Chapter Twelve

Katy

Darkness seeps in as warmth trickles between my lips. I start to succumb to the sweet relief of pitch black but get ripped away by the feel of knuckles against my cheek. Aggravated I’m unable to make my escape, I attempt to open my eyes just as another blow lands across my temple. Ears ringing and dazed by the blinding pain, I’m brought fully conscious by a bruising kick to the ribs.

“Astayqiz al’amrikia!”

Omph.

Another kick.

Agony.

I bite my bleeding lips to stifle my scream. I don’t want to give these assholes the satisfaction. I spent twenty hours in labor without meds. So far, they haven’t come close to touching that marathon. But I know acting cavalier is the quickest way to give it away. My chest rumbles with my slow exhale, and I choke on the mix of bile and blood lodged in my throat.

I’m fairly certain I have a distal radius fracture, a few broken ribs, and now I can add a broken nose to that list. Sustainable and healable injuries. I can deal with it.

Soldier up, Katy. It’s just the beginning. God, if you’re listening, I could use a hand today, maybe two if you’re feeling generous.

“Astayqiz al’amrikia! Astayqiz!”

“Wake up, sister.” A soft hand smooths the hair from my forehead, and still, I remain mute while blood drips down my chin. I make no move to wipe it, in hopes the sight of it may bring them some satisfaction and buy me a little reprieve. I open my eyes and survey my surroundings. We’re encased by sandstone. I’m in a bunker and judging from the four-foot gap above, we’re about twelve feet down. Nothing about these surroundings surprises me. It’s a nightmare I’ve watched unfold over and over again in the media, a nightmare that happens to other soldiers.

Another blow to the side of the face has me mewling.

“Stop! You’re going to fucking kill her!”

Briggs.

Relief filters through me, though I mask my elation at the sound of his voice. Any show of emotion concerning Briggs makes him a weakness. I swallow the blood and phlegm I can’t manage to spit out. I’m already exhausted with the painful position I’m in—arms and legs bound, rope cutting into my aching wrists. I desperately want to move to get away from the pain, but it’s inescapable. Seductive darkness beckons again, and I sway in its direction, in the easy escape.

“I’ll kill you,” I hear in a thick Iraqi brogue, and that is enough for me to force my eyes to open.

It’s dark, and I have to blink a few times to adjust to the lack of light. Black eyes command mine from a foot away. Bearded men dressed in black surround him in the small cavity. If I’m trusting my own perception, there are ten of them.

“Shhh, you tell them, sister. They will stop. Please, tell them.” I turn my head toward the gentle voice in my ear and am met by a tiny woman. She wears a black abaya, and her head is almost completely covered. All that’s visible are her dark brown eyes. Kind, sympathetic eyes.

She’s a liar, Katy.

“So beautiful,” she whispers, lifting a curl from the crown of my head and letting it glide through her fingertips. “You do as he says…you live. My husband likes pretty eyes.” She nods at me, and the corners of her mouth lift in a smile that infuriates me.

I blow out a frustrated breath.

Tell them? Tell them what?

Bile climbs, and when I retch, I’m rewarded with a swift boot to the stomach. I begin to choke on the vomit that sprays from my mouth and feel the burn as it bursts out of my fractured nose.

The man who just stomped on my abdomen spits at me before turning and taking a few steps away. He says something in Arabic to the other men, and they all turn to follow.

All but one.

My body shakes violently, and I bite on the inside of my cheeks in an attempt to hold my tears.

The man who stayed behind barks orders at the young woman in their native tongue and then turns back to address me in perfect English. “Your answer when I return, or I kill them both!”

Once he’s up the small set of wooden stairs that’s quickly pulled up following his departure, the girl pulls a cloth from a ceramic bowl that seems to materialize out of nowhere and begins to clean my face.

“Scottie, talk to me…” Briggs calls out.

Now that the bunker is mostly empty, I’m able to see that they have chained his biceps to the wall across from where I lie with my hands and feet still tightly bound. He hangs limply, like a scarecrow, hands dangling at his chest. I don’t see Mullins anywhere. “Briggs…where’s Mullins? What do they want from me? I don’t even remember getting out of that SUV. I must’ve blacked out.”

“Fuck…fuck. Fuck. Fuck!” he shouts, slamming his hands back into the wall. Then he goes silent, eyeing the woman who is still wiping my face. In the small space, the acoustics are good enough that I can hear each labored breath as he tries to calm himself enough to speak. He’s about six feet away, just close enough for me to read his expression, which makes it clear that his words earlier about being found were a lie.

“They won’t find us.”

“I don’t know.”

“You do know,” I challenge.

I can feel his hesitance. “It’s unlikely they’ll find us. Doesn’t mean they won’t.”

I spit the blood filling my mouth. “What do they want?” My voice sounds weak to my own ears, and I hate it.

“They want you to choose which one of us goes first…myself or Mullins,” he explains through clenched teeth.

Realization dawns and the physical pain I feel is nothing compared to the shock that rockets through me.

“Listen to me,” he commands in a tone I’ve never heard. “I’ll make it simple. There is no choice.”

“I won’t.”

“They’ll kill us both and sell you.”

My head spins, my throat thickening to the point that I can’t even swallow.

“They don’t like Americans in our country. My husband get paid lot of money for American kill. More money for selling you alive,” the girl, who I can now see can’t be older than fifteen or sixteen, provides. “You are lucky. You are pretty girl.”

Ignoring her, because what she’s saying isn’t news, I engage Briggs. “Where’s Mullins?”

“They claim that she’s being cared for.” Briggs is seething. “I’m so fucking sorry, Scottie.”

“This isn’t on you. I don’t want your apologies. Just tell me what to do.”

He speaks without hesitation. “Choose me. When they asked you before, you refused to answer, and they fucking beat you unconscious. I’d rather die than see them touch you again.” His voice cracks as our eyes lock. “I can’t watch this.”

I shake my head slowly, “I can’t, Briggs. I can’t do this.”

“You don’t have a choice. I’m making it for you, and then you do whatever you have to do to get home.”

To Noah, to get back to Noah. He didn’t say it, but it’s implied. And the minute my son crosses my mind, an overwhelming sense of empowerment comes over me. I make a decision then to do whatever I have to do to get back to him. He’s all that matters.

The last man to leave is the first to return, followed by two other men, who drag Mullins between them. They drop her on the ground beside me, and I strain to listen for a breath, but I can’t get close enough.

Her eyes flutter open, just barely, and blood leaks from her blue lips as they part. “Katy,” she rasps.

“Tell me.”

“Hoping for cloudy skies tomorrow.”

I nod. That was our code in the clinic for patients we feared wouldn’t make it through the night. With a limited amount of space in the trailer, it was just easier for us to communicate that way.

“Kafy! Aikhtar ‘ant,” one of the men shouts as he yanks Mullins up like a rag doll, propping her against the wall next to Briggs, just out of his reach.

I hear the telltale click and look up to find two men with cocked pistols pointed at Mullins and Briggs’s heads and my body trembles with fear. This can’t be happening.

Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.

“He says, enough, and you choose,” the girl translates.

I remain mute as I look over at Mullins. She’s lost too much blood. From a medical perspective, it’s a close call. The gash in her leg is likely to get infected. She nods at me in confirmation as the unbearable pain spreads in my chest. I cast my eyes down as she demands their attention. “Look at me, Katy.”

My eyes meet hers. “It’s going to be okay. Get home.” Home. Noah.

I shake my head. “I can’t.”

More yelling ensues as I crumble under the weight of the decision.

“Alan!” a larger man yells as he whacks Briggs on the side of his head with the business end of his gun.

“He says now. You make choice,” she offers nervously. “Hurry.”

God forgive me.

If I don’t make a choice, both of their deaths will stain my soul.

My breaths come in shallow pants, my heart breaking before the words even leave my mouth.

“You have three seconds.”

Briggs strains with every muscle in his body. “Jesus Christ, Scottie, don’t!”

“I love you, Mullins,” I whisper, squeezing my eyes shut.

“It’s okay, Katy,” she croaks assuringly. “It’s okay!”

“No!” Briggs shouts. I hear him struggling, his chains rattling.

“H–her,” I say as guilt and sorrow lodge themselves in my throat. I pull my eyes closed tighter and choke on a sob while silent tears pool in the dirt beneath my eyes.

I wait for the shot, but it never comes.

More Arabic.

A sudden and imposing bright light filters throughout the hollowed-ground, my new home, hell on earth. A slap to the face has me opening my eyes, and my chin is squeezed painfully between a palm as vile words are whispered.

“You will watch,” he hisses. “Watch, or I kill them both!” Mullins is dragged to the middle of the bunker with the camera trained on her face as Briggs rages in protest. Helpless, I watch as Mullins silently acknowledges her fate with a nod. Her eyes are pressed tight, and her body is shaking. She’s the picture of bravery. It grows eerily quiet when Briggs is gagged. A man steps forward and addresses the camera, speaking in rapid Arabic. No doubt a rehearsed speech, as the rest of them muse at the spectacle with smug expressions. The camera moves around the bunker and lands on me before moving to Briggs. He’s still fruitlessly struggling for freedom. The man continues to rant as he points to the camera, his eyes sharp, his face indifferent as he raises a blade. And before I can take my next breath, she’s gone.

I gasp loudly in surprise as her body falls to the ground, my eyes meeting Briggs’s across the room. Those liquid amber eyes hold so much emotion. Anger, sorrow, sympathy.

Black eyes speak directly into the camera. “This is just the beginning.”

The camera clicks off, and the English-speaking man moves aside while the other two cut my ties and chain my upper arms to the wall, leaving just enough slack that I can kneel, but not fully stand.

My body is blessedly numb. My heart, however, is not. I feel every excruciating beat. Every pulse is a sob—my heart crying out where my eyes cannot. The blood whooshing through my veins is a current of sorrow. There is no masking this pain.

Minutes ago, I ordered the death of my best friend, watched her beheaded before my very eyes, and have to fight against every urge I possess not to react to that loss. My teeth cut into my lips as I bite back a scream. I want to unleash this pain. To kill every one of these monsters. To cry. God, I need to cry, but I’m a soldier, and soldiers don’t show weakness. But oh, how I feel it. Feel her blood dripping from my hands. Months ago, I re-enlisted to be a role model, to save soldiers, and today I became a murderer.

The commotion surrounding me fades as Briggs holds me together with the strength in his gaze. I’m unsure of how long we stay that way. But it is long after our captors depart when I break my eyes away. The evidence of the humanity I lost is in the blood that trails into the darkness.

They leave her there, where she fell, and I no longer have to reach for darkness; it surrounds me.