Hostage Zero

The kid kicked at his covers, and the more he struggled, the more tangled he became. “Please don’t hurt me anymore.”

“Listen to me!” Harvey barked, loudly this time, hoping to startle the boy into sanity. “I’m not the one who hurt you. I saved you.” He raised the lantern parallel to his own face. “Look at me,” he went on. “I am not the one who hurt you.”

At first, it was as if the boy hadn’t heard him; he continued to wrestle with the sleeping bag as fear and frustration turned his efforts violent. Then, he stopped. It was as if Harvey’s words had traveled the slow route and had only just now arrived. He pivoted his head and scowled as he studied the man’s features.

“You’re safe here,” Harvey said, his voice soft again.

The kid darted his glance from one corner of the tent to another. “Where are they?”

“Gone,” Harvey said. “About twenty hours ago.”

This was a lot to process even when you were clearheaded. Given his drugged-up stepping-off point, the boy was having a particularly difficult time of it.

“You’re safe now,” Harvey repeated.

It was what the kid wanted to hear, but he wasn’t ready to trust the words. “Where am I?”

“As close to nowhere as a human being can get,” Harvey said. When the scowl deepened, he added, “You’re in the woods. In Virginia. Near the Potomac River, and the people who hurt you probably think that you’re dead.”

Cobwebs remained. “ Am I dead?”

Harvey smiled. “Alive and well. And lucky to be that.” He extended his hand. “Harvey Rodriguez,” he said. “Nice to meet you.”

The boy looked at the hand, but retreated some more. “Where did they go?”

Harvey kept his hand outstretched. “They’re gone.”

The boy shook his head. “That’s what they are,” he said. “Not where they went.”

Harvey chuckled and abandoned the handshake. “Fair enough. I don’t have an answer for you.” He recounted the events that led them to the present. “As surprised as you seem to be alive, that’s half as surprised as I was to find you that way,” he concluded. He allowed it to sink in, and then he extended his hand once more. “Let’s try this again. I’m Harvey Rodriguez.”

The boy accepted the hand. “I’m Jeremy Schuler.” This time, the friendly touch seemed to relax him.

“I’m pleased to meet you, Jeremy Schuler. Are you hungry?”

Jeremy shook his head. “Could I have some water?”

As Harvey poured water from a converted plastic milk jug into a metal coffee cup, he fought the urge to pummel the kid with questions. After all he’d been through, he needed time to orient himself to the present before Harvey dragged him back to the past. He handed the cup to Jeremy. “Sip, don’t gulp,” he warned. “Your stomach might not be as awake as the rest of you.”

The boy sipped and swallowed. “Thank you,” he said.

“You’re welcome.” He watched Jeremy drink until it became awkward when the boy became aware of being watched. “Tell you what,” he said with a single, gentle clap of his hands. “I’m going to leave the lantern here with you, and I’m going to go out there and cook some dinner. If you change your mind about eating, there’ll be plenty for you.”

While there was no critical medical need for the kid to eat right this minute, sooner or later he’d need sustenance, and sooner was better than later.

Harvey grabbed a flashlight from the piece of two-by-four that served as his nightstand, crawled back into the night and over to the surplus footlocker that served as his pantry. He spun the combination lock, lifted the hasp, and opened the lid.

Seeing as how Jeremy was his first company in five years, it only made sense to appeal to his young taste buds. He pulled out a packet of macaroni and cheese, courtesy of the United States Army. Last winter, on one of the truly cold days, Harvey had agreed to spend a night in a shelter. He hated the principle and he hated the crowds, but he was impressed with the generosity of the pastor of St. Katherine’s Church, who handed out cases of Army MREs-Meals Ready to Eat-to anybody who wanted one. They weren’t likely to put any restaurants out of business, but they tasted pretty decent, and on the days when you wanted to splurge a little, they came in handy.

Tonight, he decided to bypass the typical procedure of cooking the meal in its FRH (flameless rotational heater), and actually cook it on the stove. Somehow, food tasted better when a real flame was involved in the preparation process. He’d just gotten the water to boil when Jeremy appeared in the tent opening.

“Can I still have dinner?” he asked.

Harvey smiled and pointed to the camp chair. “Make yourself comfortable,” he said.

CHAPTER FOUR

Venice Alexander had tried to nap on the sofa in her office, but it was impossible. Whenever she closed her eyes, the images of blood-spattered walls and the puddled gore on the linoleum flooded the darkness. She could still see the shock and sadness on the faces of the children. It was unspeakable that such violence could visit them literally at their doorstep. They’d already suffered so much in their young lives.