The Right Reason Read online

  The front door was wide open, and Sam headed towards it, the beating sun welcoming him with an accompanying soundtrack of someone digging.

  Was it his grave?

  Sam knew he was in a bad way and was a match for no one in his current state. But he would fight for as long as he could. With a vision of Lucy firmly in his mind, he stepped outside, ready to confront his captor.

  The sun seized upon him like a ravenous animal, the sweltering heat hitting him like a hammer. Sam raised his left hand to shield his eyes and he peered ahead.

  They were a fair distance away from the rest of the village, a good kilometer, and Sam could see a number of other stone abodes lining an arid road. The surrounding land was dry and useless, with the mighty sun ruling with a fiery fist. There was no movement, and Sam wondered just how many people actually lived there. It was like a ghost town and he felt his chances of returning to his beloved evaporating with every moment.

  The shunting of metal into the soil once again sounded from behind the house and with his hand pressed against the piping hot stone, Sam carefully navigated the stony path around the building.

  Farhad stood about ten feet from the house, a shovel in his hand and a small ditch in front of him. Sweat was beating down his head and he took a deep breath before slamming the shovel down into the ground again. To his credit, he had managed to turn over a lot of soil and Sam was impressed by what looked like a functioning vegetable patch to the left side of the hole. A few plants had managed to survive the heat, no doubt due to the well that sat a farther twenty feet away, where Farhad’s two sons were loitering, both of them looking over the stone wall and into the hole below.

  ‘You should be resting,’ Farhad spoke without turning, his words catching Sam off guard. In his condition, Sam had clearly forfeited the element of surprise.

  ‘How long have I been out?’ Sam asked, ignoring the order.

  ‘Two days,’ the man said, rocking his hand as an estimation. ‘You were restless.’

  ‘I was having some pretty horrible dreams.’ Sam let go of the stone wall and gently limped forward, praying his leg would hold. It did. Just.

  ‘You experience much pain,’ Farhad said softly, driving the shovel into the mud and then resting his arm on it. He turned to Sam, a friendly smile on his face. ‘But you survive.’

  ‘Well, we’ll see.’ Sam shrugged, before nodding to the ditch before them. ‘That for me?’

  Farhad chuckled, drawing a smile from Sam.

  ‘It is for crops.’ Farhad shook his head. ‘For you, I would leave you to the birds.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Sam said sarcastically, stopping a few feet from his savior. He extended a hand. ‘You saved my life. I’m Sam.’

  ‘Farhad.’ The man graciously accepted. ‘You are most welcome.’

  ‘Your English is very good.’

  ‘Surprising, huh?’ Farhad said with a grin. ‘I study in England and live there for many years. It was my hope to stay there, but life is not always so good. You should know that.’

  He pointed towards Sam’s right side and the wince of pain told him Sam agreed. Sam looked at the impressive plants before him, a few peppers growing despite the baking heat. In the distance, the wasteland blurred at the horizon line, the sun effectively melting Sam’s view.

  ‘You’re a farmer?’

  ‘No, I am doctor,’ Farhad said with a proud nod of the head. ‘If I am farmer, you would not be standing here.’

  Sam smiled and nodded in agreement. He found himself instantly liking this man. He looked beyond Farhad towards the well, his gaze returned with the stare of the two children.

  ‘Those your boys?’

  ‘My sons,’ Farhad said proudly. ‘Tamir is the biggest one. Masood was one who look after you.’

  ‘He ran from me like I was a monster,’ Sam said.

  ‘To him, you could be.’

  Sam felt a twinge of guilt. He was in a war-torn village of a country being squashed by the oppressive boot of terrorism. While he had always been clear that he was fighting for the freedom of others, he never really thought about how it impacted the innocent people trapped within the battle. To his own family, Sam was a hero.

  He had the medals to prove it.

  But to a small family trapped in a war zone with little chance of making their way out, he was part of the problem. A soldier from the west, raining gunfire down on their people, in their country. Maybe Masood was right.

  Maybe he was a monster.

  Farhad yelled to his boys in their native tongue and Masood eagerly bounded towards them. A few feet behind, Tahir stomped, a look of disdain on his face. The boy was tall and slim, with a thin, fluffy moustache that signified the start of puberty. He wore a T-shirt and shorts, his bony limbs showing signs of malnourishment.

  He scowled at Sam and trudged past them, ignoring his father’s angry calls to return.

  Teenagers.

  Sam watched as Tahir headed towards the house, shooting one final look at Sam over his shoulder before disappearing behind the stone wall.

  Before Sam could say anything, Masood looked up at his father and said something. His voice was quiet, and his eyes were full of innocence. Sam offered the boy a smile, but he shyly hid behind his father’s legs.

  ‘What did he say?’ Sam asked.

  ‘He wants to know if you a good man or a bad man?’ Farhad shrugged. Sam looked down at the young boy who was peering at him with curiosity. Sam was a stranger in their home and most likely, unlike anyone he had seen before.

  ‘It depends what side you’re on,’ Sam eventually replied.

  ‘I am on the side of peace, Mr Sam,’ Farhad replied curtly. ‘What about you?’

  ‘Same,’ Sam said with a nod, slightly irritated by the implication. ‘When you found me, did you find anyone else?’

  ‘Else?’

  ‘I had a partner with me. A good friend of mine.’

  Farhad solemnly shook his head.

  ‘Just you. I find just you.’

  Sam looked up towards the rocky cliffs that covered the derelict vista, scanning for the devastated location of the chopper attack. With the earth so broken and dead, it was hard to tell where it was.

  It all looked like it had gone to hell.

  With a resigned sigh, Sam looked to Farhad with a desperate smile.

  ‘Perhaps someone else has found him.’

  Farhad turned and rested a friendly hand on Sam’s shoulder.

  ‘If anyone else find him, we hope they find him dead.’

  Farhad patted Sam on the shoulder and then reached down and picked up his son, who clung to him lovingly. As they headed towards the shack, Sam took one final glance up at the rocky terrain, feeling the devastating loss of his comrade He looked back towards Farhad, who marched towards the house, humming a song to his son, who in turn kept his eyes locked on Sam.

  It was at that moment Sam realised just how lucky he was to still be alive.

  CHAPTER THREE

  An awkward tension hung in the air as the four of them sat around the rickety table. Sam was opposite Farhad, while the two boys sat either side, huddled towards their father. Sam understood, he was a white soldier who they’d found bloodied and burnt at the bottom of the cliff face.

  Like Masood had asked.

  He could be a good man or a bad man.

  By the glare emanating from Tahir, Sam knew that the teenager thought the latter.

  Farhad had made a vegetable soup, which Sam had devoured within minutes much to the chef’s appreciation. He was ravenous and after a few days of no eating and the blistering heat, he could have eaten for all four of them. Farhad smiled, his world-weary face masked in the shadows afforded by the feeble lighting. The village had an electricity supply, but Sam surmised that it wasn’t too powerful. From what he’d seen when scanning the area, there wasn’t a massive population in the village of Chakari. It was Masood who had told him the name of their location earlier, before bounding away cheekily and kicking a b
all around the dry, beaten land. Sam had offered him a smile, even enjoying a few passes despite the searing pain through his side.

  Masood looked up from his soup, a warm, innocent smile on his face. Sam returned in kind, grimacing slightly at the discomfort of his wounds.

  ‘Is good?’ Farhad asked, indicating to his bowl. Sam looked down at the empty dish that greeted him. His appetite had returned, his body doing everything within its power to bring him back to life.

  ‘Very. Thank you.’ Sam smiled sheepishly.

  ‘Please, take more.’ Farhad motioned to the large, metal container in the middle of the table, the remaining soup slowly cooling. As Sam reached forward, Tahir smirked.

  ‘You take everything else.’

  ‘Tahir!’ Farhad rose his voice, a stern edge to the word.

  ‘It’s okay,’ Sam said, holding up his bandaged hand. He turned to the teenager who eyed him with a hateful glare. ‘Your English is very good.’

  ‘I am from England,’ Tahir replied.

  ‘So am I,’ Masood said proudly, his words bouncing across the table with oblivious innocence. Sam saw his Farhad smile proudly before he spoke.

  ‘I move to England many years ago to study. I met the boys’ mother, Zainab, there. We get married. Have wonderful children.’

  ‘Then come back here, to die with the rest of them,’ Tahir spat.

  ‘We come back here for family.’

  ‘You ripped us from our life and dragged us to a country being killed by men like him.’ Tahir shoved a finger in Sam’s face.

  ‘Easy, kid,’ Sam said gently. ‘I’m not the bad guy.’

  ‘No? Then why you here?’ Tahir was shaking, his eyes watering with anger. Sam could see the inner conflict in the boy, the uncontrollable rage that existed within him. It wasn’t something Sam could relate to. His childhood had been spent following his father around the military, his mum checking out not too long after his seventh birthday. Sam had never had the inclination to find her. They had never been close, and as far as he was concerned, if she didn’t want to be part of his life at seven, she didn’t deserve to be now, however long it would last. He regarded the furious Tahir with a calm, considered look.

  ‘I’m here to help. To help liberate this country from the very real threat of terrorism.’

  ‘You’re the terrorist,’ Tahir said, slamming both fists on the table. ‘You come here, kill our people, and then claim to be saving us.’

  ‘Tahir, please.’ Farhad’s voice broke slightly and Sam could see the pain in the man’s eyes. Everything clicked. The boy was being seduced by the Taliban, the brain washing firmly beginning and sending him down a terrifying path. Tahir reached into his pocket and as Sam saw the grey, metal object rise up, his instincts kicked in.

  His left hand shot out, latching onto the young boy’s wrist like a striking python and hauled upward, before drilling it down onto the table.

  Tahir screamed in pain.

  Farhad leapt from his seat with concern.

  Masood began to cry.

  Sam felt his heartbeat slow down.

  Tahir’s hand went limp against the table, his fingers loosening his grip on the metal object.

  It was an assault rifle magazine.

  Sam guessed it belonged to an M4 Carbine, but in the flickering lights, he couldn’t be sure. Tahir struggled feebly, trying to maintain his disdain for Sam. Sadly, his fear betrayed any display of rebellion and Sam saw the young boy for exactly what he was.

  A teenage boy.

  A terrified teenage boy.

  Sam let go and Tahir slid his arm off the table and burst towards the door. Farhad called after his son, but the door swung open and Tahir disappeared into the dark. Sam turned back to the crestfallen father who offered him a forced smile. Gently, Farhad lifted Masood who had reduced his wailing to a quieter sniffle and carried him towards the darkness of their bedroom. As Farhad softly hummed an Arabic song to his son, Sam felt guilty.

  Not just for scaring his sons, but for being a soldier in the man’s country.

  For being a part of whatever system was driving young, vulnerable boys towards terrorism.

  Sam knew he was on the right side of the fight, but he was still a part of the machine. The never-ending cycle which pumped fresh, idealistic young men into the meat grinder.

  The world was a cruel place and despite his pride at defending the freedom of innocent people, Sam was still a person aiming a weapon at another.

  Farhad stepped back through into the main room, rolling his eyes. Sam smiled politely, appreciating the man trying to make the best of a bad situation. After a few moments of silence while the two men cleared the table, Sam spoke.

  ‘I’m sorry, I honestly didn’t think he would have a gun.’ Sam began. ‘It’s just, I saw...’

  Farhad rose his hand, gently shaking his head.

  ‘I fear for my boy,’ he said, his eyes watering. ‘A group of young men, a few years more. They want to join the fight. They have guns. They act cool to the younger boys. They tell them there is only one side.’

  ‘Look, Tahir seems like a smart kid and...’

  ‘He wants to join. He tells me. We came back here because my father became ill. We look after him, but the Taliban destroy the village. We have a lot of sick people here, so I decide to stay. To try to help.’ Farhad shook his head. ‘My father, he saw the war happening. He made plans. Come with me.’

  Farhad beckoned Sam as he shuffled across the dimly lit room towards the small kitchen. Sam followed, easing himself slowly around the furniture and stood in the doorway. The kitchen was smaller than he remembered. At a glance, the room seemed fine but under closer inspection, Sam realised the right-hand wall was elevated.

  Farhad pulled the cabinet to the side and then slid the wall panel across to reveal a gap large enough for the family to shuffle into and press themselves flat against the wall.

  A hiding place.

  The fact they needed one filled Sam with dread.

  ‘My father, he wants to stay in his home. But he wants to feel safe,’ Farhad explained. ‘There is a peep hole to view the street outside.’

  ‘Smart man.’

  ‘Scared man,’ Farhad replied. ‘But now, I am scared too.’

  ‘Maybe I can talk to Tahir, you know. Tell him about the war and what happens to boys who sign up.’

  ‘He would see it as heroic.’ Farhad shook his head. ‘Look around, Sam. These boys have nothing. No one is coming to save them. They exist in a country that’s full of war. They will either join the fight or be killed by its outcome. Tahir, he may be wrong, but he is a fighter and they convince him their side is best. That they are the only way to be safe. I stay in the village to help my people. To try to save them. But I can’t even save my son.’

  Sam reached out and gently squeezed Farhad’s bony shoulder.

  ‘You saved me.’

  ‘I haven’t saved you, Sam. I’ve delayed things for you.’ Farhad sighed. ‘Tahir will tell them you’re here. They will come.’

  ‘Then I will fight them,’ Sam said defiantly, ignoring the insurmountable odds.

  ‘If they know you here, if they see you here, then they will kill my family,’ Farhad stated. ‘They will send message.’

  ‘Then I’ll go.’ Sam offered his hand.

  ‘Nonsense. I am your doctor, you are my patient. You stay the night, then tomorrow, we try to find you a way out.’

  ‘What about Tahir?’ Sam asked, as Farhad turned and headed to the dark archway that led to the bedroom he shared with his beloved children.

  ‘He is outside,’ Farhad said, without looking back. ‘He is a sulking teenager but he is still afraid of the dark.’

  Sam scoffed at the remark and watched as the darkness enveloped Farhad. Groaning quietly with pain, he stepped towards the door, reaching for the magazine as he stepped passed the table. He peered out into the darkness, hoping his twenty-twenty vision would quickly adjust to the dark.

  A voice helped hi
m hone in.

  ‘Leave me alone.’

  Tahir was sat to the side of the doors, knees bunched up to his chest and his arms wrapped around them. Sam could see his vague outline and realised how small he was.

  How frail.

  ‘I wanted to say sorry for grabbing you,’ Sam said.

  ‘I wish it was a gun,’ Tahir spat into the darkness. ‘Then I would kill you myself.’

  ‘You don’t mean that.’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Tahir, your father is scared to death. You’re letting these boys tell you that fighting in the war is the only path you have. But let me tell you, it’s scary and it’s dirty. People die. I’ve seen lots of boys your age drafted into these groups only to be sent out to die.’

  ‘It is noble...’ Tahir tried to reason.

  ‘It is death. Do you understand?’ Sam could feel his body hardening with anger that a young, innocent boy was being indoctrinated to believe in the nobility of terrorism. ‘To them, you are just another person to throw in front of a gun.’

  Tahir scrambled to his feet.

  ‘A gun you would be holding.’ Tahir barged past Sam, the clip of his shoulder sending a roar of pain through Sam’s body. ‘Tomorrow, they will come for you. Then your war will end.’

  Sam reached out and placed his hand on Tahir’s shoulder. The boy froze with fear, his muscles tightening. Behind the tough talk, he was still just a child.

  ‘Tahir, if they find me here, you and your whole family will be in danger. Do you understand me?’

  ‘I will be a hero,’ Tahir replied, pushing Sam’s hand away.

  ‘You will be dead,’ Sam said coldly, hoping his words would inspire some sort of fear within the boy. In the fading light of the front room, he saw a flicker of fear spread across the pre-pubescent face, before a faux frown replaced it. Tahir stomped off, disappearing into the black void where his family remained. Sam took a deep breath.

  He should have been killed.

  The explosion that sent him hurtling down the cliff face should have wiped him from the earth. But it hadn’t and that was thanks to Farhad. The man had nursed him back to life, treating the ferocious wounds that should have sent him to the grave.