Page 51 of Ham

“Not yet,” said Superman.

His name wasn’t really Superman, but since his last name was Kent, that’s what he got stuck with. Call names could be cruel, quirky, or cute. Some were just stupid. Early in Patrick and Christopher’s careers, they tried to pin Saint on them, except both names are saints, so you couldn’t have two.

Seeing the dust cloud in the distance, they all silenced comms, waiting patiently for the three vehicles to stop on the road. They’d blocked it earlier, making passing impossible. The caravan wouldn’t be able to move, and they’d pick off Aziz and be on their way.

“What’s that?” frowned Patrick.

“What?” asked Christopher looking behind them.

“Down there. In that small valley, someone is walking.”

“Damn! Get them out of here. We can’t have civilians in the middle of this shit. You get them to move on. We’ll handle this.”

The caravan stopped in the road, the driver getting out to scan the pile of rubble. As Patrick made his way down the back of the ledge into the small valley, Christopher lined up the shot, waiting to fire on Aziz.

Patrick held his weapon at his side, moving down the loose rock until he was standing in front of the two cloaked figures. He tried to speak to them in Syrian, but they shook their heads. One appeared to be a child, but the face was completely covered.

Typically, children didn’t have their faces covered. Something was wrong. He reached for the child’s hood, and she leaned back, avoiding his touch.

“I won’t hurt you,” he said in English.

“You’re American?” said the woman.

“Yes. And so are you,” he said. She nodded, lifting back the hijab. Her light brown hair and green eyes shone in the sunlight. The freckles across her nose made her look like a teenager, but he suspected she was much older.

“Please, help us get out of here,” she begged.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he asked. “Who are you?”

“Please don’t cuss in front of her,” she said. “She’s already terrified out of her mind.”

“She’s terrified?” frowned Patrick. “You’re in the middle of Syria. You should be terrified. Why are you here?”

“I came for her. She’s my cousin, and her father is a Syrian terrorist helping ISIS. He kidnapped her to sell her in marriage to someone, and I came to get her back. Please, she’s only twelve.”

“I want to go home,” said the little girl. Patrick stared at the woman and child, shaking his head.

“Patrick? You there, brother?” asked Christopher.

“Yea. I’m here.”

“We got Aziz. Let’s go.” Patrick stared at the woman, then the little girl. Her big brown eyes were swimming with tears, her face filled with fear.

“Yea, about that. We’re going to have two additional passengers.”