I began to imagine our reunion… what it would be like to finally see each other after I’m sure both of us had assumed we’d never cross paths again. Would I run into his arms and act like nothing had happened, nothing had changed since the day he left? Would he drop what he was doing the moment he saw me, scoop me up in his arms, and proclaim his never-ending love for me? Or would we be cautious? Would it be a slow, careful embrace, as we were now unsure of whom the other person had become due to what they had been through in the other’s absence?
Would I even remember how to kiss him?
“Just a little further!” The kid tugging on my arm called back to me, obviously sensing my anticipation.
We had now cleared the bomb site, finding ourselves on the outskirts of town. It wasn’t a village I recognized from any of the geotagged images, but in the state of almost pure joy I was in, that didn’t prove to be a cause for alarm. Instead, I promised myself that it made complete sense. Had we had access to those images, we would have seen Charlie sooner. Of course he found a place to hide that was so under the radar that even we didn’t have access to it. It would be the only way to ensure his team’s safety.
“Here we are!” The young boy skidded to a stop in front of a small shack of a house.
It wasn’t in the best repair: the roof was not much more than a thatching of twigs and leaves and the walls seemed to be made of leftover wood from a number of different construction sites.
And all of a sudden, that joyful feeling went away. Reality hit me like a brick.
What the hell was I doing here?
“Come inside?” The boy tugged on my hand.
I didn’t want to seem rude, but I needed to have some idea of what I was in for. “What’s your name?”
“Nkomo.” He smiled up at me.
He seemed so innocent, so youthful. Why was I suddenly doubting his good nature?
“Hi Nkomo, I’m Hannah.” I introduced myself, hoping to start a conversation that would eventually lead to letting this boy know who I was and what my intentions were.
See, it only dawned on me as we stopped in front of the small house on the outskirts of that small town, that the boy, Nkomo, only confirmed that I was American before he grabbed my hand and started running. He didn’t ask if I was looking for a friend, and he didn’t tell me he had known of any other Americans. Those were two things I simply accepted as fact because I so wanted them to be true.
But what if they weren’t?
“Hannah,” he pulled again, pronouncing my name the best he could, given his dialect, “we have to get inside. It’s not safe here.”
I weighed my options. Sure, he was most certainly right that it wouldn’t be safe for me out in the middle of the desert without any back up. He could just be sweetly offering to protect me. And that was definitely one way of looking at the situation.
The other option would be a way a pessimist would look at the world. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t a likely scenario. The specific terrorist group that Charlie had spent the last six years fighting in this country had recently sworn their allegiance to another, even more dangerous and well-funded rebellion. That growing faction had been known to brainwash their young children into believing that Americans were the enemy, the infidels, and all should be killed, by order of their God. They sent the children, some as young as eight years old, to camps to learn how to fire weapons and deceive people of the western civilization. They were building an army the only way they knew how: by raising their children to be biased, instead of allowing them to make their own decisions.
Could Nkomo be one of those children? Could he be deceiving me now in hopes to secure his place in heaven?
“Who’s inside, Nkomo?” I begged, hoping that he’d say the name of my beloved.
“No one.” His eyes widened. “My parents were killed. It’s just me.”
My heart sank for him. How could I allow him to stay here alone?
As much as it pained me to throw my dreams of embracing Charlie away, I knew I shouldn’t have let myself fall into this trap. I was smarter than that. At least I hoped I was. “Nkomo, why don’t we head back into town, find my boss, and get you something good to eat?”
He moved his mouth around, debating my offer for a few moments before shrugging his shoulders and blinking his big brown eyes up at me.
“We could do that, Hannah, but I thought you’d want to see Charlie first.”
Chapter Seven
Hannah
“Wait.” I stopped, all of a sudden forgetting why I had suggested we trek back to town in the first place. “You know Charlie?”
His bright white smile widened. “Of course I know Charlie!”
Apparently that was all I needed.
Against my better judgment, I allowed him to lead me inside his dilapidated house with promises of stories of his encounters with Charlie.
I first asked him to describe what Charlie looked like, just to be certain it really was him. He agreed easily, painting pretty nondescript pictures of a man that could really be anyone.
“Nkomo, that’s fairly vague. Lots of guys have beards.” I tried to rationalize with him, begging my mind to stay in the game rather than to bend and believe everything he told me. I kept having to remind myself that this kid could be the enemy.
“Oh!” He got really excited. “He has giant arms. Like seriously the biggest I have ever seen!”
Okay, that was a good start…
“And a bracelet thing!” He added, searching my face for approval.
The bracelet… of course. That was how I picked him out initially in that picture. Okay, maybe this kid did know something.
“Okay, I’ll bite.” I teased, slowly beginning to trust him. “What did this Charlie guy talk about with you?”
“You, of course!” He began to laugh, though I was very confused.
“Me?”
Nkomo told me of the first time he met Charlie. He said his parents had just been killed by the rebels, and he was sitting in the middle of town asking for help to buy some fruit. He then went on to tell me of the nice American who came up to him and not only bought him fruit, but bread too, and even some fish to cook up. When Nkomo admitted to not knowing how to cook the fish, the American laughed, then introduced himself as Charlie, and offered to teach him everything he needed to know about cooking up a fish.
“He told me that he took you camping and you didn’t want to cook the fish, so you guys ate leaves instead.”
I felt my eyes well up with tears. There was no doubt that I was talking to a boy who had talked to Charlie. And they talked about me.
“Did you…” I started, trying not to cry. “How did you know it was me when you saw me in town?”
“Well,” Nkomo’s cheeks dimpled. “Charlie told me you were the prettiest girl in the whole world, but you never much cared for your own safety, and he was really afraid you were going to try to come find him and get yourself hurt in the process. So, when I saw you in the town after the bomb went off…” He looked away, hiding his embarrassment, “I thought you were probably his Hannah.
I couldn’t believe the conversation we were having. It seemed impossible, surreal, even.
“Nkomo,” I feared the answer to my next question. “When was the last time you saw Charlie?”
“Easy.” He proudly straightened up. “Two days ago.”
I felt my heart leap up into my throat. I almost stood up demanding that we go to him this instant. This little boy who found me in the rubble was about to end my suffering. He saw Charlie two days ago. That could only mean one thing: Charlie was safe.
“And in the morning,” Nkomo laid his head down on the dirt ground. “I will take you to him.”
“In the morning?” I questioned, not the least bit happy with that suggestion.
He went on to reason with me, the only way a local could, telling me it was too late and the sun too low to make the journey. He promised it wasn’t far, but it was far enough and right now,
it was not safe.
“And Charlie would be so mad at me if I let anything happen to you.” He smiled at me once more before he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.
After I was certain the boy had drifted to dreamland, I thought maybe I should run back that mile into town and try to find my team. Sure, Nkomo kept warning that it wasn’t safe, but I didn’t want them out searching for me when first of all, I was okay, and second of all, I knew where Charlie was hiding out. Or rather, I would soon know where Charlie was hiding out.
I stood and peeked out the makeshift window. Nkomo was right. The sun was going down. And I honestly didn’t recall the exact way we came. In the moment, was too consumed with excitement to keep track of my surroundings. But now, I cursed myself for my childish ways. I paced in front of the door for a few minutes, honestly debating the likelihood that I would be taken captive by the rebel group if I ventured back into town. It didn’t seem like a realistic possibility, but then again, I wasn’t studied up in this area. The only information I had about this part of the world was the bits and pieces I picked up from news articles and journalistic interviews. I couldn’t guarantee my own safety. There was no way.
So, after a few more minutes of pacing, I finally decided to stay put for the night. Once the sun rose, I would have Nkomo take me back into town and find the rest of the group before we traveled to Charlie’s hideout. It seemed like the perfect plan.
After all, I was still really tired.
And I could trust Nkomo. He was a sweet kid. He knew things about me that a brainwashed boy wouldn’t. Yes, he was trying to help me. I was sure of that.
At least, I think I was sure of that.
Chapter Eight
Hannah
The sun had not yet risen when the door was broken down and a bag thrown over my head. I tried to fight the best I could, but my body was weak. I felt the sting of the bomb from the day before. My shoulder was raw, my muscles aching, and my head pounding. Honestly, I wasn’t wholly sure I was being kidnapped. I just knew it was dark. Too dark.
But when the frayed ropes bound my wrists behind my back and my ankles to my wrists, and I was tossed into the bed of a truck, I knew something had gone awry. I could have easily freaked out, but instead, I calmed myself quickly, trying to recall my training.
I was on my stomach, without much ability to move, so I did the only thing I could: I started to count. I counted the seconds it took from the time the engine first moved the truck, to the time the driver set the manual gear to ‘park’.
1,235 seconds.
That’s roughly twenty minutes, and assuming we were traveling sixty miles an hour, give or take a few, it would put us at about twenty miles from Nkomo’s house and twenty-one miles from that small town.
And if I had to guess, I would put us very, very close to the place Charlie was when that picture was taken.
While I was now certain I was closer in distance to Charlie than I had been at any point in the last year and a half, for the first time, I didn’t know if I was going to make it out of this one alive.
And so, although it had been a very long time since I had done so, as I was being moved from the back of the truck, I began to pray.
Dear Lord,
It has become increasingly more apparent that my decisions leading up to this moment were based solely on my own desires rather than my instinct. I understand that this may lead to an outcome that I both hadn’t expected, and I desperately hadn’t wished. But, I refuse to place blame on anyone but myself. I acted rashly, without thinking through the situation I placed myself in. So, on that note, if it is your will to end my life on this day, please be with my mother. She doesn’t deserve to lose both a husband and a child, but I know she’s strong and with your help, will somehow survive. Please be with Max and the rest of the team. Help them find their way to safety and avoid the insurgents who have now captured me. Please be with Charlie. Help him forgive himself for the blame I know he’ll attempt to take in this situation. And lastly, forgive my captors. They obviously do not know your love.
That was all I could think to say to Him. I hoped that He knew my heart enough to answer the prayers I had yet to pray.
And with that final thought, I was dragged from the back of the truck and thrown over someone’s shoulder. I gasped at the pain to my gut from the force of the throw, but stayed quiet otherwise, hoping not to be punished until I had met my captor.
The ground was rough, but I managed to find my way to my knees. There was talk around me, coming from about three or four voices, but as I hadn’t spent any time learning the African languages, I was at a loss for what they were saying.
That is, until I heard that small voice of a child.
“It was me, Sir. I found her.”
Nkomo. They had taken him too. But… he wasn’t being held captive.
It was all a lie. He had fed me to the lions after all.
I wanted to cry out. I wanted to reason with my nine year old friend, to ask him if any of it was true, but he didn’t give me the time. Instead, he offered to kill me himself.
“How would you like it done, Sir?”
To hear that question escape the lips of a mere child was a pain far worse than I could have imagined. Hell, it was worse than having my arm put back in its socket.
As I sat there on my knees, the group stood around me and deliberated over the best way to kill me off- in English- probably for my benefit. It was quite an eye opening circumstance, to say the least. I found myself debating over the best way to die. I really didn’t want a giant scene made out of my execution, with cameras and and a speech; my mother didn’t need to see that.
But would they actually go the quiet route? Would it be enough to simply shoot me in the head? Or slit my throat?
I honestly doubted that, as their goal was to make people aware of what they were willing to do in order to continue their way of living in rebellion. No, I was quite certain my death would be made out to be a spectacle.
“I could wear a vest with a bomb in it and take her to the hospital.” My nine year old pal interjected, so calmly that it hurt my heart. “We haven’t hit the hospital yet.”
They commended him on his willingness to die for what he believed in, and then began to discuss the logistics of what that mission would entail.
“No!” I finally shouted into the blackness, knowing full well that I would most likely be punished for speaking out.
Someone grabbed the back of my head and yanked my hair until my neck was exposed. I swallowed hard, prepared for just about anything.
“Do you have something to say, little white girl?” A man’s voice growled nearby.
“Don’t… just…” I struggled. “Let Nkomo go. He’s just a boy. I’ll wear the suicide vest.”
The idea of blowing up a hospital wasn’t first on my favorite things to do list, but I felt that my offering might stall for time, and would at least spare Nkomo’s life… for now.
They mumbled for a bit, finally trying to hide their conversation from my listening ears. I could only make out a word here and a partial word there- Bat… Prisoner… Food… Make- but in no way could I find any connection, and therefore had no idea what they were about to condemn me to do.
I should have been frightened. Fuck, I should have been freaking out. But I was oddly calm. I had accepted my fate, and knew that fighting in this moment wouldn’t do anything but give them reason to hurt me. Somehow, I knew I would get my time to fight.
I just didn’t realize that they were going to force me to fight.
One of them lifted me to my feet and pushed me toward the other voices, pressing the barrel of his gun into my back. I walked forward without hesitation, counting my steps underneath me. I wasn’t sure if knowing that number would help, but I did know it couldn’t hurt.
One hundred and seventeen.
One hundred and eighteen.
Turn right.
One hundred and nineteen.
One hundred and t
wenty.
One hundred and twenty-one.
One hundred and--
He grabbed my hair, stopping my next step. I heard a door unlock and then creak open. He pushed me inside, sure that I fell to my knees in the hard dirt. My wrists were still bound, but I felt him begin to lift the bag off my head.
It was bright. My eyes took their time trying to adjust.
The door locked behind me.
The man had left me alone.
I blinked, and looked back at him through the small barred window in the door, wondering what they had in store for me, and why they were holding off on executing their plan. What good would I do to them in a cell?
Embrace The Suck (A Stepbrother Special Forces Novel) Page 36