Open Season by Cameron Curtis

Author:Cameron Curtis [Curtis, Cameron]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Inkubator Books
Published: 2021-05-15T16:00:00+00:00

18

Zarek’s Base Camp

Kagur-Ghar

Tuesday, 2000

The wind howls on the mountaintop. Ballard stands at the wall of the enlisted quarters and covers the west approach. Lopez covers the south. All around us, the rocky slope drops off in a symmetric cone. Both men are wearing their helmets and NODs. The Taliban cannot approach undetected.

“Four hours,” I say. “Trainor and I will spell you at midnight.”

I descend the steps of the officers’ dugout and find Trainor leaning back against one of the walls. She’s sitting on the floor, arms folded across her chest, trying to stay warm. The dugout provides protection from the wind.

She’s staring at the sky.

Resentment and anger have bled from her features, leaving grief. She has been crying. In the moonlight, the tracks of tears shine on her dusty cheeks.

Nights are dark in the Hindu Kush. Villages are lit by lanterns. Precious fuel is conserved. In the mountains, the faintest glow can give away your position. Something as simple as lighting a digital watch can get you killed. A cigarette is a magnet for snipers. In the valley, the caravan has lit cooking fires. Cocky bastards.

Without light pollution, a clear night is beautiful. The sky is an ocean of stars. “Do you see the Big Dipper?” I ask.

“Yes.” Trainor points. “Right there. If you follow it, you get—the North Star.”

One of the logs that formed the ceiling has fallen back into the space. I sit on the floor across from her and lean against it.

Exhaustion is stamped on the girl’s features. Her blond hair has been drawn back in a careless ponytail. A tangle of loose strands hangs to her shoulders, gets in her eyes.

“You were right,” I tell her.

“About what?”

“I do love it here.”

“You got a first name, Breed?”

“Yes.”

Trainor stares at me. At last she chuckles. “You can call me Robyn.”

“I’m not sure that would be appropriate.”

“Why? You’re not a serving officer. You’re a consultant.”

She’s playing with me, and I don’t mind.

“Robyn,” I say, “you’re a tough girl.”

“Not five minutes ago.”

“How well did you know Grissom?”

“How long have you known these men?”

“Are we trading now? Two days.”

“You were brought in from outside. Why would they do that?”

“I know the land. Now—how well did you know Grissom?”

Robyn zips her field jacket to her chin and tries to duck into it like a turtle. “Reasonably well, over the last six months. He was a good man. I liked him.”

“Eighteen months, Zarek held you. Did you ever try to escape?”

Darkness. I study Robyn’s expression by the light of the moon and stars. She exhales, and her breath fogs instantly.

“I knew you’d ask me that.”

I shrug. “You’ll have to answer at your debrief.”

Robyn chews her lip. “Alright,” she says. “I tried to escape—once.”

“Tell me.”

She does.

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