The Girl With The Gun (Sydney Rye Book 8) Read online

  I could see women blushing and turning to each other, whispering. I remembered my own reaction to Declan when I wasn't much older than the soldiers around us. It had been almost five years since Declan and I met. The transformation I'd undergone was shocking. It made me unrecognizable to the people in the room despite my picture hanging above their heads during every meal. Declan had hardly changed. The years had only added to his confidence.

  I picked up a tray and felt Declan slide in beside me.

  "Good morning."

  "Morning."

  "How'd you sleep?"

  I glanced up at Declan and smiled. "Just fine. How about you?"

  "Just fine."

  We filled our trays with eggs and toast. I even got a little cup of oatmeal sprinkled with dates and honey.

  Mary came in as we were finding a table and waved at us before joining the line for food.

  "This is delicious," Declan said.

  An explosion outside shook the building, raining dust down on us. Declan and I jumped to our feet. Blue pressed against my left leg. Another explosion sounded, this one closer. The soldiers abandoned their breakfast and were filing out quickly.

  Mary joined us. "I don't think that was inside the walls."

  "I think it was outside, but that doesn't mean it won't be inside soon." Declan responded.

  I started for the door; Declan and Mary followed. Blue tapped my hip, his ears swiveling, nostrils flaring.

  There was another boom. The abandoned plates rattled on the tables. "That one sounds closer," Mary said. I didn't waste time talking. "Where are you going?"

  I pushed through the door, breaking into a jog.

  Black smoke billowed on the other side of the main gate. The rat-tat of gunfire sounded.

  "Where is Mujada?" Declan asked as he followed my pace.

  I ran across the road and pushed into the barracks building. Unlocking my bedroom door, I strode the short distance to the bed, reaching underneath and pulling out the machine gun.

  "Where did you get that?" Mary asked.

  "Does it matter? Aren't you glad I have it?"

  "Depends on how you plan to use it."

  I smiled, "Don't worry. I'm not going to kill you. At least not today."

  "Comforting," Mary said.

  "You want one?"

  They both nodded. I retrieved my duffel bag and pulled out my lock pick set. "Let's go get some."

  Mary and Declan followed me out of the barracks and to the armory. Soldiers were running toward the entrance in formation. Their boots pounded on the ground, dust rising up behind them.

  As we arrived at the armory, I handed my weapon to Declan. He smiled and turned his back to cover me while I dropped to my knees, pulled out the lock picking kit and went to work.

  "Mujada!" I heard Mary yell.

  I glanced over my shoulder. Mujada was running toward us, rifle in hand.

  Returning my attention to the lock, I continued my ministrations. I'd never been a great lock pick, but with time and patience, I could get most doors open.

  Another explosion sounded and the ground shook. My fingers slipped and I dropped one of my picks.

  Mujada was speaking quickly in a mix of Kurdish and English to Mary who was asking her to slow down. Mujada's voice became more frustrated. I heard Blue growl as Mujada's hand clamped onto my shoulder. "Go now,” she said.

  "We need more weapons."

  She handed her keys to Mary and grabbed my arm, pulling me onto my feet. Blue let out another warning growl. I resisted as she began to pull me down the road toward the back of the camp. "Hey!" I yelled planting my feet and trying to yank free from her.

  Her fingers dug into my arm. Blue barked again, looking at me for guidance. Should I use him or follow her?

  Mary had opened up the armory and was inside. Declan looked back and forth between the open doorway and Mujada and me. "Now!" Mujada yanked me again, her gaze focused on the smoke floating down the street. The sound of gunfire was constant.

  "Declan, give me my rifle!"

  He hesitated only a moment before closing the space between us and passing it to me. Mujada kept her iron grip on my arm and continued to pull me. "Just a minute." I broke free from her but didn't make it far. The butt of Mujada's gun hit me on the temple. Searing pain was followed by total darkness.

  ***

  Consciousness returned with the sway and buck of a vehicle underneath me. I reached up to touch my temple and groaned. Blue licked my face and I blinked my eyes open.

  It was dark; I was lying on metal. It was hot and the air stank of oil and gunpowder. Dark green canvas covered metal arches above me and benches lined the space. Sunlight shot through the holes where string tied the canvas to the struts. I realized I was in a troop transport vehicle.

  But it was just me and Blue. I rolled onto my side and then pushed up on to all fours. I'm going to puke. Several deep breaths helped to contain my nausea.

  Another fucking concussion. How many had I had now? As many as a football player? I almost laughed out loud. More brain damage—just what I needed.

  Less than a year earlier, I was doused with a powerful hallucinogen, Datura. After wandering in the Everglades for days, with Blue keeping me alive, I spent weeks in a pliable state, completely divorced from myself, in a hospital. I had no memories from the experience. But a lot of residual trauma.

  There'd been a storm while Blue and I were in the wild. The thunder and lighting, the wind and the rain, now seeped into my everyday life, wreaking havoc and threatening to undo me. But I wasn't giving up yet.

  I grabbed onto one of the benches and hauled myself onto it, leaning against one of the metal struts supporting the canvas. Blue sat next to me, resting his weight against my left leg and placing his head across my knees.

  I ran my hands down his flanks and over his legs, searching for injuries. He appeared to be unharmed.

  I closed my eyes and took several deep breaths, concentrating on stopping the spinning sensation that was making me feel like I was stuck in an ocean wave. The low pulsating beat of thunder rose and fell with my lungs.

  Sliding down the bench toward the back of the truck, I began to work on one of the corners of the canvas with fingers that trembled.

  The cord was nylon and coated in a protective layer of plastic. I could not loosen it, so I pressed my eye up against one of the eyelets and tried to see out.

  I caught flashes of dark-green pine forest and the red, muddy tracks of a road. My effort had revived the raging headache, so I sat back and closed my eyes.

  Should I jump out? I had no idea where I was, no supplies and no weapons. Was it possible that the driver of this transport vehicle was friendly? I couldn't decide.

  My instincts told me to trust Mujada. Blue had seemed to like her. So being kidnapped by her was confusing and not just because my head was spinning.

  From the beginning, she'd appeared concerned with my safety, but was that just because she needed me alive for whatever this journey was? Or were Mary and Declan a threat to me in a way I had not yet recognized?

  I decided to wait out the drive, figuring that if nothing else, when we arrived at our destination, I had a chance of obtaining a weapon and stealing a ride.

  Blue whined softly and I opened my eyes. He scooted closer to me, pressing against my legs. In the darkness, his eyes reflected green.

  "Why would you let them put us in here?"

  No response.

  The fact that Blue appeared uninjured made me think that it was possible that Mujada's intentions were pure.

  I closed my eyes again and rested my head against the canvas, letting the bounce of the road lull me back into an uneasy sleep.

  Blue woke me by licking my hand and my eyes shot open as we rolled to a stop.

  "Showtime."

  My legs were unsteady, but not unusable. I stood, knees bent, facing the back of the vehicle, waiting for our escort to arrive.

  The nylon cord began to unravel, splitting the
back of the canvas. Light came in slowly, creeping across the floor, touching the tip of my running shoes, slanting over the laces and up my ankles.

  I braced myself, digging my toes in, my left leg forward, right back, ready to run and kick the shit out of whoever was on the other side of that canvas.

  I blinked trying to adjust to the bright light. I could see a waist and chest. The person was wearing fatigues, the same ones all the women at the base camp had worn.

  I guessed it was Mujada.

  When she looked into the darkened space and saw us standing there, Blue's hackles raised and my hands up, both of us ready for a fight, Mujada held up her own palms and said, "Sorry."

  "Sorry for what exactly?"

  She frowned and I cursed the language barrier between us. "Is Sazan here?" I asked.

  Mujada shook her head. Slowly lowering her hands she reached into a pant pocket. Blue growled a low warning as my body tensed.

  She pulled out a small, fat, battered book. The cover was red and the title was white. She held it up so that I could read: Kurdish/English Dictionary.

  "I wonder if kidnapping is in there."

  Mujada thumbed through until she found the page she wanted.

  "Danger for you."

  "What kind of danger?"

  Mujada thumbed some more, "I must protect you."

  "Why?"

  "The Tigress wants to meet you."

  Chapter Five

  I lowered my fists, the tension fading from my limbs, replaced by nausea. Mujada returned the book to her pocket and gestured for me to come out of the back of the truck.

  Mujada's arm steadied me as I climbed down.

  We were at the end of a dirt road. Tall pine trees surrounded us, their rich scent filling the air. The sky was blue with small, puffy, white clouds drifting across it. The sun was behind the trees and I guessed that it was about three o'clock.

  Mujada led us to the front seat and pulled out two automatic rifles, passing one to me. I recognized them as the ones we'd lifted from the armory together.

  The rifle gave me a sense of control and helped to ease the dizziness.

  Mujada reached into the front seat and pulled out a backpack, handing it to me. I opened it up and found two water bottles and a couple of U.S. government-issued Meals Ready To Eat (MRE’s).

  Mujada pulled out another pack for herself and closed the door. She reached into her bag and showed me a bowl for Blue and his bag of kibble.

  She hadn't forgotten him.

  Mujada led the way, going around the truck, heading into the trees. I put the backpack over my shoulders and followed.

  What had happened to Mary and Declan? Did Mujada hurt them?

  I had never faced Mary in a physical fight, but Declan and I had squared off and I knew that he was a formidable opponent. And that was when he was up against somebody he cared about. I imagined he was incredibly dangerous when dealing with people he had no emotional connection to.

  Mujada pushed back branches of underbrush and ducked under limbs, moving through the forest as if she were following a trail, but it all looked the same to me.

  We walked for about an hour and the sun drifted lower, making the shadows in the forests longer, closer together, leaving less light for us to navigate by. Mujada stopped and pulled a bottle of water from her pack, drinking deeply from it.

  I did the same, pouring some for Blue as well.

  Blue lapped at the water, spilling it over the sides, darkening the dried pine needles at our feet. Mujada raised her fingers to her lips, asking if I was hungry.

  The nausea had abated as we walked, so I nodded, immediately regretting the gesture, as pain and the rumble of thunder ricocheted through my head. Mujada pulled out a blanket; it was the same slate wool as the one that had been on my bed back at the camp, and laid it down, gesturing for me to sit.

  It reminded me of the tea parties my brother, James, and I had hosted when we were children. Sitting in our backyard, the crab grass covered with the blanket from our parent's bed, we stuck out our pinkies and used English accents as we pretended to sip tea from plastic cups. Our honored guests, stuffed animals and transformers, formed a circle around us.

  Mujada pulled out one of the ready-to-eat meals and passed it to me.

  I took it and stared down at the package, my eyes stinging with tears.

  How long ago did James and I play in that backyard? Twenty years ago? That was about right. The memory felt ancient and fresh: time a wavering line, folding onto itself, and stretching to infinite.

  Blue sat behind me and leaned his body against my back. I rubbed his hind leg.

  The thunder faded as I opened the MRE. It was chicken and rice. There was even a small packet of Tabasco sauce. The food was salty but filling and I ate it quickly, my appetite strong.

  "The food for Blue."

  Blue stood, ears and tail high.

  Mujada cocked her head at me. I made the same fingers to mouth eating motion she'd used and pointed to Blue. She smiled and nodded before pulling out his kibble and dumping some into his empty water bowl.

  Blue looked at me and I nodded, sending new peals of thunder through my brain and fissures of lighting radiating at the edge of my vision.

  Blue crunched on the kibble, looking up between bites, scanning the forest around us, his ears twitching back and forth.

  A bird landed on the tree limb above us and let out a short burst of song before taking flight, the branch shaking slightly from its exit. The forest was thick, wild, and healthy. It seemed far away from any battlefield.

  Our meal finished, Mujada repacked the blanket and our empty MRE containers. Before we started on our trek, Mujada rearranged the pine needles, hiding all signs that two women and a dog had picnicked there.

  We continued walking, stopping about every hour to drink water and sit in companionable silence. Jogging sneakers were not the right gear for this trek. The rocks and twigs that littered the forest floor proved difficult to navigate in the unsupportive footwear. My legs ached from the climb and my head continued to throb.

  As the sun set, it left the sky pale blue, the horizon streaked with red and purple and pink.

  Mujada stopped in a small clearing and put her hands together in the prayer position, leaned her cheek against them, and closed her eyes. This was where we'd sleep.

  I peered into the shadows, hoping to see a lean-to or some kind of structure, but there was nothing. Just the ground covered in pine needles and crisscrossed with tree roots.

  We ate another MRE as darkness fell.

  Mujada had blankets for both of us. I used mine like a taco, lying on one side and pulling the other over myself. Blue settled next to me, our backs lined up, each covering one side of our joint body.

  The forest was quieter at night. Unlike the jungle of Costa Rica where the bugs and the birds seemed to become energized and excited by the darkness, here the forest slept as well.

  Mujada lay across from me, her gun within arm’s reach, just like mine. She didn't take down her hair or even loosen the laces of her boots. This was a woman who was ready. But ready for what?

  Blue woke me with a wet nose to my ear. Dew coated my blanket, a layer of crystals on the dull, gray wool. Mujada continued to sleep, cradling her gun as other women would their child.

  I sat up and stretched. Blue moved off to do his morning business. Did Mujada have coffee? I pulled out water and drank deeply.

  The sky was dusty blue and birds sang. Pale-yellow sunlight filtered through the trees. I took a deep breath: a mix of pine and the sweetness of decay. It was beautiful. A surge of gratitude rumbled through me, that Blue and I were alive and in this place, safe in this moment.

  When did I learn that? To be grateful?

  Blue returned to my side and rolled onto his back. I scratched his chest.

  Mujada's face was relaxed in sleep. Without the scowl of concentration wrinkling her brow, she looked young. Mujada was taller and broader than me, but couldn't be much mo
re than twenty-one.

  Strands of hair had escaped her tight bun and the morning moisture curled the wisps, creating a halo around her face.

  Her eyelids fluttered, tension pulled her mouth into a frown, and her fingers tightened on the rifle. A low, keening sound emanated from her chest. It reminded me of a puppy, a lost, young thing.

  Mujada’s eyes popped open and she sat up quickly, her gaze unfocused, as if she was seeing the dream in front of her instead of the forest. She sucked in a shuddering breath and blinked, her eyes finding me and Blue, understanding blooming in her gaze; she was here, not there.

  I wanted to comfort her but sensed that my sympathy was not welcome. Fear and loneliness are badges of courage, the burdens that warriors must carry.

  Mujada turned away from me and pushed her blankets to the side, grabbing for her pack.

  It was another full day of hiking before we reached our destination.

  We arrived at dinnertime. Blue's nose pulsed at the scent of cooking food a mile before I picked up the smell. There were about twenty-five women sitting in a grassy field at the top of a hill. Large boulders were scattered around the open space. Women lounged against them and used them as tables.

  The tall pines rose up around the tranquil meadow. The sky above was turning royal blue. As we stepped into the clearing, the chatter of voices quieted and all attention turned to us, then shifted to one woman.

  She sat with three others on a rock at the center of the clearing, a plate cradled on her crossed legs. She was about my age with jet-black hair pulled back from her face. Her eyes were large and deep brown, framed by long lashes.

  The woman put her plate aside and stood, her lips a straight line, eyes examining me and then shifting to Blue, and finally to Mujada.

  Mujada nodded, a small tip of her chin. The woman approached and Blue's hackles rose.

  There was scarring on the woman's neck—four, thick, white lines rose from her flesh—it looked like a giant paw had clawed at her throat.

  I recognized her from the posters in the dining hall; this was the Tigress.