“Do you like eating?”
“Not as much as you.”
“What does Layah plan to do in Turkey?”
“We go first to the Yazidi village to deliver Hanna and Yelda.”
“Then what?”
“Then we go to an Assyrian place.”
Hud wondered where they would part ways. He could leave the group as soon as they moved away from the border. He didn’t anticipate any trouble from the Turkish authorities in the country’s interior. “You did a good thing for Hanna today.”
Ashur grunted at the compliment.
“Maybe you can stay friends.”
“Yazidi girls aren’t allowed to be friends with boys from other faiths.”
“Why not?”
“Because they are uneducated barbarians. Yazidis have little or no contact with outsiders. Marrying a non-Yazidi is punishable by death.”
“Are Assyrians allowed to marry outsiders?”
Ashur glanced up from the rifle. “You think you can marry my aunt?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Of course not. You only wish to use and discard her.”
Hud bristled at the charge. He had no ill intentions toward Layah, despite the fact that she’d kidnapped him. If anyone was getting mistreated around here, it was Hud.
Ashur inhaled a sharp breath. “Look.”
Hud straightened as a small deer trotted across the clearing. It paused to nibble on tender spring grass. He couldn’t leave this golden opportunity to chance, so he put his arm around Ashur and made sure his sights were straight. Hud braced his weight against the boy’s shoulders to absorb the kick.
“Now,” he said.
Ashur squeezed the trigger. He kept his finger on it too long, peppering the ground with bullets, but that was fine. One reached its target. The deer’s front legs crumpled. Then its hind legs went down, and that was it.
“I got it!”
“You sure did.” Hud took charge of the gun and engaged the safety. “Good job.”
“I was steady,” Ashur said. “My hand didn’t shake.”
Hud grunted his agreement. “You’re a natural. Let’s go dress your kill.”
“My kill,” Ashur repeated with a smile.
They strode across the clearing together until they reached the deer. It was a male fawn, still twitching. Blood huffed from the animal’s nostrils as it took a final breath. Then it went still, legs stiff.
Ashur didn’t appear quite as pleased as he had two minutes ago. “It’s a baby.”
“It’s a juvenile,” Hud said. “A good size for our group. Nothing will go to waste.”
The boy’s dark eyes filled with tears. He blinked them away, seeming embarrassed by the display of emotion.
“There’s no shame in feeling sad about taking a life.”
“Are you sad when you kill a man?”
“No,” Hud admitted. He hadn’t cried over any of his kills, but he’d never shot a baby deer, or a defenseless man. “I killed a bunch of squirrels and birds one day, just because I was angry. I cried then.”
Ashur nodded his understanding. He studied the speckled fawn, his face solemn. There was something familiar about his expression. Something that stirred Hud’s memories.
Hasan.
It came to him in a flash of recognition. Hasan Anwar was the interpreter Hud had recruited in Syria. Ashur looked like a younger version of him. Had Hasan been Assyrian? Hud couldn’t remember. He probably hadn’t asked. Layah and Ashur were well educated, like Hasan. They’d been in Syria. They’d known Hud was a SEAL.
The pieces fit.
But why had they kept this connection a secret?
The hairs at the nape of his neck prickled with unease. Hud had brushed off Ashur’s anger toward him as anti-American sentiment and general teen angst. Now he realized it went far deeper. Hasan had been executed because he worked with Team Twelve. US forces hadn’t done enough to protect him.
If Ashur was Hasan’s son...he had every right to be angry.
“How do I clean it?” Ashur asked, kneeling beside the fawn.
Hud showed him what to do. The boy wasn’t squeamish about the unpleasant task. When he was finished, Hud dragged the carcass away from the mess.
“I will carry it,” Ashur said.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. It is my kill.”
Hud hefted the carcass onto the boy’s shoulders. It weighed about twenty-five pounds, but Ashur didn’t buckle. He held on to the hooves and started walking. The fawn’s head flopped against his back with every step.
“How do I look?” Ashur asked, just before they reached camp.
“Like a badass,” Hud said honestly.
Ashur flashed a grin. He had blood on his face, hands, neck and shirt. Layah screamed when she saw them. She rushed forward, speaking in their native language. She seemed concerned that he was hurt. Everyone else cheered with approval. Ashur put the deer down next to a pile of firewood someone had collected. Aram and Yusef patted Ashur on the back, ruffling his hair in celebration.
They were going to feast tonight.
Hud walked to the lake’s edge to clean up. He had gore up to his elbows. Layah followed with Ashur. When she tried to scrub the boy’s neck and ears, he jerked away from her to do it himself. After a sharp exchange of words, he left.
“You can wash me,” Hud offered.
Layah’s lips curved into a sad smile. She dipped the cloth in water and approached him. She swept the damp fabric over his forehead, the bridge of his nose, the nape of his neck. “You are not bloody. Just dirty.”
“He doesn’t like to be touched,” Hud said.
“No.”
“That’s a common symptom of PTSD.”
She dropped her hands. “I know.”
He wanted to kiss her again, despite his earlier revelation. He wanted to kiss her and confront her at the same time. But he did neither. She could keep her secrets. They were in Turkey now. She didn’t need his guide services anymore. As soon as they reached a developed area, he would leave her.
Damned if that didn’t feel like a punch in the gut.
Yelda appeared to collect water from the lake, and they broke apart like guilty teenagers. Hud used the interruption as an excuse to walk away. The tents were already set up, so he ducked inside the smaller one. Her pack was sitting right there. After a short hesitation, he started rummaging through it.
Toiletries, makeup, panties, female products. Nothing suspicious.
He found the ridiculous map she’d been using, which had
