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He’d been accepted by the people there with surprising speed. His killing of multiple Russians combined with their desperation made him an unofficial member of the family. It was something that most Westerners would never know about the Arabs. In many ways they could be the warmest people in the world. The problem was that the line between sitting around a campfire telling jokes and getting decapitated around that same fire could be pretty thin.
The dirt road steepened and Rapp’s fifteen-year-old guide pushed the old bike a little harder, trying to maintain its momentum despite the weight of its two passengers. The tire tread was in even worse shape than the motor and they finally bogged down in a section ofloose gravel bordered by trees. The kid at the throttle seemed like the type who would spend an hour trying to free it to avoid a five-minute walk, so Rapp swung a leg over the back and dismounted.
“How much farther, Akhil?” he shouted over the shriek of the gunning engine.
“Not much.” He shut down the bike with a deep frown. “Maybe a kilometer?”
“Why don’t we just cover the rest on foot?”
Despite his youth, he didn’t seem particularly excited about the prospect, but finally came around to the inevitability of it. After stashing the bike in the woods, they started up the path at a more casual pace than Rapp would have liked. Better not to push. While his relationship with the locals had gotten off to a good start, it was still precarious.
“He’s lived up here for almost a year now,” the kid explained. “He moved into a building that has been abandoned for as long as anyone can remember. But he’s done very well despite…” His voice trailed off for a moment. “His problems.”
“Speaking of that. When we get close, I want you to hang back and let me take the lead.”
Akhil, apparently unimpressed with the suggestion, ran forward kicking a rock as though it were a soccer ball.
“Why?”
“Because people tell me that the man we’re going to see can be dangerous.”
“To you!” he exclaimed, deftly flicking the rock in the air and juggling it on his knees. “But he’s my uncle. My father’s brother. He likes me very much.”
“Your uncle?”
“Of course! But they don’t want him with us anymore. People say he’s evil. That he died and came back. But that’s stupid.”
“Is it?”
“The elders believe these things from the old days. My uncle went through a great ordeal and was harmed by it. He was held bythe Russians for a very long time. They did terrible things. And then they tried to kill him, but he survived. How can anyone expect that he would not have problems after this? Maybe brain damage. Or maybe just emotional issues, yes? These are very common. Someday I want to be a doctor and help people like him. Like all the people who have been harmed by the war both in their bodies and minds. Do you think that’s possible? That I could become a person with an education? A doctor?”
“I wouldn’t bet against you,” Rapp said honestly.
The boy unleashed a broad grin. “My mother says the same. But many of the men in my village can’t see farther than its edges. It’s why they sent me here. I’m the one who takes care of my uncle.”
“Takes care of him?”
“He’s an engineer, did you know that? Before the war and the Russians. He went to university like I will one day. But then he fought against the government and was put in prison. Then the Russians took him. But he escaped with his life and now he lives here. But it’s hard alone, so I bring him things he needs sometimes. Food. Clothes. Medicine when it can be found. Sometimes a little money, but I don’t think he has anywhere to spend it. I think he might feed it to his goats, but I haven’t told anybody. Nobody but you!”
The hike devolved into a forty-five-minute bushwhack, with a conversation so depressing that Rapp’s responses became mere grunts. He’d spent a lot of time with war zone kids over the years and they tended to fall into two categories. The first were the ones who had fallen into the same pit of rage that he himself had toppled into in his youth. Their reaction to the horrors they’d seen was to pick a side and cling to it until death. They never so much as considered the possibility of peace—or even understood the concept beyond the definition printed in a dictionary they’d never looked at. What they wanted was the power to inflict the same suffering on their enemies that they themselves had endured.
And then there were the ones like Akhil. They clung with all the same intensity, but to hope. No matter how bad it got, they never lost their innocence. Their ability to laugh. Their passion for making plans for a future that would probably never exist for them. They were the ones Rapp had fought for his entire career. And they were the ones that made him wonder if he’d done anything more than prolong their suffering.
Out of the corner of his eye, Rapp saw movement and immediately grabbed the kid and yanked him back. The rock was aimed a bit high, sailing over them and clattering through the group of boulders.
“Nephew! Run! Escape!”
The man was invisible in the trees, but Rapp was able to pinpoint his rough location by the emergence of another rock.
“No!” the boy shouted, stepping in front of Rapp and throwing his arms out protectively. “This is Mohammed! He’s a friend! He just wants to talk to you.”
“He’s Russian! A spy! He came to take me back!”
“No, Uncle. He’s from Iraq. The Russians took him. But he escaped. Like you did.”
“They killed him? Allah brought him back from the dead?”
Akhil shot Rapp an apologetic glance that suggested this was a typical discourse.
