Path of Jen: Bloodborne (21 page)

Deep South watched her as the truck drove by.
The woman didn’t move a muscle until about thirty seconds after the
truck passed. She sat up and scanned the area carefully, before
standing all the way up and scanning again. “Huh, Skinny?” he
radioed. “I think she’s on the run or something. She hid while that
truck went by.”

“She’s a woman alone in the desert during a
war. I think hiding is the only smart option, don’t you?” answered
the Captain.

“Yeah, I suppose,” Deep South replied.

“Okay, fellas,” said Skinny over the radio.
“I’m calling her in now. We’re moving out as soon as she walks her
cute butt a little farther east, got it? Be ready to roll in
fifteen."

Jen held still as the truck drove past. She
was about fifty yards off of the road to the north, but she didn’t
want to take any chances until she was much farther away from the
city. She waited until she no longer heard the motor and sat up.
She carefully looked around her in all directions and then stood
up. She scanned the area again in case there was something she
couldn’t see from the lower vantage point. Once she was confident
that it was all clear, she took a sip of water from her jug and set
off again. “Come on Jen,” she said. “Let see how far we can go
today."

Two hours later, she found a place to stop.
She walked down into a wash, out of sight from the road, and sat on
a rock. She needed to rest her feet and eat a snack if she was
going to keep walking all day. As she sipped on a warm orange soda
and nibbled on salty crackers, Jen hummed songs she used to listen
to on her iPhone. One oldie kept popping into her head and she
hummed along between sips of pop and mouthfuls of cracker,
“Here
I go, again on my oooown. Like a drifter I was born to walk
aloooone."

She finished the soda with a long swallow,
and after deliberating internally the pros and cons of leaving the
bottle, she decided to bring it along. It wasn’t that heavy, and
maybe it could be useful for something later. She shouldered her
rifle and climbed up and out of the wash. She scanned the area and
stepped off to the east once more. “Here I go again on my oooown!”
she sang.

Another two hours of walking passed, and Jen
decided to stop again. This time, there were some boulders grouped
together near a small hill and she sat in the shade between them.
She scouted it first with a stick while she held her pistol ready.
“Snakes are not okay,”
she thought.
“I am not going to
die out here from a stupid snake bite."
She nearly laughed out
loud when she realized, she was probably more dangerous to the
snake.

Jen took the hijab off and felt immediate
relief. It was like taking off a parka when she felt hot. Her head
felt lighter and the trapped moisture evaporated leaving her
feeling cooler. She picked up her rifle and laid it in her lap. She
turned it over and over, trying to figure out how it worked. She
found the magazine release and pressed it while pulling on the
magazine. She emptied the bullets out, taking care to remember how
they went in. “Seventeen bullets left. That’s pretty good,” she
thought. She dusted them off and reloaded them into the
magazine.

Jen pulled back on the lever sticking out of
the side and it slid toward her. To her surprise, another bullet
flipped out. “Eighteen,” she said. Jen let go of the lever and it
slammed back to the forward position. She pulled it again and no
bullets came out. She looked into the opening while holding it back
and saw the rear end of the barrel. “Oh cool, that must be where
the bullets go." She set the rifle down and put the eighteenth
bullet into the magazine. After a couple of tries she was able to
snap the magazine back into place on the bottom of the rifle. She
pressed the release again and practiced pulling it out and snapping
it back in.
“That’s not hard,”
she thought.
“I got
this."

Jen picked up the rifle and stood up. She
slung the rifle over her shoulder and retrieved her sack. She had
one soda left and only a few crackers. The bread was gone, and her
water was half empty.
“At least it’s getting lighter,”
she
mused. It was late afternoon and the air was beginning to cool. For
the next two or three hours the temperature would be ideal for
walking, but after that it would be uncomfortably cold. Jen decided
that she would move farther from the road and build a fire when
that happened. She was not looking forward to another cold night
sleeping outdoors, but a fire would certainly help. Maybe she could
even find some meat to cook over the fire. Earlier in the morning
she saw several large hares outside the city. If she saw another,
she would shoot it and try her hand at camp fire cooking.

The light was starting to fade when Jen
finally decided to look for a place to camp. There was a gradual
upward slope on either side of the road that meant finding
concealment close by was not likely. Jen turned left and walked
north away from the road. She walked for about a thousand paces
before she found another wide washout that sunk several feet below
the general grade of the surrounding terrain. She felt relief as
she walked down into it and made a quick survey. The sides were
steep and about eight feet high at the deepest point. There were
dense shrubs along the south side of the ditch, and it was oriented
parallel to the road, so it would provide excellent cover and
concealment from anyone driving by.

Jen grounded her bag and water jug, and
walked to the far end and peered out. It was similar to looking out
of an alley way since there were walls on both sides. She felt
secure in her little fortress.

Ahead of her, next to a lone bush about
twenty yards away, sat a hare. It was dusty gray-brown, and looked
like it could run like a cheetah. Jen carefully pulled the rifle
off her shoulder and raised it in front of her. The hare sat still,
nibbling on the leaves of the bush with its back to her. She put
the buttstock in her shoulder and sighted in. Her heart was
pounding in her ears. The hare froze and its ears perked straight
up. They turned back and forth, listening for the sound of a
predator. Jen pushed the safety off and carefully squeezed the
trigger. The rifle clicked, but nothing happened. The hare
immediately bolted.

“Ugh! What happened?" Jen lowered the rifle
and looked at it. “The magazine is in it. The safety is off. What
am I missing?” she whispered. She spotted the charging lever on the
side and took hold of it thoughtfully. She pulled it back,
half-expecting to see a bullet flip out, but instead she watched a
bullet slide from the top of the magazine and go forward into the
chamber as the charging lever returned to the front. “Oh!” she
exclaimed. “That’s how it works.”

She walked out into the twilight looking for
the spooked hare. She crept forward slowly, carefully placing every
footstep to avoid cracking any twigs or branches. The ground was
mostly dirt out here away from the road, so walking quietly was not
difficult.

Jen noticed movement nearby and raised her
rifle again. She held the buttstock tightly against her shoulder,
but looked over the sights in the fading light.
“There!”
she
thought excitedly. The hare was just ahead of her, about thirty
feet away, and holding still. Jen looked through the sights,
placing the front sight in the middle of the rabbit’s body. She
squeezed the trigger and heard a deafening crack as the bullet flew
out of the rifle. Though he ears rang, Jen smiled. The hare lay on
it’s side, unmoving. “I did it!” she said breathlessly. Her heart
was pounding out of her chest from the excitement and she wanted to
shout “Yes!” in victory, but she knew she needed to get beck to the
wadi and start a fire before the light was completely gone.

Jen slung her rifle and retrieved her prize.
She carried it by the ears and walked back to the wadi proudly. She
set to work gathering wood, which consisted mostly of small
branches and dried brush. There were some larger pieces closer to
the road, half buried in the dirt. She pulled these out and carried
them to the wadi as well. She piled some of the dry brush over a
crumpled piece of paper she found that afternoon while walking and
lit it with her lighter. The dry tinder caught quickly and she
began feeding larger pieces on the top. Soon she had a hot fire
crackling, and she decided to work on her meal.

“
Ugh,”
thought Jen.
“This is pretty
gross."
She took her knife and tried cutting a leg off. The
bone made it impossible and the hair was getting all over her
blood-sticky hands.
“I guess I have to skin this thing?"
She
sighed and held it out to see it better in the firelight.
“Okay,
then…just like science class."
She cut it open, up the belly,
and peeled the skin back away fro the ribcage. Then she placed the
neck over a flat rock and cut the head off with some difficulty.
“Eeww,” she said. The smell was terrible. She peeled the skin back
and off of the torso like taking off a coat. She peeled it down
each leg and pulled until it popped off. The furry feet stayed
attached to the body and she chuckled at how it now looked like the
hare was wearing socks. Grimacing, she pulled the guts out and
tossed them away.

Jen held out the skinned hare.
“Wow, that
wasn’t so bad,”
she thought. She set it down and rinsed her
hands off with some of the water from her jug.
“Now for a
cooker,”
she thought. She looked at the rocks, contemplating
forming a sort of hot plate over the fire, and shook her head. She
pictured the hare slowly turning on a spit over the fire, sizzling
and cooking to perfection. Her mouth started watering and she
decided on expedience over complexity. She used the knife to cut
and sharpen a stout “hotdog” roasting stick. When it was ready, she
tried to poke it through the carcass without success. There was not
enough to the animal for the stick to go through lengthwise, so she
tried to poke it through perpendicular through the rib cage. The
stick was sharp, but not sharp enough to poke through the firm body
of the animal. Jen gave up and made a hole with the knife. She held
it out over the fire and then quickly pulled it out.

“Yuck!” she said as the burning hair smell
hit her nose. She slapped the carcass on the cutting rock and cut
the hairy feet off. “Not so cute now, Mr. Rabbit, but you’ll
definitely smell better." She put the hare back over the fire and
tried again. “Oh man,” she said in frustration when she tried to
turn it over. Jen turned the stick, but it just spun in the hole
while the rabbit stayed still. Jen sighed and pulled it back out of
the fire. She took the rabbit off the stick and laid it on the
rock. After thinking about it for a minute, Jen used her knife and
cut strips of meat off the carcass and impaled them on the stick.
She held the meat over the fire and watched happily as it began to
sizzle. “Now we’re talking!” she said.

Jen ate the hare in bits and pieces and loved
every juicy bite. By the time she had her fill, she was feeling
sleepy and she curled up next to the fire. She lay her head on top
of her canvas bag and hijab, and stared up at the night sky. “Dear
Heavenly Father,” she prayed. “Thank you. Thanks for the rabbit.
Thanks for making me strong enough to endure all of this. Please,
Lord…help me get home. In Jesus’ name, Amen.”

A heavy weight pressed on Jen’s chest, waking
her up. “Hey! Get off me!” she yelled while she pushed and shoved
at the oppressive force. Her wrists were snatched and forced
together in an instant. Plastic restraints were zipped painfully
tight as more hands grabbed hold of her ankles and zip-tied them
together as well. A hood was slipped over her head and she was
lifted off the ground. She heard shuffling boots carrying her over
the dirt, and men speaking Arabic in hushed voices. She felt hard
metal against her side as she was tumbled into the back of a
vehicle. A diesel engine rumbled to life and the vehicle began to
move. Jen continued to struggle and tried to sit up until something
hard hit her violently in the face. The force of the blow made her
bite her lip and she cried out. “Ouch!” She lay on her back,
stunned.

In Farsi, Jen shouted for them to let her go.
“Esmee Jenna! Let me go!” she yelled desperately.

A male voice near her face spoke in Farsi and
said, “I don’t care who you are. Shut up and hold still or I’ll hit
you even harder.”

“You’ll be sorry,” she said quietly.

After about an hour the vehicle stopped and
Jen was hauled out and carried again. She was tossed into a room
and the door was slammed shut. She lay on a cold floor, unable to
see because of the hood. She struggled to sit up, which wasn’t easy
since her wrists and ankles were still tied together, and then
pulled the hood off. She felt her sore bottom lip and felt an open
cut.
“Perfect,”
she thought sarcastically. Jen looked around
and saw she was sitting in a small cell with one door and no
windows. The door had a small locked tray slot in the center and
light seeped in around the edges. It wasn’t natural light though.
The light was from generator powered flood lights buzzing
outside.

Jen looked at the restraints on her wrists
and ankles and smiled. They were the type of heavy duty plastic
flex-cuffs the police use for riots. She was smiling because she
knew a trick. This was one of the cool things she learned from
Sarah’s dad when the girls were younger. Sarah’s dad was a police
officer and he showed them a trick for quickly getting out of
flex-cuffs.

Jen bent her knees and brought her legs
closer to her hands. She untied one of her shoes and pulled the
lace out. Then she looped it through the flex-cuff on one of her
ankles and held an end in each hand. Using a fast sawing motion, as
much as her tied wrists would allow, she cut through the hard
plastic in seconds. Once her feet were free, she looped the lace
through the cuff on one wrist. She held one end of the shoelace
under each foot and pulled her hands back and forth as fast as she
could. She was completely free from the flex-cuffs in no time.