The Uvalde Raider by Ben English (great books for teens TXT) 📕

‘There will come a reckoning, you pitiless bastard,’ Micah thought. ‘Good Lord willing, there will come a reckoning.’

Grephardt opened the bag quickly, searching about and finding a pair of scissors. Working in deft fashion, he cut the fabric of Ezekiel’s trouser leg away and gingerly examined the wound more carefully. Ezekiel Templar winced and groaned, but made no other sound save for his heavy breathing.

The German looked up at his friend. “It is a clean wound, Ezekiel, both in and out. I would imagine,” he paused and looked over to the terrorist leader, “it was meant to be that way. A flesh wound calculated to cause the maximum in discomfort and pain.”

Qassam nodded slightly in affirmation, bowing a bit from the waist in mocking formality. Max returned his attention to the bullet wound. “Our main concerns are to stop this bleeding and keep the area from becoming infected.”

“You will find everything needed in that medical bag, Herr Grephardt” interjected the Hezbollah leader.

“I will need water, distilled water if you have it” responded Max, still concentrating on the bleeding wound. Qassam spoke this time to the guard, who brought over two gallons in plastic jugs. With them Max cleaned the wound and unscrewed the cap on a bottle of antiseptic gel. “Get ready Ezekiel, this is going to burn.”

Ezekiel Templar gritted his teeth and nodded to Max. He grunted as the antiseptic was worked into the entry site, followed by an adhesive pad of clotting agent. Max cautiously rolled Ezekiel’s injured leg to one side and treated the exit point. Micah marveled at his uncle’s ability to withstand the pain and keep from calling out.

Grephardt began wrapping Ezekiel’s thigh with a wide roll of gauze to help stabilize the area. Finding antibiotics inside the bag he gave some to his friend along with a couple of pain killers, which were washed down with a long drink from one of the plastic containers. Yahla al-Qassam looked on impassively. Once finished, Max placed the remaining contents back in the bag and shoved it across the floor in Qassam’s direction.

“Excellent work, Herr Grephardt” mused the Hezbollah leader, “one might even think you had some latent talent in that area. But then again, it is said you were thinking about becoming a doctor before the war.”

“That is true” agreed Max. “But that was all a long time ago and the plans for one’s life often have to become something else.” Changing the subject, the German added, “He will need more water to replenish the blood loss.”

“It will be done” replied Qassam. “The guard will be instructed to provide him with water at regular intervals. And yes, I understand about one’s future plans when young. I was going to be an architect but Allah had different plans for me. Such are the sacrifices we make for those things we hold dear.”

The terrorist returned his attention to Ezekiel, studying him intently. Making certain that he had the older man’s eye, he commented further. “Let me know if there is anything else that I can do for the colonel. His continued good health is of real importance to me. You see, his value as a hostage could mean a great deal to the welfare of all.”

Still looking at the injured Texan, Qassam concluded with an ominous addendum. “But most importantly, I want him to live long enough to see what he helped bring upon his own people. That is what I wish for him more than anything else.”

Qassam spoke to the guard again in Arabic, who slung his AK and produced more zip ties. Resignedly, Max turned around and crossed his wrists behind him.

As the guard secured his hands, Max contemplated Qassam keenly.

“You have something that you want to say, ‘doctor’?” asked the terrorist leader, adding a slightly demeaning lilt to the last word.

Max ignored the intended insult as he kept looking into the other man’s eyes. “No, not as in making a declaration or a judgement, Yahla al-Qassam. But perhaps as an observation.” He paused and added mildly, “As well as a warning.”

“I am somewhat surprised at you, Herr Grephardt. I had the police officer pegged as the threatening sort, not you.”

“No, it is not a threat” countered Max. “Only a warning, an experienced perception from one human being shared with another for reflection.”

“You arouse my sense of curiosity, ‘doctor’” said Qassam, verbalizing that same lilt again. “Tell me, what would you warn me of?”

“I would warn you of your hate, Yahla al-Qassam” answered Max, “and what it will ultimately do to you. Many years ago I saw such hate. I was then only a young man, not near wise enough to realize the ruin ahead until it was far too late. You mentioned something about the things we hold dear. I saw most everything I held dear at that time destroyed because of such hate. It nearly destroyed me, also.

“No matter what you might believe you can gain through it, you will ultimately lose much more. Hate leads down a path of self-destruction and makes it far easier to ruin than it does to build. No two words stand in any starker contrast to each other than those, they lie at opposing ends in any language.

“Hate and its dependents will never build anything of lasting worth. All that hate will do is consume from the inside out, leaving nothing but burnt ashes where a man’s soul once resided. For your sake as well as others, I hope you can somehow change your present course before it is too late.”

Qassam sneered openly at the German. “That is quite an unusual speech from someone who once wore the Knight’s Cross with Oak Leaves so proudly, Herr Grephardt. Your words sound much more like those uttered by some