Trapped (Delos Series Book 7)

by Lindsay McKenna

  She looked at the children, her heart breaking. They were all huddled together on the bench. A few were hiding in the furthest corner of the truck, their spindly arms gripping one another. “Wyatt, I can’t tell yet. As soon as Torres and Tinker get back and we get some light in here, I’ll have some answers for you. Give me a few minutes, okay?”

  “Roger that. Those kids are our first order of business. As soon as Dan climbs down off that cliff, I’ll send him back to you with his medical bag. All those kids need to be checked out and assessed. Then, radio me on their conditions.”

  “Roger that,” she said. “Can I have some light in here so we can see?”

  “Yeah, just keep the back flap buttoned up. Use our LED light. That way, no light will leak out and give our position away to any ‘lookie-loos’ that might be out and about.”

  She had to smile. Lockwood was forever coming up with his quaint Texas sayings. “Roger. Out.” Ram and Tinker returned for the second tango.

  Ali watched as the two SEALs threw the body out the back of the truck. Ram straightened, then hesitated. He turned to look at her.

  “Go ahead,” she told him. “Cousins is coming with his medical pack to assess the children’s injuries.”

  He frowned as he observed the huddled, shaking group through his NVGs. “There are fifteen of them. The little boys know me . . . maybe I should come back and help?”

  Ali realized he was right. She might be the most popular among the girls, but Ram was always the highlight for the village boys when the team came for a visit. “You’re right,” she said, gesturing for him to close the flap and come forward. “Wyatt’s given us permission to turn on one of our LED lights so we can see what we’re doing in here.” She saw him leave, closing the flap. In less than a minute, he returned. After he climbed in, Ram turned and snapped the rear flap firmly back into place. “Go ahead and turn on a light. We’re leak-proof.”

  Quickly opening her pack, she retrieved an LED light that would chase away the darkness and allow the children to see them. She could tell they were just as frightened of them as they were of the Taliban. Given the team’s grease-painted faces, they must have looked scary to the children. And the heavy combat gear they wore made them appear like a child’s worst nightmare come to visit them. She switched on the light and hung it from a hook on an overhead metal rib above her.

  Taking off her helmet and NVGs, she grabbed a towel from her pack, trying to wipe away the grease paint. She knew the children were terrified. Some were whimpering and trembling. Others looked dazed—probably in shock. Their small faces were tight and pale, their eyes huge with fright.

  “Can you get cleaned up first?” she asked Ram. “The kids are scared of us. They don’t recognize us under all this war paint and the gear we’re wearing.” She grabbed a bottle of water, wetted the towel, and took off the rest of the greasepaint from her face and neck. Ali pulled the Velcro open, shrugging out of the heavy cartridge vest and laid it near her pack. She wanted to get down to the usual SEAL uniform that the kids were used to seeing. Her hair was in a ponytail, which was good—something they would recognize. Shucking out of the Kevlar vest, she straightened and turned toward them, reassuring them in Pashto that they were safe. She told them that she and Ram were here to take them home to their parents.

  The girls gasped. And then they cried out her name, pulling loose from the huddled knots, wanting to get to her as fast as their little bare feet could take them. Ali knelt down on one knee and opened her arms wide to them, smiling, calling all the girls to come to her.

  The ten girls shrieked and screamed out her name, followed by sobs of relief and joy. Throwing themselves into her welcoming arms, they burrowed into her, clinging to her as tightly as their small hands allowed.

  “It’s all right,” she crooned to them, “you’re safe now . . . safe.” She kept speaking in soft Pashto, knowing that sooner or later, the sound of her voice would help them emerge from the shock they were trapped within.

  Ram quietly moved past her. He, too, had gotten out of his combat gear and his face was mostly free of greasepaint. He knew enough Pashto to call to the five quaking boys still crowded in the corner, identifying him, and asking them to come to him. As soon as he knelt down and opened his arms, they flew to him.

  Ali’s heart opened even wider as she saw the gentleness with which Ram gathered the little boys into his embrace. She had never seen this side to him before, and it was a sight she would never forget.

  Her smile was wobbly, tears streaking down her cheeks as she focused on the children, holding the girls, all of them jammed between her arms, all of them crying so hard it sounded like small animals caught in traps. She couldn’t even lift a hand to stroke their hair to calm them because they needed her protective embrace more than anything else. It took everything she had to keep her balance and to remain a safety net for them.

  The boys were no different than the girls. They ran into Ram’s strong, open arms, crying and calling his name, the relief etched on their tiny faces. She watched through her tears, listening to the low tenor of his voice. How tender, deep, and soothing it sounded! She wished he would speak to her like that. But he probably still saw her as his enemy, and that was never going to happen, even if she wanted it to.

  “Hey!” Dan Cousins called out from behind her, lifting one edge of the flap, “Can I come in?”

  “Stay where you are for a moment,” Ram uttered, slowly extricating himself from the boys and standing up from his crouch. He told the boys he’d be right back, and they all nodded in unison, once more huddled together on the bench.

  Grateful for his sensitivity, Ali nodded her thanks to him, continuing to murmur softly to the girls whose crying had lessened. She kept squeezing them gently, feeling their thin, small bodies pressing against hers. Some of their trembling had abated, which was a good sign. She listened with one ear to Ram, who had opened up the rear flap to allow Dan to climb in. He grabbed Dan’s medical pack and set it on the deck beside him, offering the medic a helping hand up into the truck bed.

  “Can you wipe your greasepaint off?” Ram asked him once he was inside, buttoning up the flap once more. He hitched a thumb across his shoulder toward the little boys who remained together, their eyes huge, wariness in them. “It scares them.”

  “Sure,” Dan murmured, “good idea.”

  “How’s it going out there?”

  Dan slid out of his pack, opening it and retrieving an olive-green towel. “All the Taliban are dead. The guys are going very carefully through their clothing looking for maps, photos, and IDs right now. These were hard-core soldiers, Ram, not a bunch of young kids. They were all in their thirties and early forties.”

  He grunted, turning and giving the boys what he hoped was a caring look.

  Dan quickly cleaned off the greasepaint and removed all his combat gear, getting down to the desert-colored uniform he wore daily. “Okay, where do I start?”

  Ram shrugged. Turning to Ali, he asked, “Montero? You think any of your girls are injured? Dan’s ready to start examining them,” Ram called.

  “Yes, Husna has a bloody nose and a black eye. How about your boys? Do you see any obvious signs of injury on them, Ram?”

  “No, they’re mostly scared, I think. A few cuts here and there, but nothing more serious unless Dan spots something when he examines them.”

  “I’ll start with Husna,” Dan offered. He hefted his medical pack over to the broad, wooden seat and sitting down, opened it up. “Okay, Ali, I’m ready. Do you want to carry her over here so I can check her out?”

  “Yes . . . in a moment. I need to explain to the girls what we’re going to be doing, that you’re a very kind, gentle doctor who will help them.”

  “Gotcha.” Dan reached down into the bag. “I’m gonna get out some bottled water for all of them. They’re probably pretty dehydrated. I’ve got plenty of protein bars in there that we can feed them after that.”

  “Sounds good,” Ali said, givi
ng him a quick smile of thanks.

  “Ram? Why don’t you bring the boys up to the bench on the other side of me? You might take a closer look at them while I’m working with Husna.”

  Ram leaned down, grabbing several plastic bottles. “I’ll take care of watering and feeding them. I see plenty of protein bars in there, too. There’s enough in there for all of these kids. You focus on Husna.”

  “Great, thanks.”

  Nodding, Ram moved carefully around the girls who still clung to Ali as if she were a life preserver. He gave each of them a bottle. She exuded a powerful maternal energy that stunned him. It was perfect for this situation, and the tykes were lapping it up. They needed a mother and father right now. As he observed these young boys’ faces, he suddenly realized what he had missed all his life. It was playing out before him. He could see that the antidote to fear was love, as Ali was demonstrating right in front of him.

  Because he, too, had lived in fear as a child, he found it easy to connect with these children and calm them down. Now, he urged the boys to the bench, patting it, asking them to come and sit down. Giving each a bottle of water, he went back to the pack and retrieved the protein bars, giving one to each boy and girl. Their faces lit up with joy. They were thirsty and hungry. Ram watched as all the children drained the pint of water. Then, they excitedly tore into the bars, jamming them into their small mouths. He went back to the pack and provided more bottles for the children who stretched their hand out as he came over to each one. Half of them needed a second bottle.

  How he ached for them. He knew that these kids would have nightmares for years to come. They would also be fearful of unknown men in general who came to the village. Anyone in combat gear was going to send them running for the safety of their home and mother. Welcome to the world of PTSD.

  After he’d retrieved the empty water bottles and put all the protein bar wrappers into his pocket, he tossed the plastic into Cousins’ medical bag. When he sat back down, three boys quickly found shelter beneath his right arm. The other two boys scrambled to his other side, dodging beneath his left arm, wanting the protection he was affording them. Curving his arms, he looked up seeing Cousins grinning like a fool over at him.

  “You ever thought of becoming a father, Torres?”

  Giving him a narrow-eyed look, he growled, “You gotta be kidding.” But he tightened his grip on the boys clustered around him wanting to give them a sense of safety in the insanity of war and combat.

  Chuckling, Dan quickly looped the stethoscope around his neck and pulled on a pair of latex gloves. “Coulda fooled me, dude. Those kids worship the ground you’re sitting on. They’re attached to you whether you like it or not.”

  In response, the boys slid their thin arms across his belly, unable to span his girth. It didn’t matter—the closer they could get to him, he knew, the safer they would feel.

  Ram watched as Ali spoke softly to the girls in Pashto. They were more than scared. He saw the depth of terror in their eyes as she gently shepherded all of them over to the bench. Then, sitting next to Dan, she took Husna into her arms and settled the child on her left thigh. The other girls climbed on the bench beside her, crowding as close as they could get to her.

  Dan got up and gave each of them another protein bar. Each little girl shyly took the proffered gift. In no time, they were eating the tasty bars, their cheeks were puffed out like squirrels holding nuts. Dan grinned as he sat down next to Ali.

  “I think they’re hungry.”

  She smiled a little. “I think when I said ‘candy,’ that did it.”

  Dan chuckled. “Kids are so resilient. Look at them ten minutes ago, and now they’re acting just like normal kids.”

  “They know us. That’s half the battle.” She didn’t want to voice that the trauma these children had endured tonight would be with them for the rest of their lives.

  Wriggling his blond brows, Dan said, “Should I tell you I have a package of hard candy in my bag?”

  Groaning, Ali said, “Don’t say a word! They’ll all dive for your medical bag at once and tear it apart looking for it.”

  “No worries,” he said, gazing at Husna, “it’s well hidden. When we’re done here, maybe give each of them a piece?”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  Dan looked at the little girl. “She’s a beauty. Will you let her know I need to touch her nose, cheek, and jaw? Her nose is pretty swollen. Maybe ask her how it happened? Did she fall?”

  Ali kept Husna leaning against her. The girl wearily rested her head on Ali’s chest after drinking and eating. Now the shock was going to drain their energy and make them sleepy.

  Ali told Husna that Dan was a doctor, a kind one, and asked if it would it be all right if he gently touched her face? She asked her how she got a bloody nose.

  “A bad man started touching me here,” she pointed to the chest of her soiled white cotton gown. “I screamed at him, tried to back away, but he laughed at me. I hit at him. He wasn’t supposed to touch me at all! He’s not allowed to do that!”

  “No, he shouldn’t have,” Ali agreed gravely. “What happened then?”

  Husna frowned, remembering. “He punched me in the face with his fist. I don’t remember anything after that. When I woke up, I was in the corner, alone. When he saw I was awake, he grabbed me and made me sit with the other girls.”

  “I’m sorry,” Ali whispered, kissing the mussed hair that so badly needed to be brushed. “Do you mind if I clean your face, Husna?”

  “No, Ali. Please . . . ”

  Dan handed Ali a damp washcloth and she carefully began to wipe the dried, encrusted blood away. As the blood disappeared, she saw the deep, dark purple and blue bruising on both sides of her nose. Ali tried not to reveal her response, but she could tell the girl’s nose was broken. And it had bled heavily, the entire front of Husna’s thin cotton gown was stained red.

  “It’s all right,” Ali told the girl, pressing another kiss to her hair. “Dr. Dan is going to help you.” She felt Husna relax in her arms as she stared wide-eyed at the SEAL medic. Fortunately, Dan was very gentle with her as he pressed lightly here and there, asking if it hurt.

  He then let her hold the stethoscope, giving her control because of what had happened to her, asking her to press it here, and he pointed to his own chest. Nodding, Husna placed the cold metal against her chest. Dan smiled and listened to her heartbeat.

  “Good,” he said, smiling and holding out his hand.

  Shyly, Husna dropped it into his glove.

  “How is she?” Ali asked.

  Looping the stethoscope around his neck, he said, “Broken nose and I believe she’s got a fractured left cheekbone. Her pupils are fine, indicating no concussion occurred. But her nose is badly broken, Ali. We’re going to have to fly her to Bagram to the Pediatrics ward for surgery. J-bad has no medical facility for this. Part of the nasal bone is about ready to punch through her skin, and that’s not good. She’s got to be in a lot of pain.” He turned and dug into his medic bag. Straightening, he produced a small syringe. “There’s just a tiny bit of an opiate in this. It won’t knock her out, but it will reduce the pain I’m sure she’s feeling.”

  “Okay,” Ali said. “Let me give it to her?” She held out her hand.

  “Go ahead.”

  Husna obediently opened her mouth so that the red cherry-flavored medicine could be squirted into her mouth.

  Liking the taste, Husna said, “That is very good! What is it, Ali?”

  “Cherry. It’s a fruit that grows in America,” she said, smiling and handing the syringe back to Dan.

  “More?” she pleaded, giving Ali a begging look as she wiped her lips with the back of her hand. “That was so good!”

  Ali translated and Dan snickered.

  “Yeah, it’s sweet tasting. If I gave her any more she’d go out like a light.”

  “I don’t think you’re going to have to worry about that. Look.” Ali made a movement with her eyes. Husna had slu
mped in the cradle of her arm, fast asleep.

  “Wow,” Dan said, “I gave her the smallest dose possible.”

  “All these children are wiped out,” Ali said. “They’re all probably going to crash soon.”

  Nodding, Dan looked at the line of little girls who were watching every move he made. “Can you tuck Husna into this?” He pulled a blanket from his pack. “Maybe let Ram hold her? I’m going to need your help with examining all the rest of these girls.”

  “Sure,” Ram said, listening to the conversation. “I can hold her.”

  Ali nodded and gently lifted Husna, the girl’s head lolling against her. She walked over to Ram, who positioned the boys in a row on either side of him. Halting, she asked, “Do you know how to hold a little girl?” She saw him wince a little. Had she asked the wrong question?

  “Well . . . tell me how?”

  Ali said, “I’m going to slide her into the crook of your left arm. It’s important not to let her head fall forward and cut off her airway. And don’t let her neck be stretched out or sit at a bad angle.”

  “Okay,” he rumbled, opening his left arm to receive Husna.

  Ali could smell the sweat and maleness of Torres as she leaned over and transferred the sleeping girl into his arm. He was tender with her, following Ali’s instructions to not allow her head to drop forward or too far back. Ali tucked the blanket in around Husna, satisfied that she was all right.

  “Thanks,” she whispered, meeting his eyes, inches separating them.

  “Ali? I’m ready for the next child,” Dan called.

  “Okay.” She straightened, feeling a gnawing knot low in her body. Grimacing inside, she said, “If you need any help, let me know, Ram?”

  “I will,” he promised. “She looks pretty comfortable and she weighs next to nothing.”

  “I know. All the children are always on the brink of starvation in this country.”

  Dan gave her a sad-eyed look. “Yeah, it sucks.”

  She turned, feeling sensations and longing that were not appropriate for this time and place. Sobering, Ali walked over to Dan and focused on a little brown-haired girl of ten. Jamming her emotions deep within herself, she focused on helping Dan. This was what service was all about. This was why she was here.