War Kids: Books 1 - 3 ( Young Adult Thriller Series Read online

  His breath reeks of alcohol, and his body stinks of repulsive sweat as if he hasn’t washed for days. I have to force myself not to vomit. Who is he? What does he want? My mother warned me about men like these once the war broke out, and my father taught me what to do with them. I am not weak. I will defend myself to the death if I have to.

  At the start of the war, my parents tried to pretend everything would be fine, and that it was the grownups’ problems, not children’s.

  But after a few months, things changed.

  Planes flew over our house at night. Lucas and I would watch from the window. It was fun at first to see them, and then it just became normal.

  As the months went by, we had less and less food. When I asked my father why, he told me the food prices had increased by four times the amount they were paying before the war, and instead of helping others, people were getting greedy. My parents really cut back on their food; Mother was already slim, but she was shrinking right before my eyes. It disgusted me that people were making a profit from this war, but Father told me not to worry. “We’re a smart family, and we’ll be fine.”

  I didn’t know what he meant by that. It became clear the next morning when he was in the back garden with a large bundle of wire.

  “What’s that for?” I asked.

  A big smile crossed his face. He was so handsome when he smiled, and it was nice to see him happy for a change.

  “You and I are going to get chickens today,” he said excitedly.

  “What? Chickens!”

  Father laughed. “Yes, chickens.”

  “Okay, you have finally lost it. Does Mother know?”

  “Yes, and she thinks it’s a good idea,” my father said proudly. He was as excited as a schoolboy, and I shook my head. But maybe it was a good idea… If the prices of food were going up, then we had to control them. But what’s next, a cow? The thought made me giggle.

  “What you laughing at?” Father asked.

  “Nothing,” I replied, forcing myself to keep a straight face.

  Then a thought struck… “You know, there are lots of rabbits and birds in the fields out back. We, umm,” I hesitated a moment. “We could get a gun, and you know, find them…”

  Father gave me a surprised glance. “We don’t need to get a gun. I’ll need to check with your mother, but I think it’s time for me to teach you how to shoot. And who knows, maybe we could get some lunch out of it as well,” he said with a smile. He patted me on my head and walked into the house.

  As I sat down on the grass and smelled the flowers in the garden, I could not believe how he had responded; he hadn't seemed shocked at all, but was excited about my idea. I pulled at the grass nervously while I waited for him to return.

  I bet Mother will say no. There is no way she’ll let me fire a gun. I began to weave long green pieces of grass through the chicken fence as I waited.

  I lay back and closed my eyes, feeling the sun beaming down on my face. I put my hand under my head. Nice… tan time.

  A few minutes later a shadow crossed me, and I opened my eyes. Father was standing there with a huge grin, holding what appeared to be a mini leather briefcase.

  “She said yes?”

  Father nodded and looked over to the side on the house. Mother was standing there wearing her blue dress, looking beautiful as always, but she had a concerned look on her face. She smiled at me and nodded her approval.

  “Thanks, Mother!” I shouted. She smiled and walked back into the house. Father reached out his hand for me, helping me up.

  “Why did Mother look sad?”

  “Because you’re growing up,” Father replied. “She would like a chat with you later about safety stuff.”

  Of course she would. I nodded and smiled. Nothing could dampen my excitement! This was the best thing to happen to me in months. The war really had changed everything. I hadn’t been to school for weeks and weeks after they started to bomb places. Friends moved away, many saying they were never coming back. Some people stayed because they didn’t have the money to leave, which was our problem too, although my parents would never admit it.

  Father and I were out in the garden, and the birds were singing all around us. It was a beautiful summer day, and I loved days like that when it was just the two of us. I chuckled to myself at the irony of appreciating how beautiful nature was while I was heading off to the woods to catch something for lunch. But it seemed right. We were hungry, and God put food on the earth for us.

  Checking that no one was around, Father placed the handgun into the palm of my hand. It was heavier than I thought it would be, but I could carry it just fine. It fit my hand like a well-tailored glove. Carefully, I wrapped my fingers around it. “Don’t worry, it’s not loaded yet,” Father told me.

  But I wasn’t worried, not one little bit. I felt alive.

  I gripped the textured handle in my right hand, pointing the barrel down to the dancing green grass. My thumb rested on one side, with my pinky finger on the handle. My hand began to tremble because I was holding it too tightly. I relaxed my shoulders a little, and the shaking stopped. It was a bit weird, but I felt like I’d held a gun before, like I knew what to do with it.

  My father watched me closely. “You’re a natural. I guess you take after me. Let’s see if your target skills are natural as well.” He looked proud of me, but also uncomfortable.

  I wondered why… I knew he was in the army for a long time, but he never talked about it.

  “Watch me… this is how you should stand,” he said.

  I watched him intensely as he stood with his feet about shoulder-width apart, his arms extended.

  I copied my father as he went through the motions and got into the same stance as him. Father reached out his hand. “Pass me the gun, time to add the bullets and practice.”

  Whoa, bullets! Best day ever.

  Father loaded the ammunition in the chamber by pulling back the slide. I watched him and tried to memorize each step.

  He passed me the gun, pointing it down to the ground. “Be careful, it’s loaded.”

  I took the gun from him; it felt a little bit heavier now. As instructed, I kept it pointed it down toward the ground.

  Father said, “Raise the gun into position.”

  I pointed it at eye level, with the tree as my target.

  “Now get a good focus. Take a deep breath, half exhale, and slowly squeeze the trigger.”

  I did as he said. The bullet flew out with lighting speed.

  A loud bang followed, and all the birds in the tree flew away. The force of the shot made me step back. Lowering my hand to the side, I looked over to my father. He was smiling proudly, and I passed the gun back to him.

  “Let’s see where it landed.” We walked over to the tree, looking straight at the point where I was aiming.

  “I did it! I did it!” I jumped for joy.

  “Jada, you’re a natural! Let’s practice every day. This can be your new schooling,” Father laughed.

  Sounds perfect to me!

  Before falling asleep, I carefully place a gun under my pillow. My parents had taught me to be prepared for everything.

  The day my father first taught me to use a gun, my mother followed through on that conversation with me. When I came back to the house after training, Mother was sitting in the front room. I went and sat next to her. Father nodded and placed the leather briefcase with the gun on the top shelf of the cupboard under the stairs.

  Father quickly called Lucas to help him with the chicken wire fence, and they disappeared outside.

  I hoped this was not going to be one of those awkward mother-daughter chats; that would put a damper on my day. We sat on the brown sofa in the front room; our house was one of the smallest in the village, but suddenly it felt even smaller. I sensed that this was going to be an important conversation, maybe not to me, but to her.

  She patted the space beside her, indicating I should move closer. I shuffled over. She brushed my bangs to the side a
nd tucked the lone piece of hair behind my ear. She smiled at me for a second, making me feel a little uncomfortable. I could tell something was wrong.

  Then with her soft, loving voice she began to speak. “Jada, my darling, you are getting older. You’re such a strong and beautiful girl. I’m very proud to be your mother. Always remember that I love you.” She paused for a moment and then continued. “I wish you were older, able to live your childhood as innocently as I did. All the other children around the world are, but unfortunately that is not the case here. And as your parents, we have to prepare you.”

  Prepare me for what?

  Tears slowly filled her eyes, and then she took a deep breath to compose herself.

  “We are in the middle of a war. The most horrific war a person could imagine. A war in which soldiers and rebels are killing everyone, including children. I know you heard your father and me speaking about the bombings at the schools and churches…”

  I looked up at her and nodded silently.

  “No one is safe, and you can’t trust anyone. If you are scared, run and hide. If you cannot run, protect yourself any way that you possibly can. Even if it means their life for yours. Father will teach you everything he knows to prepare you for the worst. God will always be on your side. Remember that.”

  My gaze dropped to the ground. I knew what Mother was saying: always protect yourself, no matter what. Could I do that? Could I kill someone? That’s basically what my mother was telling me to do, and my father was teaching me to do it.

  Mother placed her hand under my chin, lifting it up and looking into my eyes. Hers were filled with love and pain. “Jada, I know I’m asking a lot of you. But I know you are stronger than you think, and with Father’s teaching, you will always be safe, which is all I want – for you to live the life you deserve and not one of fear.”

  She placed her arms around me, hugging me close to her body. I rested my head on her shoulder, feeling old and young at the same time. So many emotions ran through me. “Jada, train with your father every day. He will give you the tools to protect yourself.”

  I’d placed my father’s backpack by the front door in case I needed to make a quick exit, with my jacket on top of it. I can smell the rancid, intoxicated breath getting closer. I have to move now. There’s no time left.

  I leap down to the side of my bed, stuffing my hand under the pillow and grabbing the gun. Knocking the pillow off the gun, I raise it straight to the man in front of me. It’s like something out of the movies… everything is happening in slow motion.

  The repulsive, vile man stumbles back in surprise. He’s wearing brown worn shoes, black office pants around his oversized stomach, and a buttoned-up, white, sleeved shirt.

  His neck is too fat for a collar size to fit him. He has a very round, tiny head, out of place with the rest of his body. It’s as if his head stopped growing, and the rest of his body could not stop.

  His face is covered in greed, from the smug grin on his face, to the sweat dripping down his face. His greasy hair is swept across his head, trying to hide the baldness beneath it.

  His evil pointed nose and the devil in his soulless eyes repulse me. He dares to stand there laughing at me, thinking I will not use a gun.

  He’s right. I’m not going to use a gun, not here in my bedroom. I am going to make the fat bastard run to his death! Time to put my training into practice. Time to see if I can do what I need to do – kill a man if necessary. But do I even have a choice?

  Running to the door, I swing it open. Shit! He tries to grab me, but I make it through to the hall. He is right behind me. I didn’t expect someone of his size to be able to move so fast, but he really wants me. “Get back here, little girl. I just want to be friends,” he says, and laughs.

  Friends? God, who wants friends like him? A devil of a man!

  I make it to the stairs, leaping down two at a time; I can smell his revolting breath like he’s right behind me. Landing at the doorway, I reach out to take my backpack and jacket. Ouch! He’s grabbing hold of my hair and, with one yank, is crashing me backwards onto the ground. My head slams on the hallway floor.

  “Get off me!” I yell out.

  But he continues to laugh. “I just want to be friends, little girl,” he says again.

  I lie on the floor. This is it — the moment I’ve been preparing for. I am not scared, I am ready!

  He stands with his legs at each side of my head, arching his body over his enormous stomach and eyeing his prey. He laughs, pleased with himself. He thinks he’s caught me.

  He won’t be happy for much longer. With lightning-fast reflexes, I point the gun toward his face; one last bead of his sweat drops onto my hand. The laughter has stopped, and his eyes look to the gun, then to me.

  Who is the prey now, you bastard?

  My finger is on the trigger, and adrenaline is running through my body. “Breathe slowly, Jada” my father’s voice rings in my head. A calmness washes over me, like he’s here, teaching me my last lesson.

  I aim for the best place I know — the between-the-eyes kill shot. I squeeze the trigger and exhale. A loud bang, his look of fear, and then his sweat-dripping body falls on top of me.

  I hadn’t planned for him to land on me; the weight of his body feels like I’ve been hit by a car. He’s crushing my lungs; it’s becoming harder to breathe.

  I reach my arms up, forcing them into the dead man’s stomach and moving my body out from beneath his weight at the same time. From my waist upwards I am free. With the last of the adrenaline in me, I kick his head and shoulders off me.

  I did it… I killed a man.

  As I Spring up from the floor, my hand and gun are ready for him to get up, like in the horror movies.

  But as I look down at the repulsive body, I understand he is not going to miraculously come back to life.

  There’s a single bullet wound between his eyebrows, right in the middle of his head.

  Good shot!

  There is a hole of crimson flesh slowly oozing out blood. His eyes are still open, with the look of fear in them. His tiny childlike mouth is open, with spit seeping out.

  Drops of sweat roll off his face onto the floor and his repulsive odor fills my nostrils. The thought of what could’ve happened crosses my mind. He only wanted one thing from me. A shiver runs through my body. How can humans treat each other this way when there is a war going on? All he was thinking about was himself.

  I kick him in the head. “Shame on you! I have killed you in this world; now it is time for your maker to judge you,” I shout at his lifeless body.

  Lord above, what I have I become? I cannot feel any guilt for what I have done, because I had no choice. But why do I feel ashamed?

  Mother and Father told me to protect myself at all costs. This was my only choice, my only salvation. They told me to do it.

  This is not the first thing I’ve killed, but it’s the first person. It feels different; wrong and right at the same time. Lord above, was I right to kill this man?

  My body begins to tremble uncontrollably, like I’m going into shock.

  I try to stay calm and reassure myself that I did the only thing I could’ve possibly done. It was his life or mine. No question.

  “Don’t let his sins weigh on your soul, Jada” my mother’s voice rings in my head.

  Trembling, I stagger into the living room where there are some old white and red candy canes in the TV stand. I take one out, place it in my pocket, and then take one more. I sit on the sofa in the same place where Mother had warned me about men like that. Unfortunately, she’d been right.

  I refuse to feel bad or guilty for what I’ve done here. He deserves to go to hell.

  I know I have to leave. I have to go now. Lord, I plead with you… don’t send any more in, let me escape from this nightmare.

  I unwrap the candy cane and place it into my mouth. The fresh minty taste tickles my taste buds, reminding me of the happy time of Christmas. But this is not the time to daydream.<
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  Wiggling my toes into the carpet, I realize I have no socks or shoes on. I must’ve kicked them off last night. I’d packed my running shoes in my bag in case I had to make a quick exit.

  Standing up from the sofa for one last time, I grab a handful of candy canes.

  I have a feeling I’ll need a lot more of these.

  Walking out of the living room, I look back to the wall with our family photographs from happy times when we were all together, and I savor the memories. I will keep them with me, alive in my mind.

  But I need to get out of here now, in case someone else comes. Placing my blue cap on, I decide it’s safer to look like a boy. Plus it will keep my head warm in the night.

  Leaving my sins in my once happy home, I take off on my unknown path.

  Chapter 18

  Ghost From the Past.

  GERARD

  “Jada’s house is there,” Anis, the young boy from the truck, informs me. The young girl, whom he told us is actually his sister, stays with Faith at the hospital. He points to a small house with a metal gate.

  “Anis, stay in the truck. They’ll keep you safe.” Anis slumps his shoulders. He looks tiny against the UN soldiers. I called in a favor to get them here, and I have a feeling this mission won’t be the last time I ask for help.

  Taking my gun, I step out of the truck and open the gate. There is a lady lying on the ground wearing a blue dress with her arm around a small boy.

  What?! No! No… it can’t be… I don’t understand! Mia is lying dead in front of me, cradling a small boy and flowers. I drop to my knees. Am I seeing a ghost? Is my mind playing tricks on me? What the fuck is going on? Mia died fifteen years ago with León.

  She looks beautiful, just like the last time I saw her. But today, her olive skin is pasty white and cold to touch. Her radiant smile is taken from me once again.

  So many questions fill my mind, I can barely think.

  “Gérard, are you okay? Do you know this lady?” One of the soldiers gets out of the truck and questions me.