Barry stared at the little girl that was speaking to him. Her long curls tickled his face as she leaned over him. He turned away. as a strand of hair tickled his nose. As soon as he did, he felt little hands and feet clambering over his hip.
“I’m sca’ wid, Daddy,” the sweet voice whined; though Barry knew she wasn’t scared.
She flipped over him and nuzzled her head under his scratchy beard. Barry wrapped his arm over her and then grunted, as she curled her knees in and jabbed his gut.
“Sawee, Daddy.”
“Don’t apologize, baby. Daddy’s fine,” he assured her, pulling her closer.
Barry gently shook his head, trying to push her hair away from his ticklish nose. She smelled like bubblegum. That was her favorite scent of shampoo. It had been, since the day she asked him if he liked it and he wrinkled his nose and acted like it burned his nose. She giggled and giggled. For days after that, she would run up to him and wag that shampoo bottle in his face. He would put on the same charade and she would scamper off, tickled to death.
He closed his eyes, with the scent of her bubblegum hair. He heard yelling coming from the living room. He lifted his head and cocked it toward the door.
“Go to the trailer!”
That made no sense to Barry. He didn’t have a trailer. The thought fled from his consciousness. His mind was pulled back to the soft strands of hair dragging across his face. He smiled at the familiar bubblegum aroma. He took a slow pull of air through his nose, so sweet was the metallic scent of blood…
Blood?
Barry opened his eyes and looked down his chest at his daughter. She looked back up at him and giggled. He smiled back and ran his hand through her copper hair. He gently scratched around her head, careful not to tangle or pull her delicate hairs.
“You need to get to the trailer,” a voice screamed. “You need to get that door open.”
Barry shifted the girl to one side so he could slide out of the bed.
“Baby girl, Daddy’s gonna go see what all this shouting is about. I’ll be right…”
“GET UP. NOW.”
Barry snapped his head around. The yelling was directly behind him, but nobody was there. He turned back toward the bed, to ask his daughter if she heard the voice. She was not there.
“Emma? Emma? Where did you go, Emmalynn?”
Barry reached down to look under the thick comforter, but a tremendous wave of pain assaulted his head. He clenched his eyes tight against the ravaging pain.
“You have to get to the tailor.”
Barry forced his eyes open to look at the speaker, but the light was too bright and it caused a fresh wave of head-splitting agony.
“HURRY! The trailer.”
He started to raise his arm to shield his eyes from the light, but his shoulder spasmed from the effort. Reflexively, he let his arm drop back down. He squinted at his arm and saw scrapes and cuts all over it. His knuckles were skinned, as was his elbow.
Barry became more awake and that brought awareness. He didn’t want to leave her, again, but he understood it was just a dream. His daughter wasn’t there…she hadn’t been for a while. He started to remember pieces of what happened. There was something urgent. There was a survivor.
He tried to collect his thoughts, but his whole body was in pain. His knees ached, but they moved fine. He gritted his teeth and pushed through the pain of raising himself from the ground.
“You!”
Barry slowly turned toward the voice. It was still so bright that he couldn’t focus on the speaker. The voice was female and the form appeared female, but Barry could not discern more than that.
“I can’t keep him busy much longer,” the woman pleaded. “You have to get the boy from the trailer.
The boy!
The day’s events flooded back into Barry’s mind. He started to question the speaker but decided it wasn’t the most pressing issue.
Barry ran. Every step was jarring to his spine, but he kept running. He reached the trailer and looked back toward the female speaker.
The kidnapper had thrown a punch, but it appeared to have missed the mark. As a spectator, the amazing speed of the kidnapper's movements was impossible. Barry was in awe of the fighting pair. She was as fast as the kidnapper; hopefully, faster.
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The kidnapper leaped and threw a flying overhand punch. The woman flipped backward, landing a small blow with one of her spinning feet. The kick knocked the man’s head backward. He lowered his head. He still wore his seemingly permanent grin, except it was now split into two halves. The kidnapper looked sinister as he grinned. Blood ran from over his newly exposed teeth and pooled at the edges of his lips. He showed no signs of pain.
The kidnapper threw his head back and howled with laughter. He clapped his hands as he lowered his head. Then he pointed at the woman.
“You must be a Rhahka’Ven,” he accused.
The woman did not respond…to him.
“Stop gawking, and get the boy.” She ordered Barry.
Barry turned and ran toward the rear of the trailer.
“Have to be.” The kidnapper reiterated. “A Penth’Thoora would have already killed me.”
Again, the woman did not answer the man.
The kidnapper wagged his finger and made a clicking noise, with his mouth.
“You should have stayed out of it, bitch.”
Barry rounded the rear of the truck and looked at the door. His heart sank as he saw the padlock looped through the door lever. He grabbed the lock and tugged. It was hooked, but not locked. He was startled as something heavy slammed into the side of the trailer. The trailer rocked from the impact.
“Shit!” Barry exclaimed.
He grabbed the lever and unlatched the trailer door. Barry could hear the grunts of the kidnapper and the scraping of rapid footsteps on the gravel. The fight had come to the trailer. Barry swung the door wide and light flooded into the trailer. He gagged. His nostrils were assaulted by the mixture of piss, shit, and sweat.
A macabre chorus of pleading voices rose as the door opened. The sight of the people shackled to the sides of the trailer disturbed Barry more than Jimmy’s gruesome death. He spotted a solitary form, on the floor. It was the survivor that he saw from the bus. He was unconscious, but not secured to anything. Barry winced, as he used his knee to climb into the trailer. The boy was breathing. Men and women cried for him to release them. A child’s voice found its way through the tumult of begging voices.
Barry scanned for the child and realized there was more than one. His eyes landed on a small blond girl with her hair in a double braid. The right side of her face looked like an overly ripe plum; black and purple. She wore a pair of panda bear pajamas. They were supposed to be white, but they were stained with days-old urine and long-dried vomit crusted the front of her shirt.
She sat with her back against the padded wall of the trailer. Her legs were spread wide and straight out in front of her. Barry walked toward her.
The two kids on her sides shrank from Barry, as he approached. The little girl did not move. She kept looking straight at Barry. Barry stepped to her but he cast a shadow over her form.
“It’s ok, kids,” Barry assured the two nearest children. “I’m here to help.”
Barry put a hand on each cowering child’s shoulder and gave a reassuring squeeze. Neither child seemed to be comforted. Barry squatted before the little girl and angled his body to let the light around him.
Her face became visible. Barry looked into her gray eyes, and he collapsed to his knees. She wasn’t breathing and her eyes were glazed and unfocused. Barry’s chest caught and his chin quivered. Tears trickled down his cheek as he reached out and closed the little girl's eyes. Barry began to sob.
The bombs, watching Jimmy die, the kidnappers. Barry’s mind could not take the sheer tragedy of it all. Fear. Confusion. Frustration. Pain. The emotions imploded before erupting as anger. He began tugging on the chains; violently, savagely. He would yank on a chain and growl in frustration when he could not break it. He tugged on chains and became more angry with each failed attempt to release the poor soul trapped by them. After he tried to loosen the last one, he punched the padded wall and screamed.
The woman appeared at the rear of the trailer and made a quick inspection of the scene before she danced away to avoid another attack from the kidnapper. Both fighters vanished from view, but Barry could still hear the guttural growls coming from the kidnapper.
The trailer shook and Barry heard a groan. He feared the worst, for the woman, but she suddenly appeared at the door again. She scanned the trailer, once more, and then looked at Barry.
“Grab the boy. Get to your friends.”
“What about the…”
“I can’t beat him. I’m a distraction. We can’t free them.”
“I’m not lea…” Barry started.
“Grab the boy, and get to your two friends.”
The people in chains heard her words and the pleas and cries became screams. They were given hope, just to have it ripped away. Their anguish pierced Barry’s soul. He looked back at the captives, then to the woman. His face scrunched as he tried to keep himself from breaking into sobs, again. He nodded to the woman and walked over to the boy.
A stiffening back meant Barry had to spread his legs wide, just to be able to bend low enough to grab the boy. Despite his battered condition, Barry tugged the boy up and slung him over his shoulder. Barry stepped to the door and realized he couldn’t hop down. It was over three feet to the ground, and he knew his knees would buckle under the load.
Leaning his empty shoulder against the wall, he slid to the floor and lowered his legs out the door. He grabbed two handfuls of the boy's shirt and let him slide off his shoulder and down his chest.
“Fucking Christ!” The words were startled from him as the woman suddenly appeared before him and casually lifted the boy from Barry.
“Move. NOW!” She barked the order while she positioned the boy. She cradled him across both arms; and pulled him against her chest. It looked ridiculous. She was barely five feet tall. The boy’s feet nearly dragged the ground, and he was twice her size. Barry was astonished that she held the load so casually. He wondered how she didn’t pitch forward under the weight.
Barry scooted out of the trailer and lowered his feet. The begging and pleading had shifted to mostly angry shouting and hate-fueled curses. Barry wouldn’t look in the trailer again. He felt like a piece of shit.
“Hurry,” she urged, as she stepped around the trailer.
By the time Barry rounded the corner, she was at a full sprint. Despite the weight of the boy, the woman sped away. Barry was not fast, but faster than anybody would expect. Even so, he had no chance of catching up to her.
Who the fuck are these people?
She headed for the fuel pumps. Barry could see Jaxon standing over Pump Guy. Doyle leaned against a pump.
The woman reached them in a few seconds. She softly rolled the boy on the ground and addressed Jaxon and Doyle.
“There is no time to question me. I led him away, but he will be back, soon. Take this boy and go south on Highway 48. After you cross over the last street, look for the fourth house. Right side of the road. It has a driveway that wraps around the back. There is a metal shop behind the house. I’ll meet you there.”
Jaxon looked for Doyle’s reaction. Doyle climbed to his feet and walked to the boy.
“You gonna help?” he asked Jaxon.
Jaxon hurried over and they each took one of the boy's arms.
“Good,” she said. “Don’t talk to anybody. Get to the shop and stay put. Stay out of sight.
Barry stumbled up, huffing and red-faced.
“I just heard the trailer door slam shut,” Barry warned the woman.
“STOP RUNNING FROM ME. YOU BITCH.”
The kidnapper growled as he stomped their way.
“Fill him in.” Was all she said, before she charged off, leaving Jaxon and Doyle to explain the plan to Barry.
Jaxon and Barry watched her as she raced away.
“We gotta get outta here,” Doyle reminded them.
“Damn right,” Barry agreed.
Jaxon and Doyle scurried toward the highway. Barry limped behind them. He frequently slowed to listen. He thought he heard a window shatter and stopped, but there was no other sound.
“Pick up the pace, slow poke.” Doyle taunted.