Kit studied the video feed. “Is that Buchanan? Who’s he calling?”
A second later, light flashed on the cameras as they heard the explosion outside. Kit jumped to his feet and ran to his room to gear up, shouting orders to Max as he went.
“Stay at the monitors. Watch for anyone else stalking around.” Greer was rolling out of bed seconds after the explosion, awake and battle ready. “Greer, call down to Owen at the bunkhouse. Tell him to get the rest of the guys up here. We need to secure the house and check the perimeter for more bombs.”
“Shit! Rocco’s out there!” Max pointed to a monitor. They watched Mandy run from the house and fall at Rocco’s side, Fee right behind her. Kit strapped on his Beretta. He buckled his Kevlar vest, grabbed his rifle, then took the stairs three at a time.
Owen, Angel, Val, and Kelan were running from the bunkhouse, armed and ready. Kit hurried to where Rocco lay still in the dirt. Mandy was crying, trying to get him to respond to her. Kit pressed his fingers to Rocco’s neck, checking for a pulse.
“He’s alive, Mandy.” Kit set his hand on Mandy’s shoulder. “Look at me. Em, look at me. You’ve got to keep it together.”
“What the hell just happened?” Owen asked as they reached the main house.
“Buchanan blew the riding center. Help me turn Rocco onto his back.”
Angel held his head, keeping his neck immobilized as Kit and Owen slowly rolled him to his back. Rocco appeared to have no major injuries, though he was nicked and scraped from the explosion. Sirens began to wail in the distance. Kit checked Rocco’s pulse again, made sure he was breathing.
“Angel, Val, do a sweep of the buildings, make sure there are no other nasty surprises waiting,” Owen ordered. “Kelan, guard the porch. No one goes in or out unless it’s one of us. And take Fee with you.”
“Was Buchanan alone?” Owen asked when Kit stepped away from Rocco.
“He’s the only one we saw. The other cameras were not triggered.” Kit looked at Owen. “Max and Greer are manning the monitors. Where’s Blade?”
“Don’t know. Wasn’t he at the house with you?”
“Haven’t seen him since this evening.”
“He wasn’t down below, with Buchanan, was he?” Owen asked.
“We didn’t see him on the monitors.” Kit said to Mandy. “Go get some blankets, Em. I don’t want Rocco going into shock.”
Kelan wrapped a hand around Fee’s waist and led her back to the house. At the porch, Fee pulled against him. “Rocco’s hurt. Mandy needs me. I can’t go in yet.”
“He’s hurt, but he’s got all the help he needs. You’ll just be underfoot,” Kelan told her. The sirens were sounding louder. “It’s not safe out here. I want you to go back inside.”
Fee turned in his arms and buried her face in his chest, surprising the hell out of him. He wished he weren’t wearing his Kevlar vest, wished he could feel her against his side. He wrapped an arm about her shoulders and pulled her even tighter against himself. He could feel her trembling. She looked up at him, her big, blue eyes swimming in tears.
“What happened, Kelan? I heard the explosion. I thought I dreamt it, but then Mandy went running out of the house.”
“We don’t know yet.”
“Do you think Rocco was hurt badly?”
Kelan shook his head. “I wish I had more info for you.”
She straightened and smoothed her hands over her eyes. “What can I do?”
Kelan didn’t want her to do anything. He wanted her to go back inside and stay safe, but he suspected her panic would only deepen if he didn’t give her a task. “First, get dressed. Then put on some coffee and see if you can wrangle up some food. I think it’s going to be a long night.”
She nodded, still hesitating to move inside. He caught her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. “I will keep you safe, Fee.”
Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. Damn, that wasn’t the reaction he was after. She pulled away and hurried back inside Mandy’s house.
Rocco stood in the middle of the mayhem surrounding the compound where he and Kadisha lived. She handed Zavi to him and tried to push him away. He grabbed her arm, not letting her go back into the building. She fought with him. They both stumbled to the ground. Her coat parted, revealing a wide band of C-4 belted around her waist, secured across the slight swell of their child.
“Kadisha! What are you doing?”
“You did this!” She gestured to the explosives. “You killed us!”
Rocco stared at his wife as she got to her feet. “Don’t go! I will defuse it.”
“It is too late. There are other bombs in the house. I have to get my mother out of there.”
Rocco jumped to his feet, and reached for her, but she slipped away. He looked at Zavi, who was crying. He reached for him, and then everything went black.
When he came to, the dust and ash was so thick, the sun had darkened to night. Rocco crawled on his belly, dragging himself over shards of brick and twisted bits of metal to a small, bleeding body a few feet away. Zavi. Oh, God, Zavi. Only the torso remained of his boy, his skin singed beyond recognition. Rocco reached him and dragged him to his lap, weeping and rocking. His own face and body were nicked with dozens of small and large cuts, though he felt none of his injuries as he held what remained of his son’s body.
He’d done this, Kadisha had said. He’d done this. He couldn’t have-he hadn’t wanted his boy or his wife killed.
Women were running around in the debris, crying, screaming, looking for lost loved ones. He couldn’t hear them. His ears were ringing too loudly. Time moved in a strange, distorted way, going too fast sometimes and too slow others.
Men came and tried to get him to put Zavi down, to stop the prayers he wailed over his son’s body. He threatened them with his knife. He would not surrender the body. Not yet. Not ever. He would never let his son go.
Gradually, the orange sun dipped below the horizon, shutting itself away from the horror and devastation the day left behind. Still, Rocco rocked his son, singing prayers, begging Allah to accept his innocent child into heaven.
Again, men tried to take Zavi from him, wanting to prepare him for his burial, and again Rocco would not let them come close. By the time the sun rose the next morning, Rocco throat was raw and his soul was empty.
The stench from Zavi’s body was unbearable. Some of the burned skin had torn off his son’s body and was stuck to Rocco. When the men came this time, there were too many to fight off. They pulled Zavi from him and went to prepare him.
Rocco sat alone on the hill, looking at the place where Kadisha’s house had been. Zavi’s blackened flesh and dried blood were all over him, his arms, his neck, his face. Still he rocked. Still he tried to sing the prayers for the dead.
When the men came to him next, they came with guns. These were not the village elders but his father-in-law’s warriors. They beat him with their rifle butts. He did not fight them off. Perhaps it was Allah’s vengeance for his prayers-prayers from a man who had killed his son.
They stopped their assault, sooner than he’d thought they would. His flesh hurt now, but it still didn’t equal the anguish in his soul. The men dragged him to a rickety van and threw him the back. He didn’t know where they were taking him. It didn’t matter. He was dead already.
Zavi was dead. And Kadisha was dead. And their next little baby was dead. The whole, goddamned village was dead.
They drove for a while over rough roads. They didn’t offer him any food or water. But of course, you cannot feed a corpse. Eventually, they stopped somewhere. Another village.
They dragged him out of the van. He tried to walk, but he couldn’t keep up with them. They moved some crates and then some boards, revealing a dark hole in the ground. His grave. They’d brought him to his
