The People Traders (33 page)

Karen was very aware that the bleeding must be stopped and was not even sure just how much she had already lost, except she constantly felt dizzy, and her reactions were slow. "I'd be grateful if you could stop the bleeding for me," she said quietly.

Martha left the room and returned with a bowl, cloth and a small bottle. She quickly cleaned the head wound and wiped Karen's face. "This wants more than a plaster, it needs a stitch, could you take the pain if I did it for you? I've no pain killers."

"Just stitch, I'll take the pain," Karen replied, perhaps too bravely.

Martha went to a drawer and brought back some scissors, also a needle with gut attached. She cut a little hair from around the wound and dabbed it with antiseptic. Karen flinched, it stung.

"Soon be finished, hold your breath. I've done this many times when I was in the army hospitals during the war," Martha said confidently.

Five minutes and a lot of pain later, Martha stood back. "There, it's all done. Now let me help you remove your t-shirt and I'll take a look at the wound on your side?"

Karen did as she asked and Martha set about cleaning the wound. "This is a knife, not a fall, have you been in a fight then?"

Karen shuddered at the pain as Martha cleaned it.

"Just do what you can, I don't want to answer any questions," Karen replied.

It took three stitches and a great deal more pain, before Martha sat back satisfied. "That will sort you for now. You should see a doctor in case of any internal damage, but for the moment you need rest, lots of it."

Karen shrugged indifferently. "Thank you for your help but I'd better move on. I need to be somewhere by late tomorrow and I can only move at night." She pulled out a twenty dollar note from her bag and placed it on the table. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention I've been here. It's for your own safety. I have a feeling the people searching for me would not take kindly to someone giving me help."

Karen stood somewhat unsteadily and began to move to the door. She stopped and glanced at a cross attached to the wall.

Martha moved over and touched the cross. "Are you Catholic?" Martha asked quietly.

Karen nodded.

"Would you like to pray with me?"

Karen turned and looked Martha in the eyes. "Why would I want to pray?"

"For his help in your time of need."

Karen stepped back, her features hardening. "Time of need?" she retorted, "I was brought up Catholic and prayed everyday, besides going to church. What did God do for me? I'll tell you how he repaid my devotion. He allowed me to be abducted, raped and abused. I've killed to survive, killed for revenge. Even if I still believed he loved me, I've broken his most important commandments and God won't forgive that." By now tears were running down her face. "So I've blown it with God; I'll never pray again, what's the use, he's not a good God. He's no compassion and don't say he's testing me. He's not. He's abandoned me."

Karen fell silent, looking down at the floor, then up at Martha. "I'd just like to know what I've done that's so wrong, would that be too much to ask of him?"

Martha didn't know how to answer; the girl was rambling, perhaps because of the strain she was under and loss of blood? However, she knew whatever she said would have no effect. Her faith and her trust in others was shattered, convinced she'd nobody to turn to for help.

Karen sighed, pulled the gun over her shoulder, and rubbed her wet eyes with her hand before moving towards the door, holding onto the wall for support. Pulling it open, she glanced back, thanked Martha for the food once more, then left the house.

Martha followed. Outside she could see Karen leaning heavily on the small front wall and staring out across the fields. As far as the eye could see, there were lights bobbing about. She went over, stopping at Karen's side. "What's wrong, I thought you were going?"

Karen pointed to the lights. "I'm too late," she whispered, her voice trembling.

Martha looked away from the lights towards Karen, a final realisation of what she suspected since the girl arrived at her door. "You're Sirec's girl, aren't you?" she asked.

Karen spun round, her eyes wild. "I'm no girl of Sirec's, in fact I'll kill the bastard if I ever meet him for what he's done to me," Karen shouted. She put her hands to her head, the pain intense, tears running freely down her face once again.

Moments later she'd composed herself and looked back at Martha. "Please go inside now. All those lights are soldiers looking for me. I've probably got less than half an hour before they come. I need to plan and find somewhere to wait."

Martha cut in. "But you can't escape, with your injuries you'd not get a couple of miles without collapsing, so why not just come back inside and wait?"

Karen laughed. "I don't intend to escape; I intend to fight, unless you've a car to get me out of here?"

"A car wouldn't get you out of here. There's only one road and by the position of those lights, there's vehicles already on it. Anyway, it's foolish to say you're going to fight. There's an army out there, you'd have no chance, they'd kill you," Martha persisted.

She shook her head. "No, they won't kill me. I'll kill some of them, that will be certain, but they won't kill me. I wouldn't give them the satisfaction, or the opportunity."

Martha grasped her shoulders. "What are you saying?"

Karen shook her off, becoming fed up and annoyed with Martha. "Listen, you stupid woman, go back to your house and lock every door. In fact I'll give you a present." She pushed her bag into Martha's hands. "There's thousands of dollars in there, it's all I have in the world, but it's of no value to me anymore. I'd intended it for buying retribution but now..." she hesitated, looking away, unable to face Martha, her voice shaking. "I'll be dead within the hour, so even that's been thrown in my face by your so-called God. Now I'd like some time alone before I die."

Martha stepped back and stood looking at this proud girl finally accepting there was no place to run and the inevitable. "You really want to die then?" she whispered.

Karen turned and looked at her, tears still running down her cheeks. "No, I don't want to die; I'm only just eighteen for God's sake. In fact, if the truth was known, I'm scared to death even thinking about it. How I'll face the Almighty, try to explain my actions, I've no idea. I don't even know if I've got the guts to put the bloody gun to my head, that's how confident I am. But I'll tell you this, after what I've been through, death may sound an easy cop-out to you, but is far more preferable to what's waiting for me out there." Karen leaned against the wall, her head throbbing, the injury in her side sending shots of pain through her body every time she moved. "Now please, just go will you? I don't want to talk anymore," she pleaded, her voice shaking.

Martha persisted. "But you belong to Sirec, whether you accept it or not. Nobody will dare to hurt or kill you. He'd have them shot, so let them take you to him. Talk to Sirec, explain everything and he'll understand."

Karen had no more fight left in her to argue, again looking out across to the fast approaching lights, shaking her head from side to side slowly. "Sirec would understand would he?" she asked quietly. "Would you understand if your home had been destroyed, your friends killed? Would you understand I had to kill or be killed? No, I don't think you or even he would. And you're asking me to lay down my arms, beg him for forgiveness and maybe he'll let me go home?"

Martha grabbed her arm gently. "He will, I'm sure of that."

Karen shook her off and turned to face Martha, her voice low, resigned to her fate. "Have your beliefs if you want. I'm not prepared to take that chance. These weapons are all I trust now. They won't let me down; perhaps I'll even take a few men with me? Who knows or even cares?"

Martha looked horrified. "I care. I care, not just for you, but the young men you'll kill. They have mothers, fathers, perhaps even a young family. No matter how much bitterness you have against God, you wouldn't want to face the Almighty with those deaths on your conscience."

Karen looked at her for a moment, tears trickling down her face. "I have a mum and dad as well, you know, I've even a sister and my cat. Those men you are so keen to protect, took it all away from me, ground my cross into the dirt. Now I'll never see my family again, never be able to tell them how much I love them." Then, drawing her handgun from the inside of her jeans, she offered it to Martha.

She looked alarmed, pushing it away. "What use have I for such a weapon?"

Karen shrugged. "You care for the men, don't you? Bothered about what havoc I'll wreak? Believe me this gun I'm holding will rip them to pieces. So do them a favour, kill me before they arrive, then perhaps your precious menfolk will live to fight another day."

Martha stared at her, unsure as to what to do or say, the girl was deadly serious and no matter what she said, it would not dissuade her from the actions she proposed.

Karen sighed. "Forget it, I can see you're not prepared to kill me. Just go. All I want to do is wait and spend a short time thinking about my family, my friends. The good times I had before all this. Then when the time comes and I can no longer think, I'll squeeze the trigger myself."

Martha grasped her arm gently. "What is your full name?"

"Karen, Karen Marshall. What's my name matter?"

"Well, Karen Marshall, I, like you, was brought up in the Catholic faith. I don't want to see you die, the same as I don't want any of those soldiers out there to die. When you came into my house I'd a feeling you were the girl Sirec was looking for. Even without your injuries, other girls would have given up; you hardly flinched when I stitched them. I've seen men pass out with that sort of pain. That's determination. Then when you left to move on I couldn't believe it. You're one of the bravest girls I've ever met; even through the war I met nobody like you. You've given Sirec a run for his money like no other, and should continue. So if you want to go home, and now I really believe you should, come with me."

Karen stood there confused. "What are you saying?"

Martha looked at her, her face serious. "My man was in the Hasher group who fought for years in this country. He was hunted many times and I suppose those days I, too, believed in the cause. But to cut a long story short, we've a hide-out; it's dark, damp and very uncomfortable, besides not being used for years. Believe me, in a few hours this search party will have moved on, so are you coming or dying?"

Karen never moved.

Martha frowned. "What's wrong, I'm offering you a chance to live?" she asked.

"How do I know? Many people have offered to help me, but there's always a cost, so what's yours?" Karen replied.

Martha grinned. "You're right, of course. You don't know me and I don't know you, but unless you want to die, Karen Marshall, we have to meet in the middle. Where I'm going to hide you, they couldn't get in without you knowing they were coming. So what's the difference, you fight here and die, or go in my hiding place and have a chance to live?"

"And the cost, what will it cost me?"

Martha sighed. "I'm seventy-eight, what need have I for money? So what else could I possibly want from you, you're probably thinking?" She fell silent and looked across at the approaching searchers. Karen never said a word, then Martha grasped her hand, tears in her eyes. "I want nothing, Karen, except to see a young girl have a chance to live and not die in a hail of bullets alone, without a mother or father to hold her hand and give her comfort. I want to convince you that not all people in the world expect to receive some sort of monetary value for helping a fellow human who's either fallen on hard times, or is in some sort of danger. My man would want me to do this, no matter what the danger. So please, no more arguing, come with me."

Karen stood silently, looking at her, but didn't move.

"Come on, Karen, this is a chance to live. Snap out of it," Martha urged.

"I'll come so long as it doesn't endanger you? Otherwise I fight and die here."

Martha shrugged. "What can they do to me, I've had my life? Take the chance, Karen; perhaps you'll get to go home? If they find you, and believe me they won't, you've still got your gun as a final resort."

Karen followed Martha into the house and through to the small kitchen. She pushed a bottle of wine into her hand, half a loaf of bread and some cheese. Then, after grabbing a blanket, urged her out to the back.

They crossed the yard to what was, at one time, a stable, but now a crumbling building. Martha pushed the open door shut after they entered the stable. Behind was another small half-door set flush to the wall; this she opened and pulled a matchbox from her pocket, quickly striking a match. The room was small with a mattress on an old wooden bed.

"The art of hiding someone, Karen, is don't overlook the obvious. Many people had rooms hidden under the floor, the entrance covered with a mat. Every searcher worth his salt knows that. My man was clever. A door, old and open, into a dilapidated barn, is an invitation to search inside. Nobody, let alone a searcher, shuts the door after coming in. Why should he? After all, he's not there to shut doors or tidy up, so you'll understand then, this room will not be found. Keep quiet; in fact sleep if you can. Anybody trying the door will waken you. Provided when you're inside you prop the bed behind it, you'll not be caught unaware. I'll come for you tomorrow, then we'll see if we can't get you home."