No Place for Females

Chapter Eight

They were leaving. I could hardly believe it. I gripped my rifle, ignoring the pain and feeling grateful that I’d had the patience not to shoot. Now, it looked like I might have an out.

As the kids watched the men get into the truck and drive off, the look on the little girl's face remained defiant, though I had seen fear cross her face.

Those men were not relatives. And I needed to go before they came back. I wouldn’t shoot the little girl, and I would shoot the boy only if he tried to stop me from escaping. After this visit, I didn't think they would try to stop me.

The kids returned to the house. The boy walked in first. When he saw that I had my rifle in hand, he tensed, gripping his more tightly. I put up one of my hands, as if to show him I meant him no harm. Trust was hard to come by in these parts. I could understand why.

His sister came in and smacked him in the back of the head. I would have laughed, but my side was aching and I didn't want to strain it. They began to argue in earnest, both pointing at me. I guess I was the subject. I couldn't make out much, but I guessed that the girl was yelling at him for bringing me here.

Not that I blamed her. I had this bad feeling that those men had been looking for me. The strange man had almost entered the house. I had come within inches of shooting him out of fear that I wouldn't get the chance if he walked in. Only a phone call had saved me.

Oh yes. The phone. I reached into my pocket to pull out Captain Andrews’ phone. Please let it still work. The kids were still arguing and were not paying me any attention. I turned on the phone. There was a signal. Yes! One bar wasn't much, but it was something.

I hoped like hell that someone would have had the foresight to program some numbers into the thing. Sure enough, there were two numbers on speed-dial. I dialed the first number. It rang five times before I got the pre-recorded Afghan message. Dammit.

I tried the second number.

The line rang once.

Twice.

Three times.

On the fourth ring, just as my hopes started to plummet, someone picked up.

"Hello," said the voice.

"Who is this?” I asked.

"Who are you?"

"My name is HM3 Lena Jacobs. I'm lost out here. Who are you?"

"Lena? It's me, Maria Safi. Your translator. Thank God you are alive!"

"Maria. Oh thank God. I am so happy to hear your voice. Where are you?"

"I'm in a little village. I escaped with the wife. I called for help and the Marines are coming to get me."

"That's awesome. Do you think you could help them find me?"

"Yes, tell me where you are."

"I don't know. I got out of the house and then I fell. I woke up in the desert. I'm injured, but I can walk."

"Oh God. OK, what do you see now? Maybe I can use that to help figure out where you are?"

"I don't know. I'm at this house with these two kids. They are really little, but they've been helping me."

"Can you put one of them on the phone? Maybe I can talk to them to find out where you are?"

"Yes, hold on."

The boy and girl had stopped arguing and were looking at me. The girl seemed curious. The boy looked angry.

"Can you talk into this? Listen," I said, trying to hand the phone to the little girl.