The thumping steps against the moist earth reverberated through a village in Afghanistan, each step growing closer, each metallic clank echoed sending a cold sweat down Matthew's cheek.
"We should've run when we had the chance," Mary whispered, her voice edged with regret.
Matthew shook his head, his gaze landing on the pale faced child struggling to breathe in her arms. His breaths were shallow, wheezing like a dying dog.
"We couldn't have," he murmured.
Mary exhaled sharply, her lips pressing into a tight line. "I can always live without a home..." she said, her tone as bitter as an unripe apple. Then, softer, she added, "But I can't make more of you."
Matthew turned to her, his eyes softening. He took her hand, pressing it against his cheek. "I know, my love. I know." He kissed her fingers, his lips trembling.
Mary swallowed. "But why us? Why here?"
Matthew's shoulders tensed. "I don't know… I just don't know." His voice cracked like a fragile shell.
Outside, the thumping stopped. A tense silence settled before the sharp neighing of horses was heard.
A man's voice called out, rough yet mocking. "Nice place you got here."
The man dismounted, boots hitting the ground with a deliberate stomp. His grip on his gun was firm, held in a pose reminiscent of old green army figurines.
"Thought you could just move on?" the man continued, his voice dripping with amusement. Behind him, his men followed suit, their hands resting on their holsters. "Heard you got yourself a family now. May I meet the little one? And the lovely Mrs.?"
Inside, Matthew and Mary pressed themselves against the wall, hearts beating as if in a rock band.
Matthew clenched his fists, trembling. "Please, I haven't done anything wrong. None of us have." His voice was small, desperate like that of a fleeing mouse.
The man chuckled. "Oh, so now you have amnesia, huh?" A brief silence followed, it was as long as the time it takes for a single drop of water to fall from a leaking faucet.
"Remember don't try to fight back, it'll make our chances better." As Matthew whispered to Mary, who nodded in agreement.
Then, his tone darkened. "I'm tired of waiting."
As he rushed toward the door and a following deafening crash shook the house as the door splintered inward.
The man stormed inside, his eyes scanning the room—but no one was there. He frowned, then scowled. "You're really making this hard for me. For all of us." He gestured his hand for his men to search the house.
They spread out, kicking open doors, overturning furniture. Meanwhile, the man walked toward the kitchen—then froze.
His expression twisted into one of realization.
"EVERYONE, HERE! NOW!" he barked.
He bolted out of the already opened back door, gun raised, and there they were—Matthew, Mary, and the child, running for their lives.
"Run! We have to hurry!" Matthew shouted.
Mary's breath was ragged. "But run where?!" As she carried the child on her back, his weak coughs rattling in her ears.
Behind them, the man growled in frustration. "Too long. Too many fuck-ups. But not this time."
He pulled the trigger.
A thunderous bang follows the bullet.
The bullet struck in the back of the child on Mary's back.
The boy let out a small, broken whisper. "Papa…" as he lets out his final wheeze.
Mary froze. Her lips parted, but no words came out. Her throat was a desert, yet her eyes—her eyes were a raging river.
Matthew's eyes widened like that of a camera's lens capturing the moment . The only thought racing through his mind now is "What just happened?"
Mary slowly lifted the child off her back, his blood soaking through her hands. She knelt, holding him close. Then, the dam burst—a raw, soul-wrenching scream overflowing the desert her throat was some seconds ago .
Matthew still couldn't breathe.
"My boy… even if you didn't have long left, but not like this…" Mary whispered, her voice splintered with grief and rage as she clenched her child.
The man and his men caught up, weapons drawn.
"Bullseye," the man smirked. "Though I was aiming for the Mrs."
Matthew trembled, speechless, he still tries to beg.
Mary's gaze snapped up. Her grief twisted into something dark and burning. "WHY?! WHY US?!" she roared.
The man's grin widened. "Because your husband here did something he shouldn't have." As he points his gun towards Matthew.
Mary frowned. "What are you talking about?" As she sounds and looks visibly confused.
Matthew interjects "But I didn't do anything wro—" As a gun passionately kisses him across the face forcing him to the ground.
Mary shouts "Matthew! No!!" As she still continues to cry
He hit the ground hard. Blood dripped from his nose. "Why would the militia be attacking us." As Matthew thinks.
A tattooed man stepped forward—the word "Python" inked across his arm.
"Still playing dumb?" Python sneered, pressing the barrel of his gun against Mary's forehead. "Maybe your brain needs some jogging."
"P-please…" Matthew coughed, struggling to sit up.
The man grabbed Matthew by his hair, yanking his head up. "Do you remember now, huh? Red Artist?"
Matthew's eyes widened as he thought "Red Artist? What?". "Who or what is the red artist?!" as he says out loud visibly confused
He tried to protest, but his words were drowned in fear and knowing even if he spoke no one would believe him.
The man sighed dramatically. "No words?"
Matthew cries and is speechless.
"You sure?" Said the man.
Matthew continues to beg and cry. "Are these really militia?". "I can't see their emblem." As he looks for their badge but finds nothing.
The man sighs and faces Matthew's head towards Mary.
"Do it." As the man says to python.
"No—no—no!" Matthew forces out.
Python forces the gun's barrel on Mary's forehead, his finger caressing the trigger.
Matthew desperately looks at his wife.
"Just kill me, yes I'm the guy you're looking for, I'll be anyone."
One of the man's henchmen is intrigued at Matthew's statement and lowers his gun.
Matthew cries "Just please leave her out of this" as he let's it all out.
The henchman that lowered his gun gazes at Matthew and then asks "are we sure this is the right guy?"
Python replies "Of course this is the right guy, it's from a reliable source"
The man then says "This is him, he looks the same as before" as he reminisces.
Another henchmen says "Hope this isn't another bust"
The man replies "This isn't!" As he says aggressively. "Because this is from Herald himself".
The henchman that lowered his gun is not too convinced by any of the things happening.
The man continues to say "Now by the way—-Matthew, was that so hard?" as he let's go of his hair.
Matthew hits his head on the ground hereby making his face covered in dirt.
He then raises it up and looks at Mary, he is relieved as looks at her and smiles.
The man then nods at python.
"I'm sorry—-i'm s-s--sorry" Matthew trembled, his voice breaking.
Mary opens her mouth about to reply.
A loud bang echoed through the air.
This startled the nearby birds flew off.
A thud is heard.
Mary's body crumpled to the ground.
A clean bullet hole in her forehead stared right back at Matthew.
Matthew's world dimmed.
His ears rang. His breath hitched. His mind refused to process what just happened.
His wife's lifeless body lay before him.
He crawled toward her, reaching out—
A boot crushed his ribs, forcing him flat.
"Where do you think you're going?" the man mocked, kneeling beside him.
Matthew gasped, his body barely functioning.
The man pulled out his phone and held it up. "Now, where did you keep these?"
On the screen were several USB flash drives.
Matthew looks but can't respond not because he doesn't want to, but because he can't.
He becomes inaudible, "Ahh ugh urhhhh" said Matthew who sounded like a disabled person still trying to reach his wife as he breathes loudly.
"We almost died together looking for these," the man hissed. "And you left me for dead."
Then out of frustration, the man walks towards Mary's corpse and readies her left arm out.
He then proceeds to stop on the arm.
Repeatedly.
"Where!"
"Are!"
"The!"
"Drives!"
As he stomps on her arm, with each time the bone piercing the skin.
Matthew still tries to move but can't.
"Nooooo!" As he shouts while extending his left hand out.
A henchman then ran up, a box clutched in his hands. "Sir! We found them!"
The man's eyes gleamed as he opened the box.
"It can't be…" His lips curled into a victorious smirk. "Herald will finally let us off the hook now."
Matthew stares at the box in confusion.
He turned back to Matthew, shaking his head. "You actually hid them here? How pathetic."
But Matthew wasn't listening.
All he could hear was a loud unrelenting ring.
He was still reaching for Mary with the same left hand.
"Now I'm going to make you—how you made me feel." As the man said shakily with excitement.
He removed his knife as he points it at the poor man on the ground.
He then kneels over him.
He then flips him.
Grabs Matthew's left hand.
He then cuts his left ringed finger.
Matthew shouted in pain
The man then slowly cuts Matthew all over his body. The cuts felt like molten lava, the pain unrelenting.
Blood poured from his wounds.
"You should be thanking me," the man muttered, kicking Matthew.
His tears mixed with blood as he stared at Mary one last time.
"Now your not so high and mighty as you used to be". "Almost as if you're a different person" the man tells Matthew as he cleans his knife.
"But I should be grateful, or else it wouldn't have been this easy.
Matthew then looks at the man with his stew red eyes one last time with his tears and blood still flowing as everything was becoming inaudible.
The man kicked him in the face and everything fades to black.
Matthew sees his wife and kid happy, with his wife smiling and kid laughing one last time.
"Mary—Peter—-im so sorry". "I don't know why any of this happened, but I'll be meeting you both soon enough".
As the darkness takes over and everything is pitch black.
A cough is heard in the darkness.
—The end of chapter 1—