Accidental Love

Where am I?

"Get up! Now!" He felt his arm almost pulled out of his socket as the voice broke into the blackness of his dreamlessly sleeping brain. "I said GET. UP.!"  each of the last two words was punctuated by a swift kick in the ribs.  Tom groaned and felt his ribs bend - but not break. He scrambled to his feet.

"Ok, ok , no problem, man, no problem." he raised his hands in defence, fully expecting another blow.  This had been the routine for more days, or was that weeks - than he cared to think about now.  How long had he been here?  It must be weeks he agreed with himself, it must be.  He'd been carted from pillar to post, hidden in caves and tied to trees.  It all seemed like some kind of surreal nightmare.  

At first, they'd thought it was a joke.  Someone from the production crew was having a laugh.  Six figures had blocked their way on the path to the jungle camp.  All armed to the teeth, all looking like something out of a 1980s Schwarzenegger movie.  Camouflage paint and bandanas. It was funny, they laughed.  The men with the automatic rifles laughed.  They thought the joke was good, too. 

Until they didn't. 

They stopped laughing and shot the local fixer that had been guiding them dead.  One shot.  Through the head. Tom stared, transfixed by the horror unfolding. This couldn't be happening.

But it was. 

Tom, his location assistant, two camera men, and the local fixer had all been trekking to the location.  The director and the rest of the crew were already settled into the camp a few kilometers ahead of them.  Or so they assumed.  As the men - heavies for the local drug lord and anti-government militia as they turned out to be - surrounded them, they no longer were sure of anything.

Leaving their dead colleague behind, they were hooded and hands tied, marched off into the depths of the Vietnamese jungle. Tom resisted the urge to fight and calmly tried to tell his comrades to do the same.  If they kept cool, despite every nerve and sinew urging him to flee, they might just survive this.  There had to have been a mistake of some kind.  There had to.

As they walked, he could hear the sounds of the jungle, the birds above, the rustling of the bushes, and the hacking of the machetes as their captors cut their way through the greenery.  Under other circumstances, this might have been an adventure.  Now, it was torture.  Well, what he thought was torture.  He would come to realise what that really meant soon enough.

What felt like hours later, but was probably only thirty minutes, they entered what sounded to Tom's alerted hearing, like a camp. Shouts came from all around, and there was the sound of feet as more joined their little parade.  He was thrown roughly to the ground, untied, and the hood ripped off.

"Stay." was all that was said, and the armed man disappeared.  He was alone in a tent.  Army surplus, it had markings on it that Tom recognised as American. Obviously, either stolen or commandeered or maybe even left over from the 70s. 

Who WERE these people?  And what did they think they wanted with HIM?  He had no time to wonder as there was a scuffle outside and shouting.  He was tempted to poke his head out of the tent and immediately wished he hadn't.

He was just in time to see one of the camera men, a young lad of maybe 22 or 23, running through the camp back the way they'd come.  The kidnappers let him get about 15 to 20 metres into the undergrowth, and then one nonchalantly raised his rifle and fired.  Just once.  The silence that resulted shook Tom to the core.  There was no one running now,  just another obituary to write.

He went back into the tent and sat down heavily on a chair placed next to a table and a cot.  He wiped his grimy hands over his equally grimy face.  What the bloody hell was going on.  This was no wind up.

This was terror of the very real kind.  His mind swam with images, Becky being the most predominant.  In the midst of the horror and surreal events now surrounding him, it was the minutiae that he had to focus on. Oh Jesus, he thought, he was going to miss his call to her. She would know instantly something was wrong.  Then a thought struck him - he pulled out his phone.  He could call for help.

As he pulled out the shattered remnants of what had once been his lifeline, he could have been sick on the spot. In the struggles and the journey, it had been all but destroyed. 

He doubted he might have gotten a signal anyway.  They'd been carrying a satellite phone on their trek for that reason.  It would now be either lost or in the hands of his captors.  He was alone.  He was scared.  He wasn't altogether sure if he would see another day.

It was a long, long time before anyone approached him. A young boy, maybe sixteen, entered and left a bowl of something that looked - and smelled - decidedly dodgy, together with a canteen of water. 

He ate what he could of the food, who knew when he might get more, until the smell made him retch too much.  He drank some of the water - again, who knew when he might get more - and was mildly surprised to find it fresh and clear.  Well, no dysentery that night then, he thought wryly.

Hours passed, and it became dark. Night falls quickly in the jungle, no such thing as a lingering sunset.  He had no idea what the time was, the battery on his watch having long since died.  Eventually, the flap of the tent was pulled back, and two men entered.  Tom stood, tall but not aggressive, just confident.  He looked at them briefly, to show he was not beaten, then carefully dropped his gaze. No point in antagonising them.

"You. Come now." it appeared they had little command of English. Tom followed them, blinking in the bright torchlight. There were perhaps a dozen men standing round, all armed, all looking more than a little pissed off at him.  One stood out as the leader.  He walked forwards and instantly belted Tom in the stomach, making him fall to his knees, coughing and gasping.

"W-wait- I -think-" he tried to speak, his hand held out in front as he leaned on the other in the dirt.  As he looked up, he could see the butt of a rifle coming towards him, and then he saw nothing more.

Becky paced the floor. It wasn't like Tom to do this.  Not call when he said he would.  Even if only for thirty seconds to say he'd been delayed or he'd call later or something.  Not this, though, not complete radio silence.  She was not annoyed, no.  She was worried.  Given where he was in the world, she was worried.  

Get a grip, she told herself, get a grip. He's just been delayed, or his battery has run out or... her thoughts were interrupted by someone knocking on the front door.  Her blood froze. At this time of night?  This was NEVER good.

She walked to the door and looked out the peep hole.  Luke.  But not just Luke.  Luke and Tom's mum Diana and another woman she didn't recognise.  Pulling it open, she saw the expressions on all their faces.  As his mum walked forward, her arms outstretched, she could see the tears in all their eyes.  Her head swam, and she felt instantly burning hot and ice cold at the same time. The blood roared in her ears, and she couldn't see.  As she collapsed, strong arms caught her and carried her inside. 

This would be a night none of them would ever forget.