by Holly Rayner
“My father believes that medicine is beneath me, that my ideals are naïve, and that our people and people everywhere do not deserve the aid I wish to give. In my absence, he rules like a tyrant. If I were to stay, and to stand up to him, the fact that I am his only son would not save me.”
I brooded for a few moments while she watched me quietly. “At any rate, I hope you can see that it was better for me to strike out on my own,” I finished.
“Well obviously your plan is working out splendidly,” Rose scoffed bitterly.
I sighed, refusing to bristle. “I suppose I deserve that.”
Outside, the road’s potholes gave way to a stony desert track that bounced the van around even more. Rose gasped a little as she jolted and knocked the back of her head against the wall of the van. I put an arm around her to steady and comfort her.
“Where are they taking us?” she whispered in her tiny, frightened voice.
I wanted to hug her closer and bury my nose in her hair, but the men were staring at us again. “I imagine we will soon find out.”
Time passed. It grew hot and close inside the van. Atif glared through the eyeholes of his mask. The others grew sleepy, but he stayed stiffly upright.
I stared back at him, hard and cold. He might have been armed, but I knew a single hard punch to the throat would crush his windpipe and take him out of action. It would mean a slow, wheezing death for him on the bottom of the van. I didn’t have a problem with that.
It must have shown in my expression, for all he did for a very, very long time was glare.
We’d been in the van for what must have been several hours when Atif finally snapped. In the middle of the bouncing, dusty ride, he lunged forward suddenly, a wild look in his eyes. I moved to protect Rose—and he froze suddenly as his commander turned in his seat as fast as lightning and put his pistol to Atif’s temple.
“Back in your place. That’s ten lashes when we get back.”
Atif started to protest, but went silent and wide-eyed when the commander thumbed his hammer back with a threatening click.
“Fifteen. Disrespect my authority again and it will be twenty.”
Atif subsided, turning away from us and contracting into a ball of bitterness and barely controlled rage as the others teased and laughed at him.
But that little exchange had told me crucial things about them. The insurgents were apparently ruled by a brutal pecking order where physical punishments and threats of death kept the men in line. They feared their leaders, but still argued against them like rebellious teens. Discipline seemed on the brink of eroding, and impulsive behavior, though not tolerated, kept happening.
It made the insurgents unpredictable…but it also meant they had the potential to fall into disarray fairly quickly. Their capture of me had been bold and decisive…but that had more to do with the man in the van’s passenger seat than with the men watching us. If they stopped listening to him, or if he was not around to be listened to…it would likely be easy to outthink them.
I have to find a way. Even with me looking after her, I didn’t know how much more Rose could take of this.
The sun was setting as we finally ground to a stop somewhere far out in the desert. The driver got out and unlocked the side door; hot, dry air blew in at us as the other men jumped out. The big one gestured with his pistol for us to disembark as well, and I did, helping Rose out.
After the long, cramped ride in the van, I had to bite back a groan of relief as I was finally able to stretch my legs. Rose gasped and stumbled beside me; I grabbed her shoulder to steady her.
“Are you all right?” I asked.
She didn’t answer me. I couldn’t tell if she was that angry at me, or just too scared and exhausted to deal with talking right now. Bad sign either way. I kept close to her as we looked around, in case she had trouble with her leg.
The sunset burned in shades of red and orange behind the endless rippling dunes. The tiny oasis we had stopped at had seen better days; the single well stood at the edge of a muddy pond surrounded by mostly dead scrub. A handful of skinny goats stood at the water’s edge, greedily mowing down every bit of grass and bracken they could find. There were a handful of earthen buildings, mostly in ruins. The van had stopped in front of the largest and best-repaired among them.
“Inside,” the leader demanded, giving me a shove toward the door. We started walking toward the building, Rose limping worse and worse with every step she took. My guess was a bad cramp in her injured leg.
Finally, she stumbled—and I caught her.
“Come on, let’s get you off that leg,” I said, calmly as if we were back at our workplace—and scooped her into my arms.
She was a lovely armful, warm and soft-skinned, her delicate feminine scent tickling my nostrils. I ignored that and carried her inside as the insurgents walked surrounding us. She hung onto me a little limply, but again, did not speak.
We were on the road for most of the day. Perhaps eight hours. They couldn’t have gone too fast on an unpaved track, so say forty miles per hour. That’s over three hundred miles. We have to be inland for it to be this dry, so that means they took us southeast.
I looked around for any landmarks, but then a rifle butt bounced off my shoulder blade and I moved faster, carrying Rose in through the arched, dim front doorway.
The house was almost a ruin inside, sand ground into the spaces between the floor tiles and the plaster flaking in places from the inner walls. They forced me toward the back and up a rickety set of stairs, to a smallish, high-ceilinged room with a battered old mattress and a single high, round window with one of its panes broken out.
Cradling Rose gently, I stepped inside—and the heavy, newly replaced door slammed shut behind me. I heard the lock click, and then the men’s booted feet stomping away.
“I suppose they’re off to celebrate, seeing as escaping from this room would take a contortionist or magician to pull off,” Rose huffed.
I walked her over to the mattress and set her down on it. She sat there, staring at the wall, her face pale and smudged with dust.
I frowned, but simply said, “Let’s check that wound, you’re obviously in a lot of discomfort.”
She quietly submitted to the examination. Her wound had not reopened; a deep scab, undisturbed by her moving around, filled it beneath the protective bandages. No inflammation, no weeping, but the muscle of her thigh was tight and her breath shivered with pain.
“Hmm,” I murmured. “Well, there are no signs of infection, but keeping your legs curled for so long seems to have irritated the wound some.” I knew why she had balled up; total fear. She had never been in a situation like this before.
She still didn’t say anything.
That bothered me. I didn’t want to pressure her into talking…but I wasn’t quite above provoking her.
Cracking a small smile, I bragged, “Well. Clearly I have done an expert job, given my limited resources.”
It worked. Rose snorted. “I see you still have all the pride, even after being dragged out to some ruins in the desert by armed kidnappers.”
I shrugged. “I’m proud, yes. Proud of having put the needs of others before my own.” I hesitated, then said a bit boldly, “Especially yours.”
She bit back whatever retort came to mind and lifted an eyebrow slightly.
I spoke simply and honestly, with a little sigh in my voice. “I always knew there was a chance that someone would figure out the truth of my origins. I knew that if that happened, one of two things would follow. Either another kidnap-for-ransom attempt, or being dragged home by my father’s people.
“I considered these things an occupational hazard, Rose. But better that than spending my time in the gilded cage in Sordonna, being nothing but a useless noble with no real power to change anything.” I couldn’t keep a small note of pleading out of my voice. I badly wanted her to understand.
Her eyes met mine, her gaze hard. “That’s all very well and good, but did you ever
stop to think that your plan might put the people around you in danger?” The edge to her voice cut me deep.
“Actually…that is my only regret. I never imagined my choice would endanger others if I was careful and moved on before I was caught. Before now, every incident had me facing risks alone. But now you have been pulled into my problems as well, and I cannot apologize enough for it.” I spoke from the heart, looking into her eyes as I re-bandaged her wound.
Rose’s expression softened. “This…isn’t your fault, Vincenzo. Now that you’ve explained it, I…” She looked down at her hands and flexed them slowly, as if feeling shackles around her wrists. “This is all very difficult for me, but you’re not the one who tossed us into a van at gunpoint.” She swallowed and looked up at the dimming sunlight from the window. “The only question is—how are we going to get out of this?”
I knelt down in front of her and took her hands. “We will find a way. Together. That, I promise you.”
Chapter 17
Rose
Exhausted from my ordeal, I soon fell asleep on that thin, battered mattress. As I drifted off with Vincenzo beside me, I wondered what he could possibly have planned to get us out of this. What he had told me implied that he had escaped from captivity before, and he aimed to do so again. If we did manage to escape, I only hoped my leg would not end up holding us back.
When I woke, it was completely black in the room except for a circle of moonlight thrown by the single window. I shivered, my scrubs too thin to provide any protection from the icy desert night. We were definitely far from the coast if it was getting this cold—deep into the desert, possibly days from civilization on foot. Which only complicated the matter of breaking free.
Vincenzo lay at my side, providing my only source of warmth; I snuggled closer to him, too cold for shyness, and he wrapped an arm around me.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Just cold.” I flexed my leg experimentally; the nap and being able to stretch it out after hours had helped tremendously. “How long was I out?”
“About four hours, I think. Are you still in pain?” The gentle concern in his voice brought the warmth back to the pit of my belly, despite our circumstances.
I prodded around the wound; my thigh muscle had relaxed, the cramping gone, and though the wound itself still hurt a little, the area around it was no longer one big knot of pain. “Not like I was.”
We heard footsteps in the hallway outside and went quiet, both sitting up at once and pushing our backs up against the far wall. He grabbed my hand and held it, and some of my trembling stopped.
The lock clicked, and the door swung open, letting in the light from a couple of battery-powered lanterns. Two of the insurgents came in, still wearing their masks, rifles still slung across their backs even though we were unarmed and trapped. One of them carried a tray with a loaf of bread and a sliver of hard cheese, and a canteen of what I hoped was clean water.
“Here,” the commander said, his voice identifying him, as the other insurgent laid the tray down near us. “Eat. Drink. You’re no good to us dead.”
“Indeed,” Vincenzo drawled, sounding annoyed. “How long do you intend to hold us captive?”
The leader leaned close, eyes narrowed in amusement. “That depends entirely on how quickly your precious father comes around. So perhaps you should be spending your time here thinking of how to persuade him.”
He straightened then, chuckling, and turned on his heel to walk out. “Get what you can out of them and take everything back out when you leave,” he instructed the other man in Arabic as he walked out.
The man nodded and closed the door behind him.
When the commander’s steps faded off and thumped away down the stairs, Vincenzo grabbed the canteen and handed it to me. I nodded and took a few swallows, the water refreshing me and getting rid of my dull headache. A bit of bread and cheese killed the hollow ache in my belly.
The man watched, leaning against the door, making no move toward us and saying nothing. After a while, he stepped out, disappearing for a minute…and returned with a military blanket, which he tossed to me.
It surprised me. “Thank you,” I said, wrapping it around myself. Vincenzo handed the canteen back to me and I finished it off, then looked at the soldier curiously.
The man moved toward us, and for a moment my gut tightened in fear. But then he simply crouched down on his heels.
“My name is Iyad,” he muttered in English. “I am a member of the pro-government militia, working undercover.”
My eyes flew open; hope flooded me. “Oh my God, I thought we were alone out here!”
“No. There are several of us who have infiltrated the insurgents’ ranks. I am simply the one attached to this cell. I apologize, but to protect my cover, I must not show my face or give you further identifying information.” His voice was low, calm, professional.
“Of course.” Vincenzo sat forward, intrigued.
“Can you drive us out of here?” I asked, breathless with anticipation. If I was very lucky, we would be back before dawn and could sleep off this horror before contacting the local authorities.
“I would if I could, but I cannot. I am only able to help you some now because that fool Atif revealed his intention to harm you in retaliation for his lashing. He is planning to come up here in the night, and I plan to strike him from behind when he opens the door. That way, he will be blamed for your escape.” He pulled a small bag from one of his belt pouches. “Place the food in here, you will need it for your journey.”
“Why are you risking your cover now?” Vincenzo still sounded a touch wary.
Iyad was quiet for a moment, then, “You saved my brother’s life. I cannot give specifics, but it is a debt that I owe you.” He took back the empty tray and canteen and walked to the door. “It is very late, and most of the men are asleep. Take the back stairway to the rear exit. Head northwest. I apologize for not being able to do more.”
With that, he opened the door, walked out, and closed it almost all the way—but the lock did not click into place.
I let my breath out in a rush. That was real. He wasn’t playing games with us. He really set us free.
We both looked at each other in the tiny sliver of light coming through the gap. Then Vincenzo rose and helped me to my feet. “Let’s go,” he whispered. “I don’t plan to be here when Atif comes.”
I felt a chill go down my spine and pulled the blanket tighter around me. I knew the noise of a fight would bring everyone there down on us. “I agree. Let’s leave.”
Out in the hall, silence reigned. We could hear the faint murmur of voices downstairs near the front of the building. I could hear the soft hiss of a propane heater and smell cigarette smoke. Listening hard, hand in hand, we snuck down the hall—only to see an aging wooden staircase leading down into darkness.
“Not good,” I whispered, imagining how much it was going to creak and crack underneath us.
“The supports are on the edges,” Vincenzo replied. “Walk there, it will make less noise.” His breath tickled my ear as he murmured to me. “I will go ahead. Put your feet where I have put mine.”
Down we went, step by careful step, me holding my breath every time I set my foot on a new step. But Vincenzo was right, and we got down without making more than the faintest of noises.
The tiny hallway at the bottom of the stairs had a single door at the end. We moved toward it and once there, glanced at each other. Pressing my ear to the door, I heard voices somewhere out there in the dark, talking in the same quiet bored tones as the men at the front of the house.
“Some are standing guard outside,” I fretted softly.
Vincenzo listened for himself, then leaned back, nodding. “There is a chance that we will be spotted. It will be worse for us if they catch us trying to escape.”
My heart started beating fast. The idea of being dragged back up to that room terrified me. But going back upstairs on our own, like sheep with no spir
it, bothered me even more.
“I understand,” I told him softly. “But if we don’t go now, it will be bad for us too. If Atif gets a whack on the head after facing an empty room, you know he’ll start talking as soon as he wakes up. And…and I would rather take the risk.”
He cupped the side of my face with his big, warm hand, slim fingers caressing the corner of my jaw. “That’s my girl. Let’s go.”
He braced himself, unlocked the door, and pushed it open. He disappeared for a moment and I held my breath again. Then he ducked back in at me.
“The guards are around the corner. Come now, we must hurry.”
I took his hand, and he led me out into the vast, freezing desert night.
Chapter 18
Rose
We ran, parallel to the single dusty road but not on it, wary of being that predictable. Patches of scrub along the way were our only shelter from being seen in the bright moonlight; we went from one to the next, while I fretted over the footprints we sometimes left behind. At least the icy breeze gusting over the dunes would erase them for us in time.
I kept looking back while Vincenzo pushed us to go faster. He let us rest a little each time we reached a hiding spot, and we nibbled on the bread and cheese to help get our strength back. Then off we went again, running, running, until my lungs burned and my hurt leg started to ache and cramp again.
It slowed me and made me clumsy as Vincenzo pulled me ahead. His endurance seemed endless; though I heard him breathing heavily, he never seemed to flag. Meanwhile, it felt like dozens of needles were driving themselves slowly into the muscle of my thigh. I kept trying, pushing myself further, hoping that somehow my muscle would uncramp as the exercise warmed me up.
Instead, my leg locked up entirely and I pitched forward with a cry of shock and pain. Vincenzo turned and caught me in mid-stride, and stopped to steady me.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“I’m sorry,” I gasped. “It’s my leg.” I dug my fingers into the front of my thigh in frustration; the muscle was so tight it was like pressing my fingers into an oak floor. “I can’t run anymore.”