Path of Jen: Bloodborne (25 page)

Deep South shouted again at Jen, but she
didn’t respond.
“Lord, if you ever were going to help me, now is
the time."
He looked down at his legs and saw the right leg was
punctured by a sharp piece of the firewall that had curled back and
speared into his thigh.
“Great. Nothing comes easy."
He
pulled the latch and pushed against the door to open it. It creaked
but only opened an inch. He pushed harder and it creaked just a bit
more. A sudden burst of anger overtook him and he smashed his left
arm into the door. The door flew open and clattered to the ground
beside the damaged vehicle.

The pain in his leg was excruciating, but he
pushed himself to his left anyway. The twisted metal in his leg
tore at his muscles as he moved away from it. He slid out of the
open doorway and fell onto the pavement. He smelled gasoline and
remember the jugs in the back of the vehicle. It was a miracle that
they had not exploded when the IED went off. If they had, he and
Jen would certainly be dead. “Thank you God,” he said as he pushed
himself up to his feet. He kept his weight on his good leg and
removed his shirt to wrap the other.
“That’ll have to do for a
few minutes,”
he thought. His leg was bleeding, but it wasn’t
gushing out.

Deep South hobbled to the other side of the
SUV and jerked on the door handle. It didn’t budge. At the same
time he smelled acrid smoke. It began billowing from under the car
and filling up the interior. “”Jen!" Grasping the door handle and
the open window frame, Deep South hunched down and set his feet
wide apart. “One more time God,” he prayed. “Help this girl. She
doesn't deserve this." The big soldier threw all of his strength
and body weight into tearing the door away. The warped steel was
too strong and it held fast.

The smoke was getting thicker in the car, and
he saw flames coming up through the hole in the center of the
vehicle. Deep South knew it was nearly too late. If the smoke and
heat didn’t kill her, the gas cans in the back would explode any
second, not to mention the SUV’s own fuel tank. Growling with
anger, and motivated by fear Deep South shouted, “Come on God! Let
me save her, damn it!" He took hold of the door frame again and
pulled against it with all of his might and rage. He felt it slowly
give, and he yelled in frustration and pain, pulling even harder.
Little by little, and then all at once, the door pulled free and
Jen fell out onto the ground. Deep South took her by the ankles,
the only place he could be sure to hold onto her without touching
her blood, and drug her away from the burning vehicle.

Once Jen was safely away, he dashed back and
tried to salvage at least one of the rifles. He saw the buttstock
of one rifle near the passenger door and yanked it free of the
smoke and flames. It was Jen’s AK47. He limped back over to where
she lay near the grass and fell down next to her. He lay his head
back and felt the world start to spin.
“Uh oh,”
was his last
conscious thought before the pain and fatigue overtook him and he
passed out.

Deep South woke up on the back of a cart. It
was evening and the cart was bumping and bouncing along at a
leisurely pace behind the swaying rear end of a gray donkey. He
lifted his head and saw a smiling boy, about ten years old, sitting
on an overturned milk crate and driving the cart. The cart was a
conglomeration of scavenged boards anchored to an old truck axle
and harnessed to a scrawny old donkey. Jen was sitting up next to
Deep South with her feet dangling off the back of the cart. She
smiled at him, seemingly glad that he was awake. She held her AK47
across her lap, and wore some torn cloth around her head as a
hijab. He gave her a wink and closed his eyes again.

“How did you get me onto the cart?” he asked
without opening his eyes. He imagined her and the boy, working
together to drag him onto the cart, and his eyes snapped open. He
started to sit up.

“Relax cowboy,” she said with a laugh.
“You’re safe. I didn’t touch you." Her gaze lingered on his face
and her eyes softened.

“Must of been hard for you,” he joked. “Most
ladies can’t keep their hands off of me.”

Jen’s eyes narrowed and she gave him a
disapproving look. Then she cracked a smile and looked away.

“Still got it,” he said with a laugh. The boy
driving the cart also laughed, but Deep South was pretty sure he
had no idea what they were saying. “Any idea where this little
vagabond is taking us?” he asked Jen.

“Ahmed is taking us to his father’s house. He
said they have clothes and clean water. According to him, his
family will be happy to help us get on our feet again." She looked
at Deep South with a smile and said, “He thinks you’re some kind of
superhero. He couldn’t stop talking about how cool American
soldiers were." The smile left her face and Jen looked down at her
lap. She took a breath and said, “Dustin, I saw the car. I know you
pulled me free." Looking him in the eye, she said, “Thank you.”

Deep South shrugged and said, “Wasn’t me
darlin’. Not really anyway. That was all God. I just did what he
helped me to do."

Jen stared at him with a strange look on her
face.
“Is he for real?”
she wondered.
“Could he actually
be a Christian? Out here, across the world, in the heart of
Islam?"
She closed her eyes.
“Thank you dear Lord."
A
tear escaped her eyelids and trailed down her face. She sniffed and
wiped it away.

“Wake me up when we get there,” he said. He
was suddenly feeling incredibly tired, and the constant rocking and
gentle bumping of the cart was lulling him to sleep.

Fouzia answered the phone in the kitchen and
instantly recognized Mahmoud’s voice. “Najid!” she shouted up the
stairs. “Your brother is on the phone!" She pulled a chair out at
the kitchen table and sat down with the phone. “How are you
Mahmoud? Is Fatima well?” she asked.

“Yes, yes, of course,” he said. “I have news,
Fouzia. The taxi driver led the inspector to arrest many of the
thugs and criminals who hurt young women in our country. Is Najid
with you? I’d like my brother to hear this.”

Najid sat at the table near Fouzia and kissed
her cheek. “I am here brother,” he said. “What do you wish to
share?"

Mahmoud told them how the inspector arrested
the men who transported Jena to the border, thanks to testimony
from the taxi driver. The taxi driver was sentenced to twelve years
in prison for the two abductions they were able to prove, including
Jena’s. The other abduction was of a teenage girl from the airport
just a few days before Jena and her father arrived in Tehran. That
girl was finally located in a brothel and returned; although not
undamaged, to her family more than a year later.

Apparently, the taxi driver was working for
the crime syndicate to keep his ailing mother in a nursing home.
What was most appalling was that his own sister had been abducted
in a similar fashion when he was a teenager. He kept her necklace
in hopes that some day he would see her again. All the while he was
sending other children to oblivion and sentencing their families to
the same terrible fate of waiting and hoping for something that
would never happen.

Fouzia and Najid thanked Mahmoud for the
information, and wished him and Fatima their best. After saying
their goodbyes, Fouzia and her husband prayed together at the
table. As usual, they prayed for Jena, that she would come home
safely. Then they prayed for the other girl who was abducted and
returned. They prayed for her recovery and asked God to bring peace
to her family. Lastly, they prayed for the taxi driver. They prayed
his heart would be changed, and that the holy spirit would come to
him and make him a new man.

Najid took the phone and called their pastor.
For a month now, they attended the baptist church Sarah’s family
the Callahan’s belonged to. Najid and Fouzia were in regular
contact with the pastor and his wife, as well as several other
acquaintances from their bible study classes. As new believers,
they were overwhelmed by the love and support they were given
freely.

Sarah’s parents were shocked to the point of
shedding tears when the Amahdi’s attended for the first time. They
walked in quietly and sat in the back of the sanctuary, hoping to
be unnoticed, but that was not to be. Mrs. Callahan noticed them
and was so surprised and excited, she made their whole family
immediately pick up and move to the back to sit next to the
Amahdi’s. Fouzia and Najid were invited to lunch at the Callahan’s
after church and they shared their testimonies through many tears,
laughter, and hugs.

Sarah, who was slightly taller than Fouzia
now, and had stylishly cropped blond hair, was polite and seemed
truly grateful to see the Amahdi’s. She was glad to hear of their
conversion, but there was a certain sadness there too. She missed
her best friend. Fouzia held her face and looked her in the eyes
like she often did to her own daughter. “Sarah,” she said with
kindness and compassion. “Thank you for being a true friend to
Jena. Without your friendship, none of our family would be safe in
Christ. You are a true blessing to all of us." Fouzia wrapped her
arms around Sarah and hugged her tightly. She said, “Jena will come
home soon. I promise to call you as soon as I hear any news.”

Sarah nodded and cried silently on Fouzia’s
shoulder. “I miss her everyday,” she whispered.

“I know dear,” said Fouzia. “I know exactly
what you mean.”

Jen was in heaven. Cool water cascaded over
her body, washing away days of dirt and grime, dried blood and
salt. She picked up a bar of homemade soap and lathered her skin
and hair gently. The cuts and bruises she endured in the IED attack
were surprisingly minor, but they stung and made her wince when she
touched them. Even so, the pain and discomfort was nothing in
comparison to the luxury of fresh running water and the privacy to
enjoy it.

The boy brought them to a farm in the country
with many acres of well tended fields and large herds of goats and
sheep. Jen even saw a cow. The house was surprisingly modern, with
a walled in courtyard, two SUV’s in the drive, and a beautiful
granite accented kitchen. Ahmed’s father greeted them graciously,
and invited them to stay and rest. Ahmed’s mother immediately set
to preparing a meal for their guests, while Ahmed raced out to
complete his evening farm chores.

Jen was thankful to use the shower when it
was offered. As soon as she was finished rinsing the soap away, Jen
shut off the water. She didn’t want to waste the precious resource
or run their well dry. She stepped out and toweled off with a fine
cotton towel Ahmed’s mother had brought out just for her. There was
a pair of comfortable looking women’s jeans, underwear, and a
stylish drab green tunic and matching hijab laying out for her
where her dirty clothing had been. Jen sighed.
“How can these
people be so kind! Can I accept such kindness?"
She closed her
eyes and said, “Thank you Heavenly Father, for providing yet
again." She felt deep gratitude as she slipped into the clean
clothes.

She looked into the mirror and adjusted the
hijab. She thought of Dustin and wondered if she looked okay.
“Anything has to be better than those dirty old clothes I was
wearing. They were soaked in sweat and blood,”
she thought. “Oh
no!” she said out loud.

Jen raced out of the bathroom and shouted for
Ahmed’s mother. “Asiya!” she called out. “Please don’t touch those
clothes! They are khaTir! KhaTir!”

Jen rounded the corner in the kitchen to see
Asiya standing quite startled near the stove, holding a wooden
spoon in front of her like a weapon. “Oh thank God you’re alright!
I’m so sorry for startling you,” she said with her hands held out
palms down and sightly toward Asiya. She smiled apologetically to
put the older woman at ease.

Asiya held her hand to her heart and let out
a nervous laugh. She was obviously frightened by the shouting, but
understood that Jen meant her no harm.

Jen asked Asiya where her dirty clothes were.
Asiya gestured for Jen to follow and they walked outside to the
side of the house. There was a small, open faced room with a
washing tub and two hanging clothes lines stretched from wall to
wall. A girl Jen had not been introduced to was bent over the tub,
scrubbing Jen’s clothes by hand. Dustin’s clothes were already
washed and hanging on one of the lines.

“Please, let me do that!” said Jen in panic.
She rushed forward and reached in the tub to take the clothes away
from the girl.

The young girl, who appeared to be seven or
eight years old, looked frightened and ran to her mother. Jen
apologized, but inside she was relieved that the girls was okay.
“She must not have any cuts on her hands, or maybe the soapy
water is disinfecting the clothes?”
she thought.

The girl buried her face in her mother’s
dress and they turned to go back inside. The woman gave Jen a
disapproving look, but didn’t say anything to her. She just
comforted her startled daughter and led her inside. As they were
rounding the corner Jen saw the girl reach up and wipe tears from
her eyes. Jen held her breath.
“Dear God, please, no! Don’t let
that little girl get sick!”

After a few seconds, Jen didn’t hear anything
so she went back to scrubbing the clothes.
“Thank you Lord,”
she prayed, once again feeling grateful. Just then a shrill scream
came from the house. It was followed by shouting and more screams.
They were terrible screams of fear and pain, and Jen wanted to
simply run away. She closed her eyes tightly against the noise and
prayed briefly
“Father, please forgive me! I was careless! I am
so sorry!"