CHAPTER TWO
“Sister, where are we going?” asked one of the children.
“We have to leave, Sala. There are dangerous men headed this way. We must go now,” said the Sister.
The children understood. They understood all too well that bad men would often come through the villages, taking children. Boys for war. Girls for something much worse than war. If it were not for the Sisters, they would have been taken months ago.
With everything they could carry wrapped in blankets and secured on their backs, they left the small village in the dead of night, silently walking on the warm earth, their shoes hanging from their belts so as not to make noise or create footprints.
Father Tyler and the three other nuns were spread out between the children, Father Tyler at the helm. Sister Irene was at the rear of the line, holding tightly to the hand of one of the younger children. In her pocket, she felt the cold steel and guilt rolled over her.
Years ago her father hand given her a small handgun and knife in order to protect herself while at university. She’d been foolish back then, believing that nothing could touch her. She was wrong.
She’d chosen to go to university in Europe, attending the small college in Paris. It all seemed like a fairytale. College in Paris! She remembered feeling so free, so grown-up. But that all changed in an instant.
While visiting the French countryside one weekend with classmates, her world was turned upside down. They’d gone out to a local club to dance and just enjoy life the way college kids would. But it was all wrong. She knew it the moment she’d walked into the club.
Too many men. Too few women.
“We need to leave,” she’d whispered to her friends.
“Don’t be such a drag. It will all be fine.”
One of the men grabbed her friends arm and pulled her onto the dance floor, then another. Shoving drinks at them that she possessed the intelligence not to drink.
Unable to convince her friends to leave, she did what she knew she needed to do. She left without them, hoping to find a police officer that would help her. But she never made it to the hotel.
Two men from the club followed her. She’d kept the knife in her small bag and used it as her father taught her. But two grown men, large and well-built were too much.
They didn’t care that it was a damp, dark alley. They didn’t care that she was a virgin. They didn’t care that she was an American. The more she fought, the more aggressive they became.
So, she did what she was taught. She lay still, staring at them, waiting for any glimmer of light to help her. Memorizing every line on their face, every tattoo, every sound of their voice. Anything that would allow her to find them again.
When she urinated on herself and them, they jumped back, slapping her hard, kicking her in the side.
Then, they left. Leaving her in the alley to bleed to death and die.
When she woke, she was staring up at a plain ceiling. She was in a small bed with rough sheets and one tiny dresser. There was a silver crucifix hanging from the wall. A convent.
She lay in that bed for weeks, waiting, formulating.
When she was healed, she returned to the club one night. It was winter and the doors were closed, music blasting inside the club. She grabbed the crowbar and slid it between the handles of the door. At the rear door, she did the same.
Then, without remorse, without fear, she lit the place on fire. Standing across the street she watched as the flames kissed the sky, voices screaming inside, begging for help. No help came. She’d made sure of that. No one came until it was too late.
She’d learned through local law enforcement that it was a small gang of men who’d been suspected of kidnapping and selling young women. Suspected, but never taken into custody.
It changed her life forever. She would never again take her freedom so lightly, her privilege so carelessly. She finished college and vowed to return to the Sisters that helped her.
Now, she was running for her life once again. This time, if she were caught, it would be ten times worse than the two drunks from the club. They would torture the Sisters, kill the priest and sell the children.
“Move,” she whispered to herself, her thighs aching from carrying the bundle. Behind her she heard the sounds of the villagers. Screams could be heard as homes were set on fire.
“Run!” she called out in a quiet yell.
The priest took off, not even bothering to pick up the nearest child, just running for his own life. The Sisters all grabbed children’s hands, running as fast as they could.
When they reached the river, they stepped into the cold water and braced for the iciness biting at their flesh. The children were already shivering from the mountain’s cool breezes but the water would make them hypothermic.
Behind them they could hear the thundering footsteps of the soldiers and panic rose in them all.
“Here!” yelled Father Tyler. “There’s a large boulder. We can hide behind this.”
“Father, no,” she said shaking her head. “We must keep running. We cannot hide here.”
“We must! The children are weak.”
She didn’t dare argue with him. She’d seen him become furious with the other sisters, berating them as if he were their father. She didn’t argue but she also didn’t agree.
The children were seated behind the massive boulder, the sounds of the soldiers getting closer and closer. Suddenly, Father Tyler stood and stepped out into the path.
“Here! They’re here,” he said. The grin on his face told her everything she needed to know. He was the traitor. He was the man selling children. The other Sisters gasped, staring at him. She glared, knifelike glares piercing his body.
Stepping closer to her, he gripped her wrist, bringing it to his groin.
“You couldn’t see me that night,” he sneered. “You couldn’t see my face but I could see yours. I watched as you killed my friends in that club.”
Her eyes went wide staring up at the face she hadn’t recognized before. It was him. It was the second man who’d raped her. He’d always felt familiar to her but she couldn’t place it. Now she knew.
“Don’t worry, Sister. I’m going to have some fun with you before we sell you.”
“You bastard!” she said spitting in his face. He slammed a fist against the side of her head. She’d been able to take one step back before it landed fully but it still hurt like hell.
The soldiers began tossing the children into the back of the truck, touching the Sisters, feeling their bodies and making vulgar noises. That’s when they found her gun, tossing it into the grass.
“That one there has a mouth on her,” he said taking the money from the soldier. “Watch her. I’ll wait a few days and go back and report that I escaped. By that time, you should have been able to sell all of them.”
“Even her?” asked the soldier.
“No. Hold onto her. I want to have some fun with her.”