“Marhaba,” the twins called out and didn’t wait for a response from the boy. “Guess who ran out of gas in the Passat?”
Hunter wanted to spray the truck with bullets, but feared that a stray might set off a detonation. But he also didn’t dare wait long, because it would be prayer time at any moment. He was sure as hell praying already.
As one of the twins slid from the cab, Hunter fired a burst into his chest. The recoil from the AK jarred Hunter and his bound hands struggled to target the second tango. The muj ducked behind the truck, then popped up to hurl rounds in Hunter’s direction. Hunter shot another volley, then ran as fast as he could, circling around the back of the house. When he got to the other side, the tango had his back turned toward him, trying to figure out what had happened to his assailant.
“Hey, you fucking muj!” Hunter couldn’t stand to shoot a man in the back-even one of them.
The twin spun around and Hunter squeezed the trigger. The man’s face burst into chunks of pink flesh and dark blood, then he collapsed beside the truck.
The bomb.
Hunter ran as fast as he could to the truck and vaulted over the tailgate into the bed. He grabbed one red wire and yanked on it. It pulled free. Then he tugged on a yellow wire.
It came loose, disconnecting one of the two circuits.
He exhaled and let his head drop while he waited to catch his breath, but only for a few seconds. The shells could be unloaded later when he and Jackie were ready to use the truck to make their escape from this hellhole. Shaking his head, he couldn’t believe how close it had come to detonating.
He went back inside and found a knife to cut his hands free. When he walked into the bedroom, Jackie sat up on the ripped mattress, trying to pull her torn blouse shut. He took this as a good sign. The room where she had been held contained no furniture other than the filthy mattress and a slop bucket in a corner. There was nowhere even to search for her pants. Hunter pulled the dishdashah from the boy with some difficulty. His limbs were already starting to get a little stiff. Rigor happened fast in the hundred and twenty degree heat. He rolled the corpse so it was face down, more out of respect for Jackie than the dead tango. He shook the man-dress out, opened the hole for the head and handed it to Jackie.
“I’m sorry, but this is the best we’ve got right now.” He helped her get it over her head and put her arms into the sleeves like he was dressing a child.
“What happened?” she said, barely moving her lips.
“Don’t worry about it. The twins are dead and so is the boy. We’re the only ones here.” He took her arm and gently pinched her skin. It tented and very slowly settled back to normal, indicating severe dehydration, but he already knew that. “We’ve got to get you some fluids.”
“There was one more.”
“He’s at large. Out of gas somewhere between here and town-wherever the hell that is.” Hunter extended his hand to her and she took it and pulled herself to her feet.
“I want him dead.” She stared at the corpse of the teenage muj, then kicked it twice. She bent over, removed his sandals and put them on.
“You’ll get no arguments from me.”
“I mean I want you to track him down and kill him.” She wobbled from the room.
Fazul was baking in the Passat at the side of the small desert road. The twin morons couldn’t be trusted to do anything right. All they had to do was throw a can of gas into the back of the truck without hitting the IED and come back for him. They were probably indulging themselves in the pleasures of temporary married life with that American harlot. He regretted ever taking a hostage. They were too much distraction and he still hadn’t found anyone to pay enough ransom for her to make it worth his trouble. The husband had seemed uninterested.
He flipped open his cell and called his cousin who agreed to pick him up. Praise be to Allah that Omar had closed his electronics store early and was nearby, so it would only take a few minutes to swing over. He hung up the cell. If the twins were not back by the time Omar got there, he’d have him drive to the house and he’d kill both of them along with the American whore. He snatched a prayer mat from the back seat, got out of the car and used his cell phone to check the direction toward Mecca.
Any moment, it would be time for afternoon prayers.
Jackie walked through the main room and out the back door. Soldiers lived with their guns in combat and Hunter was still on the battlefield. He was not going to make the mistake of letting his guard down a second time, so he picked up the AK and ran after her. One of its sharp edges cut his hand.
“I’ve got to get out of here,” Jackie said. Her eyes were glazed and she didn’t seem to be looking at anything in particular.
“Sit down.” He pressed lightly on her shoulder as she tried to walk away.
“No, I have to go.”
“You’re severely dehydrated. You’re not thinking straight.” He took her by the shoulders and guided her toward the shade of some date palms about fifty meters from the house. “Sit here in the shade.”
She ignored him and walked out of the compound’s back gate and into the desert. Hunter reminded himself that he needed to be patient, when he really wanted to shake her to her senses and if that didn’t work, knock her out and carry her to safety. He followed the crazy chick into the desert.
Hunter thought he heard something and turned back to the compound in time to see a brilliant white flash, then an orange fireball rising into the sky. He shoved Jackie to the ground and threw his body over hers just as he heard the loud clap. The earth shook as the blast wave passed. A piece of tangled red metal fell near Hunter’s head, missing him by inches. A hailstorm of concrete cratered the desert around them, then smaller debris pelleted his back. As if someone were sifting the particles by size, sand followed. Then suddenly everything was quiet and a dust cloud enveloped them, making the air hard to breathe.
He rolled off her the moment he thought it was safe and he hoped to god he didn’t re-traumatize her by throwing his body on top of hers so suddenly. The last thing he wanted was to go back to ground zero with her. He coughed, then pulled the sleeve of his dishdashah up to his face. “Breathe through your clothes,” he instructed as Jackie pulled herself up off the ground. “Everything’s going to be fine now.”
“What happened?” She pulled the dishdashah over her nose and mouth.
“Their truck bomb detonated somehow.” Except Hunter knew how. He’d pulled out only one set of yellow and red wires. He couldn’t believe he had disabled one of the parallel circuits but had forgotten the second set of wires. Too many things had been going on at once, but still he couldn’t imagine that he’d been that careless. It didn’t take long for him to convince himself that one of the tangos must have survived longer than he had thought and caused movement that had set it off. That would be what he’d tell the guys in the unit, anyway. Then he remembered he no longer had a unit.
“I have to find some water for you. Come on. Let’s hope those palms are still intact so you can have some shade to sit in.” He took her hand and helped her to her feet. Sweat evaporated so fast he didn’t notice it anymore. As soon as the dust cleared, the mid-afternoon sun would be relentless. They needed water fast.
Most of the mud wall circling the compound somehow had held together, testament to the years of baking in the desert heat. The house had not fared as well. It was gone. Disappeared. Poof. Rubble littered the ground, but not nearly as much as Hunter had expected. Some of the dust he was breathing had probably once been the house. A twisted section of truck chassis no bigger than a bicycle was all that remained of his escape vehicle. Hundreds of flies swarmed in several places. He had been in combat enough to know to avoid those spots marking fresh flesh and blood.