Page 23 of Freedom Fighters
Chapter Five
Carmen found Garrett in his little monk’s cell, bent over patient charts on his desk. Despite it being seven in the morning, he had a gas lantern hissing on the corner of the desk, shedding a white glow over the desk. The lantern told her Garrett had not gone to bed.
“If you haven’t slept, perhaps you shouldn’t come to the rendezvous,” she said.
“And who would go instead?”
“I could. I started this.”
He snorted and turned back to his charts.
“What?” she demanded. “You’re laughing at me?”
“I’m laughing at your notion that you could lead anyone to do anything.”
Carmen swallowed her ire. “I’m trying to do something nice for you,” she said, her jaw tight. “My fucking mistake.”
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Don’t do anythingnicefor me. Don’t pity me. Don’t makeallowances for me. In fact, don’t think about me at all, okay?” His clear gray eyes skewered her and it was almost painful being pinned by his glare.
“I wasn’t making allowances!” Carmen shot back, although the relentless voice in her mind challenged her.Didn’t you spend most of your night wondering how damaged he was?“Look, Garrett, what happened to you was shitty. It was the worst luck inthe world and I wouldn’t wish it upon my worst enemy. I wouldn’t even wish it upon you. So yeah, there’s a little part of me that feels a smidgen of sorrow for what you went through. You’re not the only sad sack stuck in this war, though.”
Garrett’s eyes narrowed.
Carmen didn’t give him a chance to respond. “My father was a good and kind man and a brilliant leader. He was a moderate and he ranthis country like Swiss clockwork for two decades. Then, because some deluded nuts with guns thought they could do a better job, they dragged my father out of the palace by the scuff of his neck and tossed him onto the earth. They stood around him and took pot shots with their hand guns, betting each other who could hit him andnotincapacitate him. He crawled around on that dirt for two hoursuntil he died from his wounds and the whole time they jeered and kicked him.” Her voice wobbled. She stopped, trying to repress the sadness and the fury that always rose whenever she thought about the report she had found on Nick’s desk, outlining exactly how her father died. Where Nick had got the report from was a mystery. She didn’t doubt it was true, because Nick had never shared it with her.
She swallowed the sense of helplessness that swamped her whenever she thought of her father and looked Garrett in the eye. “Everyone has a story, Garrett. Only, you’re not letting yours out to breathe. You’re holding it all in and brooding on it.”
Garrett considered her for a long, silent moment. “That’swhere you get your hatred of the Insurrectos from.” He reached out and turned off the gaslamp. The room was washed in pale early morning light from the high window. “Do you know what a shaped charge is?”
Carmen narrowed her eyes. Why on earth was he talking about explosives? “C4 that is molded into a shape,” she replied. “Why?”
“Do you know why they shape it?”
“Because it’s more powerful that way.” She shrugged.
“Because the explosion is contained and directed,” he said. “That’swhy it’s more powerful.” He stood up. “I don’t let my story out to breathe, because by holding it in, I’m containing it. Then I can direct it where I need it.”
He directs it at the Insurrectos. Carmen bit her lip. “That’s no way to live.”
“No one picked this life,” Garrett told her dryly. “They’re doing it to survive. The survival instinct is strong in people who have no choices. They understandin their gut what will give them the best chances of living. They follow me because they know they have a better chance of surviving with me. You are a rank amateur who has little talent at war. No man in this outfit would follow you to a town picnic because you’re an unknown quantity and you have weaknesses.” He picked up the hem of his teeshirt. “Get out of my office so I can change, Escobedo.I have a rendezvous to make.”
Carmen swallowed. The toxic taste in her mouth made her want to moan. How could she have felt any sympathy for him at all? He was cold, ruthless and calculating. There wasn’t a human bone in his body. “Sometimes, I hate your guts.”
“Feeling’s mutual.”
Carmen didn’t bother shutting the door behind her. He could damn well shut his own door.
* * * * *
Minnie saidshe would only be away for a few minutes, which was the only reason Téra could sit still and read. The book she was reading wasThe Once and Future King, in English. Reading English still challenged her, and it kept her mind on the story.
The office they were in had once been a bedroom in the big house. Not a big bedroom, yet two small desks and filing cabinets were squeezed into it. Rubén Rey,the army’s quarter-master and Minnie, who was the civilian quarter-master, worked together to keep supplies flowing for the big house and the army quartered on the beach below. They had laptops hooked together to form a small network and used some sort of miracle purchasing system Minnie had invented that saved oodles of money.
The bedroom office was tucked away in a quiet corner of the house.Téra liked to sit in the corner and read, while Rubén and Minnie did their mysterious magic. The pair of them would comment to each other every now and again. The comments had no context for Téra because they were looking at figures and spreadsheets that Téra couldn’t see. The sound of human voices was comforting, though.
