Less than ten minutes later, we pile into the Jeep. Trevor’s behind the wheel, Lisette holds Mateen in the passenger seat, and Ford and I are in the back with Nomar sandwiched between us. His breathing’s labored, and infection’s already set in, so he’s burning up. At least I got the bullet out, but the way I did it? I worry I made things worse.
Even though I know I’m not to blame, that Faruk was the one who chose to kidnap me, who chose not to give his son the bone marrow transplant he desperately needed, I still feel responsible.
Ford keeps pressure on Nomar’s wound, and Lisette rocks her son gently. The headscarf I had to put on feels like it’s choking me, and I can’t breathe.
“Joey, buttercup, look at me.” Ford’s command draws me out of my panic, and I meet his gaze over Nomar’s head. The wounded soldier’s no more than five-foot-eight. “Remember what we discussed. If anyone stops us, you’re—”
“Esin. I’m your wife, and this is your cousin. I know.” Trevor handed out cover stories—apparently what he’d been working on all night long—though we don’t have one for Lisette or Mateen, and if we’re stopped, I don’t think cover stories are going to matter much for any of us.
“Amir Abdul Faruk is one of the most powerful tribal leaders in this region,” Trevor says from behind the wheel. “We can’t use the border crossings. Especially with Nomar and Mateen.”
“So, we’re trapped in Afghanistan?” I ask.
“Hell, no. We just can’t use a border crossing. We’re going to find a way across the river. But we can’t do that until it gets dark. For now, there’s a small rural medical clinic twenty minutes east. It’s, in part, run by NATO, and they’ll look the other way when we show up. Joey, can you stabilize Nomar and Mateen for twelve to fifteen hours? I should be able to work some magic with the border patrols and get us across around 3:00 a.m.”
“Maybe?” Against me, Nomar shudders, and more blood seeps from between Ford’s fingers. “But if we don’t get there soon…” I don’t want to say the words. Nomar’s too close to death. And right now, I need him to fight.
Trevor meets my gaze in the rearview mirror and nods. “Got it. Once we get out of the city, I can floor it. Until then…we have to try to stay under the radar.”
By the time we reach the clinic, Nomar’s pulse is thready and weak, and his breathing shallow. If he lasts another hour, it’ll be a miracle. I can’t pull myself out of my own head. Every time I inhale, the scent of blood mixed with the sickly sweet odor that marks Mateen’s kidneys shutting down remind me of my time in that disgusting train car.
Ford keeps trying to talk to me, but I give him one-word answers at best. Clutching Nomar’s hand, I squeeze as hard as I can. “Stay with me,” I murmur. His eyelids flutter, but he doesn’t otherwise respond.
“Don’t get out of the car,” Trevor orders as he throws the Jeep into park and heads for the small, squat building with rough-hewn sand-colored walls and a door that looks to have been kicked in more than once.
He disappears inside, and Ford pulls his gun from the holster, hops out of the Jeep, and puts his back to the door. Mateen says something to Lisette in Pashto, and she coos quietly to him. “It will be okay, my son. Dr. Joey will help you.”
“Mama, are we going back to Papa soon?” Mateen sounds so desperate, and Lisette shakes her head.
“Shhh. We will speak of that later,” she whispers. “For now, we must be quiet and not say Papa’s name. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Mama.” He turns his face into Lisette’s shoulder and sighs.
How can a man who claims to love his family do so much to hurt them? Shifting slightly, I check Nomar’s pulse again. Lisette turns in her seat to meet my gaze. “Will he live?”
“I don’t know.” He’s beyond hearing me now. But saying the words still brings a lump to my throat and my eyes start to burn. So much death, and I just wanted to help people.
“He risked his life for me and my son. If he needs blood, I am type O. I will donate to him.”
I offer her a grateful smile, and as Trevor comes jogging out of the clinic, a small spark of hope flares to life. Maybe…we won’t be too late.
Ford
This room gets smaller the longer we stay here. Joey’s sitting on the floor, her back against the wall between two cots, Mateen on one, and Nomar on the other. She managed to get both of them stabilized, but it was touch and go. During the transfusion, she lost Nomar’s heartbeat for a full minute, and I kept up chest compressions until she found it again.
She fell asleep an hour ago, but she’s restless. Her lips twist into a frown, and behind her lids, her eyes move rapidly. I’m on watch since Trevor never ended up getting any shuteye. The rural doctor who runs this clinic agreed to hide us—once we handed over two thousand dollars, and we have at least another three hours before it’s safe enough for us to head to the river crossing.
Dax called in a favor—more than one—and arranged for a medical transport chopper to pick us up in Termez and fly us to Qarshi. Once we’re there, I’ll be able to breathe again. Maybe. Now that we’ve taken his wife, and more importantly, his son, Faruk is sure to come after us. Trev called Matt as soon as we arrived, and once we get to Qarshi, we’ll be protected. False IDs for Mateen and Lisette, a JSOC safehouse for Trev, me, and Joey, and secure transport back to the States. Hell, he even found Lisette’s family and got in touch with her sister.
“Nnnnoooo,” Joey whimpers, “no, no, no…” Tears stream down her cheeks, and before I can get to her, she lets out a wail, waking Trevor and Lisette, both sleeping in chairs in the corners of the room.
“Joey!” I catch her as she’s about to fall over, and her entire body goes stiff in my arms. Wild, terrified eyes scan the room. Trev’s on his feet, his Glock in his hand. Lisette immediately goes to Mateen’s side, but then returns to her chair as she realizes what’s going on.
Straining against me, Joey whimpers again, and I tighten my embrace. “It’s me, buttercup. You’re safe.”
“Ford? Oh, shit.” Her cheeks turn bright red, though the yellowing bruises hide much of her blush. Searching out Trevor, she bites her lip for a moment. “I’m sorry. Go back to sleep.”
He grunts what might be an “okay” and drops back into the chair.
