Page 3 of Fighting for Valor
I can’t see his face. Can’t make out any of his features. He’s only a blur in front of me, and as he grabs my arm and hauls me up over his shoulder, I pass out.
“You are very sick.”
“This will hurt.”
“Drink, Isaad.”
Fragments. That’s all I have. I’m lying on a soft pallet. It’s not so hot. I think…I try to wiggle my toes. There’s a sheet over me.
Something presses to my chapped lips. Cool water slides down my throat. Just a sip. I try to ask for more, but no sound comes out.
“Isaad, you must wait. Only a small amount yet.” A gentle hand dabs my forehead with a cloth. I can’t even open my eyes.
Who the fuck is Isaad?
“I have given you antibiotics. In a few days, you will regain your strength.”
I’m so dizzy. The voice seems to come from all around me. Where is he? I can only manage a grunt, and then the cool compress is back.
“Trust me, Isaad. I will protect you.”
More bits and pieces. But are they memories? Hallucinations? Dreams?
A taste of banana. A sip of sweetened tea. Something pinching my arm. Antibiotics? Drugs? I don’t know. Don’t care. I’m not tied up. Not vomiting. Not hearing Ryker and Dax scream in pain.
Whatever I’m lying on depresses slightly, and I force my eyes open. The man sitting on the cot has a neatly trimmed beard, black hair, and gray eyes. “Who…?” I whisper.
“My name is Faruk. My…employer...he wishes you to suffer. But he is not here now. So I can help you, Isaad.”
“Name…isn’t…”
“It is now. There is no use in fighting it. Please, Isaad. I will protect you, but you must listen to me.” Faruk leans over me, a hand on either side of my shoulders. “The man I work for…he is a sadist. He will kill you to obtain what he desires.”
“Then…let…me…die.” I can barely force the words out, even after what I assume is several days of care. “Never…gonna…break.”
“You will, Isaad. I have seen it before. So many times. But if you let me help you, I can make things easier. I can spare you much pain.” His tone is so calm, so soothing. A hand slides behind my head, lifting me slightly. “Drink.”
I try to turn away, but I’m so thirsty. And when the cool liquid touches my lips, I can’t help myself. After several sips of tea, the room starts to spin, and I struggle to focus on the man who pulled me out of that fucking well. “Drugged…me.” I whisper. “Bastard.”
“No!” His denial is so sharp, so vehement, I believe him. “Have more tea. You are still dehydrated, and you have a high fever from the scorpion venom.”
Faruk shifts, and his arm bolsters my shoulders enough for me to sit up. The sheet falls away from my chest, and I see the devastation. The swollen bites all over my torso. Some stitched up, others still bright red and hot. I couldn’t stop myself from flinching every time, and that only angered the little shits more.
“Antibiotics and rest will help.” He offers me more tea, and though I want to resist, I don’t. It’s been so long since anyone touched me with the intent to help and not hurt. I need to regain my strength before I can figure out what the fuck I’m supposed to do now. And how to get out of here and back to my team.
I fade in and out, unsure what’s real and what’s all in my head. Sounds drone on and on a few feet away. A news report? In English?
Focus!
The words have a heartbeat of their own. A life. They ebb and flow, and I can only pick out snatches. “…for the man responsible, Sergeant Richards…”
Richards. Me.
“…murder, treason…”
I don’t understand. Squinting as Faruk presses a bandage to one of the wounds on my chest, I think I see the glow of a television in the corner. The image flickers, then there’s only static, and I can’t fight anymore.
I’m alone. Finally. And I think maybe…I’m strong enough to get up on my own. Throwing off the sheet, I grimace at my ravaged body. I’ve lost more than fifty pounds since our ODA team was captured six months ago. My first attempt to stand sends me back on my ass on the bed, but after a deep breath, I manage to stay upright. Someone put thin, loose pants on me, and they feel so foreign.
