Path of Jen: Bloodborne (23 page)

Jen moved the lever to “D” and slowly let off
the brake. She guided the vehicle around the compound without
headlights since the generator powered floodlights were still
running, and stopped at each building to retrieve the supplies she
had staged. As soon as she was done, she turned around and drove
for the compound entrance. She pulled the SUV up near the gate and
stopped.
“Which way do I need to go? Oh man, I don’t even know
which way is…wait a minute,”
she thought as she realized there
was a compass heading displayed in the corner of the rear view
mirror. Driving straight out of the compound gate would be heading
northwest. “You are doing alright Rocky,” she said as she patted
the dashboard affectionately. “Yep, Rocky is your name from now on.
Okay Rocky, let’s do this.”

Jen reached for the switch to turn on her
headlights and froze. There were four vehicles coming toward the
compound and moving fast. Jen panicked and shut off the engine. She
laid her seat back and scooted down, hoping they would pass her by
and she could leave. She fought the urge to sit up and see who they
were, and in seconds their bright headlights passed her SUV and
moved into the compound.

Jen heard the engines stop and doors open.
She scooted up in her seat slightly and used the toggle on her door
to tilt her side mirror down far enough that she could see what
they were doing behind her. She saw men with guns and tactical gear
moving in teams to secure the area. Most went to the building where
all of the bodies lay.

While the others tried to make sense of what
had happened, two of the men, one big and one small, were heading
Jen’s way, toward the front of the compound. The big man held a
longer rifle and swept it side to side as he walked. The smaller
man held a short, mean looking rifle that he held level in front of
him, just below his eyes. He kept facing forward, eyes trained on
the buildings and vehicles near the front gate. They were heading
directly toward the SUV. Jen held her breath.

“Hey! What the hell? Back off Frankie!” came
a shout from the dark building.

Two shots rang out, and the two men
approaching Jen’s vehicle spun around.

Deep South swung his rifle around just in
time to see Frankie’s head snap back sharply as two rapidly fired
shots hit him in the forehead. He immediately brought his rifle up
and acquired Frankie’s assailant in his scope. “No way,” he
whispered as he dropped his rifle to look over the top. There in
front of Frankie’s corpse stood Skinny, with his pistol drawn and
still pointed at his dead teammate. He jerked the rifle up and
looked through the scope again. “No!” he said louder. Then he
shouted, “Skinny! What the hell is going on?”

Skinny ignored him and stepped cautiously
toward Franky. Deep South watched as their commanding officer
dropped to a knee and checked Frankie’s pulse. He took him by the
shoulders and shook him. Deep South could hear him yell, “You made
me Franky! I had no choice!" Skinny stopped and wiped blood from
his hands onto his trousers and hung his head. Suddenly he looked
up with a terrible rictus on his face.

Deep South and Preacher were running back
toward the building when Skinny let out a terrible scream. He leapt
to his feet and tackled the ISF soldier reaching out to help him
up. The soldier, managed to squeeze off one round before the
Captain knocked the rifle from his hands and bit into his neck. The
wild shot hit the second ISF soldier in his chest and he collapsed
in a heap. Deep South skidded to a stop and held his arm out to
stop Preacher, but the smaller man ducked under it and passed him
by. “Preach, wait!” he called out to his friend.

Preacher raced to the fight and threw his
weight into pulling Skinny off the ISF soldier. He put an arm
around the Captain’s neck and pulled back hard. Skinny launched his
body backward at the same time, knocking Preacher off balance, and
landed on top of him. Deep South watched helplessly as Skinny
thrashed and clawed against the smaller man until he was facing
him. He began to tear at Preacher’s face with his teeth and hands
while Preacher flailed his arms and legs helplessly.

Deep South brought his rifle up and flipped
the safety off. He smoothly pulled the trigger to the rear and
watched Skinny’s head explode into red mist. Preacher was screaming
and thrashing on the ground under the heavier man’s corpse. Deep
South started forward and then stopped.
“What the heck is
happening?”
he wondered frantically.
“This is happening too
fast, and it started over there."
He began backing up slowly,
keeping his rifle pointed toward the danger.

Preacher finally pushed Skinny off of him and
stood up. He was screaming in the same way Skinny had a few seconds
before, and his face was a bloody mess. His head jerked back and
forth, looking in all directions. When he saw Deep South, his eyes
locked on him and he began growling viciously.

“Preach? You okay buddy?” asked Deep South as
he continued backing away.

Preacher sprinted toward Deep South with a
snarl.

“Oh man,” Deep South whispered as he brought
his rifle up to his cheek once more. He pressed the trigger and his
whole body tensed as he absorbed the familiar recoil. Deep South
looked over the top of his scope and saw his buddy lying face down
in the dirt. The back of his skull was gone. It was hard to believe
the dead body laying on the ground in front of him was the man he
called Preacher. The nick-name was earned during a particularly
intense firefight in which Preacher, who was barely holding it
together, recited Psalms 23 over and over. It struck everyone as
significant because Preacher was anything but religious. In fact,
of all of them, he had the worst temper and used the foulest
language. Deep South had jokingly called him Preacher after the
fight, and the name stuck. Deep South realized he was distracted
and shook his head. “Come on!” he snarled at himself. “Get your
head in the game!"

Deep South turned a slow circle, scanning
near and far. His gaze passed the gate and a tan SUV sitting empty
next to it.
“Wait,”
he thought.
“What was that?"
He
saw something move in the front seat. He lifted the rifle to just
below his cheek and walked forward, determined to find out what was
going on. His walked with his feet spread shoulder width apart, as
if tracing railroad tracks, for maximum stability and balance. He
rolled each step heel to toe, to keep from tripping as he kept his
eyes focused on the threat ahead. Deep South only took his eyes off
the SUV to glance side to side and over his shoulder every few
steps.

Deep South approached from the rear quarter
of the vehicle on the driver’s side. When he was within ten feet of
the door, he stopped and said, “Ain’t no use hidin’ Achmed. I saw
your dumb ass moving a minute ago. Why don’t you save us both some
trouble and put your hands up nice and easy, where I can see ‘em."
He stood his ground and waited, weapon ready.

For about ten seconds there was no reply or
reaction. Then, two smallish hands raised slowly above the driver’s
seat. Deep South blinked.
“Are those a woman’s hands?”
he
wondered. He took another step closer and to the side to get a look
in the driver side window. “You,” he said, surprised to see the
same woman he had observed from his vantage point at the building
outside of Mosul two days before. She kept her hands up in the air
and turned her head slowly to look at him. She looked confused and
maybe scared.

“Keep your hands in the air and don’t try
anything funny. I am not in a good mood right now. You get me?” he
said forcefully. “I’m going to open the door and you’re going to do
exactly what I say or I will put a big freaking hole in your pretty
little head. Are we clear?" Jen nodded.

Deep South stepped closer and grabbed the
door handle. He watched her closely as he carefully opened the door
and stepped back. “Okay then. Come on out.” he ordered. Jen did as
she was instructed and stepped out with her hands held up. Deep
South saw the cuts on her wrists and his brow wrinkled.
“What is
this girl’s story?”
he wondered. He asked, “You understand me?"
Jen nodded. “Can you tell me what happened here? What happened to
my team?" His rifle was still trained on her head, and she shook
her head slightly. “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he growled.
“Maybe you can answer this one. Give me one reason I shouldn’t put
a bullet in your haji ass right now!” he snapped. He held the rifle
tightly in his shoulder and his knuckles were white on the pistol
grip. His trigger finger pulled the slack out of the trigger and
all that remained was a slight rearward press to send the firing
pin slamming forward.

Jen swallowed hard and closed her eyes. The
big tough guy staring her down, with a rifle in his hands and a
deadly look in his eyes, was an American soldier. For the first
time in two long years, Jen was near someone who could help her get
home, but he seemed more likely to kill her than help her. Tears
threatened to escape and roll down her cheeks.
“Please Lord,
give me the right words.”
she prayed. Jen took a deep breath
and exhaled slowly. Her lips trembled, but her will hardened and
she knew she could do it. She opened her eyes and looked straight
at the big southern soldier. “I did this,” she said.

Deep South and Jen sat opposite from each
other on crates near the front gate. She was unarmed, and so far,
unrestrained. The big Special Forces soldier was angry and
confused. This teenage girl in front of him was responsible for
spreading a deadly virus that just killed his entire team.
“You
know this isn’t her fault,”
his conscious shouted.
“She’s as
much a victim here as they are. Can I even imagine what she’s had
to endure? What would it feel like to know I was a danger to
everyone I loved and to think I might never be allowed to go
home?"
He started to soften, but then he looked past her and
saw the bodies laying on the ground and his blood started to boil
again.
“How do I know she’s innocent in all of this? She could
be playing me right now!”

Deep South held a pistol held in one hand and
his rifle leaned against the crate just next to him. He flexed his
hand and gripped the pistol over and over unconsciously. One of the
team vehicles was parked next to the tan SUV, and there was a
Satellite Phone sitting on the hood. The gas powered generators
running the flood lights droned in the background, while the two
Americans spoke.

“Okay, listen,” Deep South said. “Even if I
do believe you, and I’m not saying I do, how do you expect to get
home? You’re carrying a dangerous pathogen. No country is gonna let
you within a thousand miles of their border." He shook his head.
“You’re truly screwed lady."

“My parents might be Iranian Americans…but
I’m from Texas, sir. I won’t just give up." Jen said with her chin
held high. Despite her bravado, she was shaking, and the soldier
noticed.

Deep South sighed and holstered his pistol.
“Damn. She is all bad news, but there’s something about
her…"

“Alright ma’am,” he said, still shaking his
head. “Here’s the deal. I can’t leave you here…for a whole bunch of
reasons. But, you gotta know that coming with me is not a free
ticket home for you either. You’re on the top of everybody’s list,
and it ain’t the good list. My question for you is, are you gonna
give me any trouble? I need to know if I ought to tie you up and
throw you in the back, or if you can behave yourself." He raised an
eyebrow and waited for her response.

“
Geez, I feel like a kid around this
guy,”
she thought. “Staff Sergeant Parks, I promise I won’t
give you any trouble. I just want to go home, but…I’m dangerous. I
don’t want to make anyone else sick." Jen looked into his intense
gray eyes with concern. “I want to go home so bad, but maybe I’m
not meant to." She felt like she was about to cry again and it made
her mad.
“Oh come on Jen! Quit feeling sorry for yourself and do
the right thing!”
she thought. She pressed her lips together
and lifted her chin defiantly.

“Now come on,” Deep South said, letting his
guard down. “Where’s that Texas grit you showed me a minute ago?
Didn’t you just say you wouldn’t give up?" He stood up and motioned
for her to do the same. “Get in the truck, we got a lot of ground
to cover.”

Jen stood up. Somehow, just the act of
getting up made her feel more confident. She forced an awkward
smile as she walked by him toward the vehicle. She climbed into the
passenger seat and stared out of her side window, embarrassed.

Deep South stood frozen for a moment.
“Was
she smiling at me?"
he wondered. He felt his face flush red and
he checked himself,
“Oh come on Dustin! Keep it together! She’s
a pretty girl, but really?"
He picked up his rifle and snatched
the Sat-Phone off the hood of the vehicle. He took a deep breath
and climbed in the driver’s seat. He pushed the key into the
ignition and was about to turn it when uncertainty hit him. He
looked over at Jen and asked, “I can’t get sick from just being
next to you right? It’s not airborne?"

“What?” she turned and faced him. “Oh, that.
No, it’s in my blood and I was around people everyday. The only
times people got infected was when my blood got on them, or into a
cut or scratch. It spreads the same way once someone else gets
infected. You have to get their blood on you." A thought occurred
to her. “Oh, hey! They made a vaccine too!" Then more quietly, “I
mean, they said they did, and they were planning on giving it to
everyone…well, Muslims." After a short pause, her eyes lit up and
she said, “But maybe that means we can make a vaccine too! A better
one! Maybe our doctors can cure me!"