby?” the woman asked.

  Chapter Nine

  Helmand Province, Afghanistan January 2010

  ATHON WAS STARTLED by hands grabbing her roughly, holding her arms as they dropped. She was released and fell heavily to the ground. She struggled to get up, but only managed to crawl a short distance while trying to protect her side as she was jabbed with the barrels of several rifles. Her head throbbed. This was the end and she couldn’t do a damn thing to stop it. A heavy foot rested against her hip and pushed her over. She grunted as a knee landed heavily in the middle of her back driving the air from her lungs, leaving her gasping to take a breath as her wrists were bound behind her. She was still trying to suck in a breath when she was jerked to her feet and dragged across the shaded clearing. She was lifted and body-slammed against a large, flat boulder. Pain stabbed through her wounded side. Black dots floated across her eyes as hands ran over her body and into her crotch, searching for God knew what. She saw meaty fingers grab at the heavy zipper of her flight suit. She yelled and glared at the foul-breathed man standing in front of her. The jarring blow of a rifle butt into her abdomen dropped her to her knees. Just as quickly someone grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled her back to her feet, shoving her forcefully against the bark of a nearby tree. She felt the barrel of a weapon press under her chin hard enough to force her head back. The zipper of her flight suit was lowered and she closed her eyes as the clothing beneath the suit was thoroughly searched amidst the laughter of the group of smelly men surrounding her. To show their approval of her treatment, several fired off rounds into the air. Her feet were kicked out from under her and she hit the ground hard.

  She tried to draw her knees up to protect her torso, but hands grabbed at her and forced her to stand. Suddenly she was filled with fury and resignation. This could go on until one of her captors finally got carried away and delivered a fatal blow. Well, why put it off any fucking longer, she thought as she jerked away from the hands and lashed out with her feet. She wanted to howl with laughter when her foot connected solidly after a lucky hit and she heard what sounded like cursing as a man hit the ground near her, clutching his crotch. Her resolution to end it all right there, right then, evaporated when her head was jerked back and metal pressed against her throat. Maybe she wasn’t quite as ready to die as she thought.

  Rapid voices, yelling in a language she didn’t know, flew around her. She swallowed hard when her head was released and the knife, or whatever it was, left her throat. She shuffled her feet to steady her legs beneath her. Her efforts were stopped by another sharp blow to her abdomen followed by a staggering uppercut that sent her sprawling on the ground again, struggling to maintain consciousness. Her head was spinning as she was dragged roughly from one place to another until she was dropped into a snow-filled depression in the ground. She tried to roll onto her side in order to pull her face out of the snow that filled the depression, but a knee in the middle of her back held her in place. Hands held her legs down as her boots and socks were removed and her ankles bound together. Her head was lifted by her hair and something was pulled over her head, tied around her throat before being dropped back to the ground. Her heart stopped when a voice close to her ear spoke to her in broken English.

  “You think you are so...what is the word...tough, yes, tough. Tell me what I want to know or I promise you will suffer. I have been to America. I know what you fear.”

  “What’s that, frostbite?” Athon quipped. “Take this damn bag off my head and look me in the eye!” she demanded.

  “We all look alike to you, don’t we?”

  “You all smell like a septic tank,” she said. “That’s for damn sure.”

  His low voice said, “We will play with you a while longer, I think.”

  The man moved away. “Continue,” he said. “The whore will tell us what we want to know.”

  By turning her head slightly, Athon was able to find a way to breath. The snow around her was cold, but she was able to suck enough moisture through the fabric of the bag over her head to moisten her mouth. She felt her bound legs being raised, but didn’t know why when they were dropped a moment later. She listened, hoping she would pick up something, anything she could use to help her escape. She was certain it was an impossibility, but hope kept her going. She had something, a new life, to return to. After hours of lying in the snow, she began to grow drowsy from the cold and couldn’t feel her feet and hands any longer. She vaguely heard a slapping sound and was jerked across the ground by her ankles. Her head struck rocks beneath her and she lifted it. She heard someone make a clicking sound with their mouth. With each click her body was jerked forward again. She sucked in as much air as she could, but the fabric over her head was wet and clung to her nose and mouth when she breathed.

  Her neck muscles screamed for relief as she continued to be periodically pulled over the ground. She could barely keep her eyes open between brief catnaps. She thought she heard a familiar sound in the distance and strained to hear. It was a helicopter. She was sure of it. Were they looking for her? As the sound came closer, she began to thrash around in the snow. Feet around her scrambled and her body was jerked once again, faster than before. She felt her body being rolled into the depression, her momentum stopped by something very hard. Her breathing rate increased. She couldn’t see and didn’t know what was happening. She turned her head to the side when she felt something landing on her body. Suddenly there was no more light coming through the fabric and the cold around her grew heavier. Oh my God! Her mind screamed. I’m being buried in the snow. The desire to survive was great and drove her body to continue thrashing. The weight of the snow over her head lessened and she gasped in a breath and lifted her head. A sharp blow to her forehead turned everything black.

  WARMTH AND THE sound of pounding greeted Athon as she tried to open her eyes. She was no longer buried in snow. She tried to move her feet and hands, but they felt stiff and slow to respond to her mental commands. She was lying with her back bent over a log. Her ankles were tied to wooden pegs hammered into the ground and her wrists and upper arms were lashed to the log. Her head was tilted back, slightly lower than her shoulders.

  She squinted into the blazing winter sun overhead and breathed in cold air that burned her nasal membranes. Her breathing rate had increased and her breath formed white puffs in the air as she exhaled. She twisted her head from side to side and observed a circle of men. No doubt about it, her situation was not going to improve any time soon. She closed her eyes and let the sunshine continue to warm her. A sharp, sudden blow to her abdomen forced breath from her lungs once again and her head jerked up. The cloth bag was jammed over her it again and loosely tied around her neck. Hands pushed her head back and she felt the edges of the bag being pounded into the ground. The muscles along her neck strained as she jerked her head and continued to fight against whatever was happening. A second blow to her abdomen served as a warning.

  “What the hell?” she started as water began inundating the cloth bag, forcing the material into her nose and mouth when she tried to breathe, causing her to choke and sputter. Although her body needed water, drowning was not the way she’d hoped to receive it. She tried to move her head even slightly, but the material held her tightly. Her hands formed into fists as she gagged and fought for air. The flow of water stopped momentarily. She felt her chest expand when she was finally able to take a breath.

  “I read about this in an American magazine,” the voice returned next to her ear. “What do you think of our interpretation? Where is your base?”

  “Go fuck yourself,” Athon said between painful coughing spasms.

&nbs
p; The flow of water began again before she could attempt to hold her breath. She had to struggle not to let panic set in. She wasn’t sure how long she could endure this desert version of waterboarding before she either drowned or her heart gave out. She could feel it pounding against her chest wall, screaming for air. Then the water stopped again.

  “Um, one of my friends has an interesting idea,” the voice said.

  “I can hardly wait,” Athon choked out. Her neck muscles strained as she tried to move her head. From somewhere deep in her memory she recalled reading how Indians in the Old West tied wet leather strips around a captive’s forehead and then left them tied out in the sun. As the leather dried, it tightened until the skull cracked. She didn’t know if that had been true or not.

  Her thoughts stopped as she felt something being dropped onto the wet cloth bag over her head. She could still breathe from the corners of her mouth with some effort, but at least she wasn’t drowning. Suddenly small amounts of water began trickling onto the substance, creating an ooze of mud which seeped through the coarse material and ran into her nose. She tried exhaling in bursts to force the thick substance from her air passages, but nothing worked. Unable to find any air, her body began to thrash against the object beneath her. She was going to die in a sea of homemade desert quicksand. Bright lights danced in front of her eyes and she finally opened her mouth to let out the cry of someone dying. Her limbs went limp and the force of blood beating in her ears began to slow. Occasional muscle twitches moved her arms and legs as they began surrendering to death.

  Chapter Ten

  Helmand Province, Afghanistan January, 2010

  ATHON GASPED FOR air as she lay on her abdomen in the snow, her hands bound tightly behind her back. She could feel the gritty coarseness of sand and mud lining her mouth. Her stomach muscles clenched and she vomited water and brown, muddy slime. She could feel dried mud covering her face and hair. She could barely move her tongue, but she could breathe. A hand grabbed her hair and tilted her head back. Water flowed into her mouth and she gagged as more mud slithered down her throat. She couldn’t remember ever being so tired. When the hand released her head, she didn’t have the strength to stop it from hitting the ground. She heard the soft nickering of horses dancing near her. Too weak to prevent what was being done, her ankles were once again bound and attached to the rope around her wrists before being pulled together so tightly that her wrists touched her ankles. Her head fell forward, dangling helplessly from her shoulders. The hated bag was pulled over her head again before her body was lifted and moved. She was aware of feet moving around her, occasionally kicking her head. She groaned like the wounded animal she had become as she was pulled off the ground. Amidst raucous laughter, hands grabbed her head and delivered a blow hard enough to cause her body to spin helplessly, tightening the rope binding her hands and feet. A foot striking her head stopped the spinning, sending her in the opposite direction. Her body finally, mercifully went limp, continuing to slowly unwind.

  The third, or perhaps the fourth, morning she was awakened by sharp kicks to her abdomen and ribs. Cold gusts of wind whipped at her hanging body. She was hungry and thirsty. She stiffened when she heard footsteps walking slowly toward her. Her body moved slightly before it fell to the ground. With no way to stop her fall, she slammed into the frozen ground and fell onto her side. She barely felt it when the rope holding her wrists to her ankles was cut and her legs dropped heavily to the ground. Moments later the bag was jerked from her head and the rope binding her wrists was cut away, allowing them to slide down her sides. The man stared into her eyes for a moment before pulling her numb arms over her head and re-tying her wrists. He ran a second rope between her bound wrists and looped the rope through a ring on the saddle of a nearby horse. He pulled Athon off her feet as he brought her arms to the ring and tied it off. Her feet were so cold she couldn’t feel them other than periodic sensations that felt like a thousand needles stabbing into the soles of her feet. As she tried to keep her feet beneath her, he pressed his body against hers and whispered, “Do you fear what all women fear?” Athon jerked at the ring holding her against the horse. “Ah, I see that even a tough woman fears the invasion of her body,” he said as he pressed his fingers down her sides and into her crotch. “You have raped my whole country,” he spat. “Who will care about one weak American whore? My men have not pleasured themselves for a long time. Perhaps their wait will end this evening.”

  Athon closed her eyes, Hank’s face flashing through her mind. “I’ll kill myself first,” she croaked.

  He ground himself against her and she could feel his arousal. “I will decide when you die, whore. I think I will take you last so you will beg me to end your suffering. You see, some of my men are not as nice as I am. You remind me of a wild stallion,” he said as he ran a hand through her hair. “I think I will enjoy breaking you.”

  Rage coursed through Athon’s body as she fought with the only weapon she had left. She threw her head back sharply and smiled as it struck the man’s face with a satisfying crack. He yelped and shoved her forehead against the saddle before he walked away wiping blood from his face. He paused to slap the rear of the horse, watching it drag Athon as it trotted to join others in the small herd.

  Once the camp was packed up, Athon was released from the ring and dropped heavily to her knees. Periodically, the rider holding the rope which bound her wrists tugged it, forcing her to walk faster or dragging her if she fell before stopping to allow her to stand. The sun beat down on Athon’s head as she stumbled along barefooted, leaving bloody tracks in the snow. She tried to produce enough saliva in her dry mouth to moisten her split lips. She heard a familiar sound in the distance and searched the sky, but was unable to tell which direction it came from. The horses stopped and danced around amid a flurry of voices. She fell to her knees in the snow and brought a handful to her mouth. Just give it up, she told herself. Don’t get up again and this will end.

  Gunfire erupted around her and chaotic yells seemed to come from everywhere. She fell into the snow and covered her head the best she could with her bound hands. A Blackhawk was laying down rows of machine gun fire through the group that held her, spraying puffs of snow into the air. Not far from where she lay she saw the lifeless eyes of the heavily bearded man who had taunted her. When she blinked Hank’s face momentarily replaced that of the terrorist. She forced the vision away to low-crawl toward him and pull his pistol from his hand. She ran her hands beneath his clothing, smiling as she withdrew a dagger from his waist. She clawed her way toward a dead horse and slithered behind it.

  Holding the dagger between her knees, she sawed at the rope around her wrists. She was weak from lack of food or water and the dagger slipped a couple of times, causing her to cut herself, but she ignored the blood and continued sawing at the rope. Once it fell away, she looked over the body of the large dead animal in front of her. Four of her captors remained alive. Two were firing at the Blackhawk while the last two were putting a missile launcher together. She pushed her body up and willed her legs to move. Bent at the waist, she ran up behind the closest man and drew the dagger across his throat. As he grasped his throat in a futile attempt to staunch the bleeding, she grabbed his automatic weapon and swung it toward the remaining men. She yelled as loud as she could and felt her anger release as the rounds left the barrel of the weapon and slammed into two of the men. A return round burned into her shoulder, but she barely felt it and dropped to a prone position to return fire. The helicopter disappeared over a rise, but she could still hear the whirling sound of its rotors as it prepared for another pass. She thought, as she took aim and fired, just don’t fire your missiles.

  She fired at the remaining enemy until the click from the trigger told her she was out of ammunition. The Blackhawk still hadn’t returned and she saw the man rise to his feet, his weapon aimed at her. She ducked her head and covered it with her arms, a prayer speeding through her mind. She was so close, so close. She heard the report of a weap
on, but felt nothing. Could it really be that painless? Then strong arms were pulling her onto her back as she continued to cover her head with her own arms.

  “Dailey! I gotcha! Let’s get the hell outta here.”

  She lowered her arms and looked into the eyes of Frank Hardesty. She threw her arms up and hugged him fiercely as tears ran down her face creating a muddy, blood-tinged rivulet.

  “My crew. They’re all dead, Frank,” she whimpered.

  “I know. But you survived. Let’s get you home,” he said.

  He patted her on the back and stood to pick her up. The look on his face changed from jubilation to disbelief as a shot rang out, followed by more gunfire from the men who had accompanied him. They both fell to the ground and Athon crawled closer to him.

  “Son of a bitch shot me,” Frank groaned.

  “Medic!” Athon screamed.

  “SHE'S SEIZING, DOCTOR!” the nurse said as she rolled Athon’s body to the side to make sure her airway remained clear. Stephens quickly forced Athon’s jaws open far enough to slide a padded instrument into her mouth to prevent her from biting or choking on her tongue. “Ativan,” she said calmly. Gradually, not long after the injection was given, Athon’s body seemed to relax. “Get her ready for transport and make a note to the doctors onboard about the seizure.”

  Dr. Stephens left the emergency room and walked to the nurse’s station, pulling a chart down and flipping to the page containing doctor’s notes. She sat down and read through what little information there was regarding Major Athon Dailey’s treatment in the field and during her evacuation to Landstuhl. She turned back to the personal information page and glanced down at her emergency notification sheet. There was no family listed. Stephens reached into her coat pocket and withdrew a business card. She tapped it against her chin before picking up the desk phone and dialing. The phone rang four times and Stephens was preparing to hang up when she heard an out-of-breath voice on the other end.