The Girl With The Gun (Sydney Rye Book 8) Page 11

  We loaded our booty into the Humvee.

  "What should we do with her?" Zerzan asked about the major.

  "Tie her up and leave her. Stick a sock in her mouth."

  I bent down to get her shoe off but she kicked out at me. Blue leapt, taking her to the floor; the major's head smacked hard into the cement. She was dazed as I untied her shoe and pulled off the sock.

  I flipped her over and grabbed her wrists, tying them together. She muttered something, but was incoherent as I pulled her ankles up to her wrists and joined the two.

  I shoved the sock into the major’s mouth.

  "I want you to know that I get you. I understand why you won't help us, and there's even a small part of me that admires you. But I've learned over the years that flexibility is important when it comes to seeking justice. If your only goal in life is to move up the ranks and to become a general someday, that’s great on one level.

  "But if you want to actually make a difference in this world, if you want to make a difference in this fight that is happening right here for this land, then you have to recognize that continuing to blindly follow the orders handed down to you is never going to help."

  The major’s eyes were open and she was watching me, but her pupils appeared dilated. It wasn’t clear she was following me. And even if she could, it was unlikely she'd believe me.

  I stood up and Zerzan, Blue, and I returned to the Humvee.

  "I know a place we can pick up food and water," Zerzan said.

  "Is it a day and a half away?"

  "No," Zerzan laughed. "It's much closer than that."

  We returned to the gate. There were now eight guards. Shift change was happening.

  Zerzan stopped the Humvee in front of the closed gate.

  Three of the guards approached, including the two who had agreed to come with us. "We will come—and my friend too. The others will stay to guard the gate."

  The three defecting guards climbed into the back of the Humvee and the gate opened. Zerzan pulled through and when the road split, she took a left, heading back toward the wreckage of the other Humvee and the dead bodies of the Daesh members we'd left behind.

  Chapter Eleven

  I introduced myself to the three women in the back. "I'm Sydney Rye," I said, smiling, trying to look friendly.

  They were young and pretty, with black hair and brown eyes, thick lashes, skin the caramel color of beach sand.

  The first guard to agree to help us touched her chest. "Dilsoz." She cradled her rifle in her arms and her helmet tilted over her brow, looking too big for her, almost like she was a child playing dress up.

  "Erzo," said the woman sitting in the middle seat. She was taller than Dilsoz, but looked just as young. Just as vulnerable. These women were not hard like Zerzan and me. Their idealism sprung from optimism; ours grew from a darker place.

  When I turned my attention to the third woman, a blush stole over her cheeks. She was shorter and curvier than the other two. I didn't recognize her, so assumed she had manned one of the guns on the wall. When I raised my eyebrows at her she spoke: "Hedar."

  "Nice to meet you all."

  Hedar glanced down at Blue and smiled.

  "This is Blue," I said, stroking his head. Erzo touched her eye. "Yes, that's right. I named him after his eye color. Not very creative."

  Erzo smiled and translated for the other two. One of them spoke and her face became serious. "It is an honor to work with the Tigress," she said, her words coming slowly, carefully, as though she'd spent time choosing each one.

  "For me too," I said.

  Zerzan spoke in her native tongue and the women nodded, pleased. "I told them that I understand they have risked their lives and careers to join us. And that it means a lot to me," Zerzan said, her gaze remaining on the road.

  We turned off onto a dirt track. I held onto the door handle to steady myself as we bumped along. Blue's body shifted back and forth, knocking into my legs.

  We reached a small village, a few houses lining the road. Zerzan stopped at the first abode, parking next to a beat-up Toyota pickup truck. "Wait here" Zerzan ordered, climbing out of the Humvee and knocking on the door of the house.

  It opened and electric light spilled onto the doorstep, bathing Zerzan in its yellow glow. She stepped inside and the door closed, dropping the entrance back into shadow.

  A few moments later, Zerzan returned with an older man. He had a limp; a wooden peg supported his left leg. His gait was awkward, but he moved as quickly as Zerzan.

  His eyes narrowed, trying to see into the dark cab of the Humvee. He nodded at something Zerzan said and then gestured for us to get out.

  Zerzan handed him the keys.

  We climbed out, Blue ran over to a tree and did his business. The man climbed into the driver's seat. "Dadyar will take the vehicle and get rid of it,” Zerzan said. "We will take his truck." Erzo, Dilsoz, and Hedar transferred our supplies to the rusted hulk. The taillights were broken and one of the back windows was cardboard. Beggars can't be choosers.

  The three women went inside while Zerzan and I waited for Blue. The man backed the Humvee up and headed further down the road.

  "What is this place?" I asked as the Humvee disappeared around a bend. I could still hear its big engine and just make out the red glow of its tail lights through the trees.

  "It is a shelter for abused women. This is one of the stops on the way out of Iraq."

  "Where are they going?"

  Zerzan shrugged. "Once they cross the Turkish border, I do not know. It is safer for them if less people know. The women who come here, they are in grave danger. Often they must leave their children behind. Can you imagine? To flee from your husband, and yet leave a piece of your heart behind." Zerzan shook her head.

  "I can't."

  "I think they are very brave to run."

  "Yes, it is brave to escape. But what is their other option? To stay and die?"

  "Some of them would be killed by their husbands, yes. The others would just be tortured for the rest of their lives. Many women who face rape and abuse do not leave. They stay for their children. They stay because there is no guarantee of a better life. If they are caught, they will die horribly."

  Blue returned to my side and we started for the front door.

  "Can they fight?"

  "Fight? The women who take shelter here? No. They are on the run. Afraid."

  "I've found that running and leading are very closely related."

  Inside Dilsoz, Hedar, and Erzo sat on one couch facing three women covered in black burkas. Every part of them was hidden, even their eyes. The fabric looked heavy, the mesh they watched me through allowed glints of light to hit their irises, making me feel like I was being watched by caged animals.

  Zerzan made introductions in Kurdish and then in English. Nazdar, Rojda, and Tajev. Which was which I didn't know.

  Did the burkas make them feel safe? They must be horribly traumatized by their experiences. I wanted to tear those hoods off their heads. Take them by their shoulders, stand them up, look into their eyes, and tell them to fight.

  They had traveled far to come there, and yet their journey had barely begun. Why should they continue? They should stay here and be trained to fight back against what had driven them away from their own children.

  My mind clicked the idea over and over, thunder crackling. It felt imperative to me that this was the answer. These women, who weren't allowed to show any part of themselves to strangers, deserved so much more. But there was no way for me or anyone else to change their lives. Or the lives of their daughters. They had to join the fight.

  Zerzan was speaking to me and I apologized, asking her to repeat herself. "We will eat now and then get food and water for the journey."

  The three covered women went into the kitchen and came back with plates of food for us. They brought a hunk of raw meat for Blue and a bowl of water.

  The shortest of the women, her long, black robes stained at the sleeves and sp
lattered on the skirt, giggled when Blue licked her hand as she placed the bowl of water down on the ground for him.

  How old was she?

  It was possible that these were not women at all, that they were only girls.

  I forced food down, knowing I needed the sustenance.

  "Mujada is being held about six hours from here," Zerzan explained over tea after our meal. We sat in the kitchen, at a worn, wooden table, a florescent tube flickering and humming on the wall, casting corpse-white light over the room.

  "The man on the phone said that if I showed up and traded myself for her, that they would let her go. Of course, I don't believe them. They want to hold us both."

  "So why would we think that Mujada is where they say she is?"

  "They will show her to me. They know I would not hand myself over without proof of her being alive."

  "Fair enough. So what's the plan? We go to this place, you say, ‘I am here to turn myself in,' they show us Mujada, and then what?"

  "It is a former US military installation. I trained there, so I know the layout. It will most likely be a surprise to them that we know the layout so well."

  Blue, who'd been sleeping under the table, stood up and released a low growl. A moment later I heard the rumble of an engine. Zerzan, Blue, and I hurried into the living room. Dilsoz, Hedar, and Erzo were standing by the window, their rifles raised.

  The three women in burkas linked hands and huddled together. I pulled out a handgun holding it butt out toward the closest one. "Take it."

  She didn't move but the person next to her reached out. The girl's skin was revealed as her sleeve rose; a ridged scar ran from the base of her palm up her arm, and under the garment. She grabbed the gun.

  "That's a safety," I pointed to the latch that armed the pistol. She clicked it off, either having done it before or having seen it done. "Just don't shoot me."

  Zerzan was over by the window peering through the curtains. "It's okay," she said. "It's just Dadyar returning."

  The tension released as we all exhaled. The girl offered me back the gun. She'd put the safety back into place.

  "You keep it. If we had more time, I'd teach you to use it."

  The woman's robed head swiveled to Zerzan who translated. The woman shook her head. "She says it is too expensive a gift."

  "Tell her that one day I may ask her to do something for me. She should consider it a down payment."

  Zerzan translated and the woman nodded, bowing slightly to me as she hid the weapon in her robes. Yes, this was the answer. This girl with that gun. It was the solution we needed.

  Chapter Twelve

  Daylight filtered into the sky as we left— Blue, Erzo, Dilsoz, and Hedar in the bed of the pickup, Zerzan driving, me in the passenger seat, staring out the window, thinking about those women shrouded in cloth.

  Sunlight warmed the air and gilded the trees. The three women in the back of the pickup, in their fatigues, with their rifles and steely gazes, would have intimidated anyone we passed. But we didn't pass anyone.

  The map Zerzan had drawn lay on my thigh. I studied the layout of the buildings in the compound where Mujada was being held.

  We would approach from the east on a road that Zerzan said was unpaved.

  We'd hide the truck and go on foot, traversing through the woods. We had walkie-talkies to communicate. They were a reminder of what these fighters needed. Walkie-talkies that squawked were a dangerous tool. But they were the only ones we had.

  The plan was to use them only to announce that we were in position. They made a subtle beep that could be turned off if necessary. You would have no way of knowing someone was trying to contact you, but if you were hiding, it was imperative to be able to maintain silence.

  The five of us would travel together until about five km from the base, at which point Dilsoz and Hedar would go north and Erzo and Zerzan south while Blue and I continued straight west.

  The two Kurdish teams would circle around and observe the compound from the north and south. The main entrance lay on the far side of the compound, to the west.

  We would try to discover where Mujada was being held from a safe distance, but if that was not possible, then we would take up position, a team in each direction, while Zerzan walked into the camp to trade herself for Mujada.

  Once Mujada was revealed, we would attack.

  Because the compound was so isolated, it did not have cement walls, just fencing with barbwire at the top. We had bolt cutters. All of us carried knives and the plan was to stay quiet for as long as possible. If we could sneak in, grab Mujada, and sneak out, that would be ideal ... sort of.

  A part of me, a large part, wanted to destroy them all. To kill every asshole living at that compound. And to make sure they knew it was me before they died. To make sure that their final emotion was dread at their journey to hell. I'd almost be willing to believe in such a place if I could send some of these dickholes to it.

  Besides the not-killing-them-all part, the plan was right up my alley. I was used to more support and better equipment, as well as Dan in my ear, but I felt excited at the impending attack.

  The three women I'd met at the shelter stayed at the forefront of my mind; their shrouded bodies a reminder of the freedoms that I enjoyed even as a fugitive.

  My face and name were hunted but at least I knew myself and wasn't afraid of my own family. The memory of my loving and kind brother gave me strength, even if his death caused me incredible pain. While my mother and I no longer spoke and disagreed strongly on reality, she'd never tried to physically hurt me.

  However, it was easy to imagine the circumstances those women had fled from because I'd known so many women who'd escaped abusive situations. But all of them had found their way to Joyful Justice, and therefore had gone from being victims to fighters.

  My friend, Tanya, who'd left Moldova looking for a better life in America, was forced to become a sex slave. When given the opportunity to escape, she'd taken it. Tanya was now one of our fiercest fighters.

  Unlike the women I'd met in that house, Tanya was never forced to cover herself: She was forced to expose her skin, to allow men to touch her. And in exchange, she wasn't killed—only beaten.

  Those burkas, the coverings meant to keep those women safe, had not kept men at bay. Worse than strangers, their own family, the men responsible for their safety, their everything, had used them like they were blowup dolls, not even offering the same respect they'd offer livestock.

  Keeping them faceless and formless made them easier to dehumanize and abuse.

  While intellectually I could understand that systematic abuse broke down a person's psyche and kept them imprisoned, my gut couldn't understand how women let this keep happening. There were more of us than them! Fifty-one percent of the population is female and yet even in the most equal societies, women are not equal.

  The world is designed for men even in the simplest ways, like in the public bathroom where there is no place to put a child. The world is designed for women to be at home, covered in cloth, taking care of their babies, accepting any abuse that is forced upon them. Even in western society, we have not changed that basic design.

  As we rumbled through the forest in that old Toyota pickup truck, rage that started as a simmer was growing into a boil. The injustice in the world had always pissed me off, but as my mind deteriorated, it became harder to control. The starkness of those women covered from head to toe made it crystal clear to me that nowhere were women truly free.

  Looking at Zerzan, her gaze on the road as she navigated over the rough path, I marveled at her strength and determination. She grew up in a society where men and women were at least attempting to be equal. She was fighting to keep that alive for herself and future generations. Mary had brought me here to figure out how to bring more women into this cause. To help create more women like Zerzan: hard, tough, and brave killers. As I thought about that fifty-one percent of the planet that remains subservient to the smaller half, I felt a
note of hopelessness at the edge of my rage.

  How could we change this? How would it be possible to wake women up to their power?

  Joyful Justice used social media, including YouTube videos, to great effect. We were like ISIS in that respect. Almost every mission we ran was recorded, with the people who carried out the mission providing YouTube testimonials. The same people who had brought the problem to Joyful Justice’s attention.

  Tanya had created the first video that went viral. After she worked with Joyful Justice to free herself and the other women being held captive with her in Miami, she burned down the clubs they'd been forced to work in. In her video, Tanya stood a short distance from a low-slung building engulfed in flames. She wore a strapless, sequined dress, her thick mascara smudged around her eyes, looking like war paint. She stared into the camera, her blue-green eyes vibrant, her voice steady and strong, as she warned other evil-doers what would happen to them.

  Last I'd heard, that video had over seventy million views. Tanya was on Interpol’s and America's most wanted lists because of that video. All she did was kill one scumbag and destroy a shit ton of property. It was the video, encouraging others to stand up, that had been so frightening to authorities. Inciting violence. Inciting revolution.

  Over the course of history, there have been successful revolutions with little bloodshed. Was it possible that women rising up to stand side-by-side with men could be one of them? I doubted it.

  Zerzan navigated off the road and into the trees. The women and Blue jumped out of the bed of the truck. Zerzan and I joined them. We all shouldered our large packs, bulging with food, water, and weapons.

  My ankle felt steady as we began our hike, single file, Zerzan leading, Blue and I bringing up the rear.

  The weight of the pack held my shoulders in place as I leaned forward, trudging up the steep incline. Blue occasionally tapped his nose against my waist as a reminder that he was there.