Tom Locke: Surviving Today XXXIII
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- Playing the part
It could have been the thousands of years of sexual evolution and the adrenaline and testosterone running Tom Locke like rocket fuel but he moved quickly to the smallest and most vulnerable of the cloaked women. Knowing the whole camp was watching with bones vision he grabbed he wrist and pulled her hard in his direction. Tom had to sell his barbarism at least until they got behind closed doors.
As he began to walk her towards one of the dorms the crowd roared with adulation. He was one of them now. Their doubts had been extinguished by his rough handling of the infidel. He though of Najair and how he would fair out there. He was a Muslim so he could at least find a common ground. At this moment, until opportunity knocked, Tom would be best hidden behind a closed door.
Each dorm had a small porch and when Tom stepped up onto it vivid memories of running off that same small porch fired in his mind. With that anger and fear he put on one first all show for the Muslim killers behind him. Tom fiercely pushed the door open and up against the wall and once the two of them disappeared beyond the midday light he slammed it closed again.
Inside the wooden dorm there was a dirty bed with old dirty chains laying off to the side. Shackles. They were very similar to the one that once held Tom and Najair. The sight of the place and the thought of what horror must have taken place in this old, disgusting room brought on a strong bout of nausea.
Tom turned his attention to the captive woman. She slumped down hopeless on the dirty bed. Her entire form was shrouded by the strange and almost theatrical burqua. It showed not even a sliver of eyes. There was a fine mesh that allowed her to see out but no one to see in.
Tom knelt down in front of her. He pulled down the sheet that covered his face and spoke in a whisper, “I need you to liste….”
From under the burqua a shiny black combat boot landed squarely on Tom’s chin knocking him unconscious. The burqua flew off the small woman and crumpled next to the bed. Standing over Tom she was no taller than 5’3. Her hair was covered by a black skull cap but her beauty was immediate in two glimmering blue eyes and a smooth set of high cheeks that lead to a sharp chin. She wore black cargo pants fitted with a holster from which she produced a .45 semi automatic. A flack jacket over a matching black shirt. On her shoulder was a red arrowhead patch that inside sat a small black dagger. Over the patch were the words AIRBORNE.