Part Nine
The air left his lungs when he hit solid ground again. Before he could get up, the mud and natural debris from the hill covered him. It pelted him non-stop. Sark fought to break out.
The mud suspended his movement. It was like glue. His aching body dug for an out.
He felt rain on his hands. I'm close. He pushed himself up, and broke out of the mud.
His lungs expanded instantly, drinking in air, mud, and water. He coughed.
Sydney! He looked around frantically. The worst of the mudslide seemed to be over. He looked everywhere. It was so dark, not just because of night, but because the mud covered everything.
"Sydney!" he called out loudly. He knew the guards were still out there, somewhere. But I can't lose her. Sark started to dig in the mud, plunging his arms in beyond his elbows. He moved from spot to spot, trying to find her.
He yelled out in frustration, and dove for another spot.
Nothing.
Sark stopped and surveyed the mud around him. He felt the back of his neck tingle and he turned to another spot, by a tree. He dug frantically, removing globs of mud at a time. Then he felt something other than cold mud.
He grabbed her arm and started to pull Sydney up. Her body was limp, and Sark struggled to free her in his state. With all the strength in him, Sark pulled her out and laid her on top of the mud.
She wasn't breathing.
The rain poured down on them both. Sark tilted her chin up. He parted her lips and breathed into her lungs. The mud got in his mouth, but he didn't care. Breathe!
He tried again, a full, deep breath, and then started compressions. He breathed into her lungs again.
Suddenly Sydney gagged. She coughed violently, releasing water and mud from her lungs.
Sark turned her over on her side, patting her back. He let himself relax, and realized how tense he had been.
"It's okay," he heard himself say. "Just breathe, Sydney."
Sark leaned back, staring at the night sky and at the rain that fell down on him. He welcomed the water now, rubbing away the mud on his face.
"Thank you." It was soft and quiet, but she'd said it. Sark looked at her, and smiled. She was covered in mud. Her eyes shone out like stars against the contrasting mud. Sark leaned over her and started to wipe away the mud on her face.
The air was thick, but not just because of the humidity. She stared back at him, and Sark could have sworn he saw something there.
His eyes were bright, filled with desire. Not lust, but something he hadn't felt for years, maybe never at all. He leaned in, closer to her. Sydney raised her head to meet him halfway.
As their lips met, shouts echoed toward them.
Sark whipped his head around. Six guards were stumbling toward them in the water and mud.
"Come on!" He grabbed her hand and pulled her up. Adrenaline fueled him, and he took the lead. They stumbled out of the mud, and started running again.
Lightning flashed, lighting the way momentarily. Sark heard gunfire behind them. Never look back.
He tightened his grip on Sydney. They ran, together, hard and fast. Their feet splashed in the rising water.
"Sark," he heard her call after fifteen minutes.
He slowed down, and looked back at her. The mud was mostly washed off, and her hair stuck to the sides of her face.
"What?"
She smiled briefly, but her chest heaved with exertion.
"I'm," she paused, still catching her breath, "I could use a break." Sark smiled, and nodded. He released her hand.
Sark leaned forward, bracing his hands against his knees. The water in the grass looked tempting.
Why not? He cupped his hands together and drank the rainwater. It was cool, and soothed his chest and throat. Sydney followed his lead, and started drinking.
"Where do you think they are?" Sark asked, referring to the guards. Sydney shrugged.
"Hopefully, they've turned back," she said.
Don't count on it. Rice fields surrounded them again. Sark noticed a group of trees.
"Let's hide in those trees for the night. We'll start for civilization when we can see better," Sark said. Sydney nodded, and they walked toward the trees.
As they entered the batch of trees, Sark heard something rustle.
"Don't move!" a heavily accented voice shouted. Sark practically jumped, but managed to charge at the source. He heard more rustling, and suddenly they were surrounded by guards. Sydney struggled hard, but the guards outnumbered her and put her to the ground. Sark dove at them, trying a last desperate attempt to stay free.
His chest was met with the butt of a rifle. Sark fell on his back, his hand clutching his chest. Five guards converged on him. Sark lashed out his arms and legs, but it was useless. His body screamed for a break, relief, anything. The guards overpowered him, and flipped him on his stomach. Sark felt them handcuff his hands behind his back as his face was pressed in the soil.
"Try running again, and I'll slit her throat, then yours," one guard hissed in Sark's ear. A rifle was jammed in his back, and Sark knew it was over.
They were marched back to the Hierarchy compound. The guards took them towards the cell, but suddenly separated them. Sydney went back to the old cell, while the guards forced Sark another way.
The stone room was empty, except for a huge bin of water in the middle. Halzden stood next to it.
"Mr. Sark," he started. "Welcome back." He nodded at the guards, and they dragged him to the bin of water. "You look dirty, Mr. Sark. Allow us to give you a Burmese bath."
Suddenly the guards pushed down on his head, forcing it under the water. Sark didn't even have a moment for another breath.
The water was ice cold. Sark struggled against the hold, trying desperately to get air. Just when he thought he would start gulping the water, he was pulled back.
Sark coughed violently, fighting to get water out of his lungs and air in. The guards waited for Halzden's next signal.
It came and he was ducked again. Sark swallowed a mouthful of water on the way in. He kicked out a leg, trying to get the guards off him as his head thrashed in the water. Something hit his back, hard, and his legs buckled.
The guards pulled him out again, and threw him across the room. Sark hit the wall, and crumbled to the floor. He coughed several times.
"I thought you might have been faking your injuries before, Mr. Sark," Halzden said. "It seems I was right. We won't make that mistake again."
The guards pulled him up and forced him to the bin. The ice-cold water enveloped him again, covering beyond his shoulders. Sark ordered himself to focus on the cold, just to stay conscious.
Halzden had Sark starved for air several more times. Sark was hardly awake just from sheer exhaustion when the guards dragged him back to the other cell, and threw him to the floor. The chains went on his feet and to the wall. He breathed in, trying to get some relief.
They left him in the cell with Sydney. Sark started to shiver from the cold water on his body. His skin was covered in goose bumps, bruises and cuts. His only goal was to calm down so he could breathe normally.
"Sark, are you okay?" he heard Sydney ask. He didn't answer, but just curled up awkwardly with his hands bound behind him. He tried futilely to preserve any body heat he had left.
"Sark, talk to me!"
Sark just nodded, and lay still.
"Sark?"
"Yes, Sydney," he answered, but didn't open his eyes.
"What were you dreaming about, earlier?"
His eyes opened. "What do you mean?"
He heard her take a breath. "Before we escaped, you were asleep. You seemed to be . . . in the middle of a nightmare."
Did I yell or something? He sighed.
"It wasn't a nightmare," he said. He stopped there, hoping that would satiate her need for answers.
Instead he heard her sigh and shift around. Sark took a deep breath, and stared at the stone floor.
"I was remembering how I got in this business," he said. He heard Sydney shift again. That got her attention.
"Project Christmas," she whispered. Sark just laughed.
"No, not Project Christmas," he said. "I was 16. And I was bored with life. So I sought out your mother."
Sydney was quiet as she thought that over. "Were you on the streets?"
Sark sighed again. That's the only way she could understand my choice—if I was already down on my luck.
"No," he said. "I was not an orphan, I wasn't brainwashed by the KGB, and I wasn't in a terrible family situation." His face itched, and he did his best to rub it against his shoulder. "I wanted out of normalcy. So I faked my death, and left my home."
He could almost hear her shock.
"You just left? You chose this?!" Her tone held all the incredulity he expected and additional disgust.
Sark didn't answer. He knew he didn't have to. He shifted his body to be more comfortable, and tried to block out his surroundings.
He woke up to cold stones being pelted on him. In reality, a guard dumped a bucket of ice over Sark. His body jerked awake.
Halzden stood over him. "Let's try answering some questions, Mr. Sark."
The guards unchained his feet and started taking him to the other room.
"Please! Leave him alone!" Sydney yelled as the cell door was shut. Her objections were futile, but Sark was surprised she still tried for him.
The bin of water was fresh and waiting for him. Halzden snapped his fingers, and Sark was reintroduced to the frigid liquid.
The guards held his head under water several times. Each time he was allowed air, Halzden asked a question.
Sark never answered, but it was getting harder and harder to fight the water seeping into his lungs. The session ended with a short beating, and then Sark was dropped back into the cell, emptying his lungs with fitful coughs. He willed himself to sleep before the guards finished chaining him and before he heard Sydney asking him if he was all right.
They were back too quickly. Another ice bucket. Water, near-drowning. Questions. No answers. Pain. Cold. Sleep.
At the end of one session, Halzden had the guards overturn the bin on him. A torrent of the frigid water splashed on him, and Sark could only gasp. He caught Halzden's eyes. The man just grinned; it was pure evil. Sark shivered on the wet and dirty stone floor, his half-naked body convulsing as he tried to overcome the iciness he felt all over him.
He didn't look at Sydney when he was dropped on the floor like a discarded wet rag; he didn't want her pity or words of concern. Sark just prepared himself for the next session.
They gave him no food, but continued to give Sydney the soupy mix. He didn't care.
Despite the window he and Sydney had in the cell, Sark lost track of time. He wasn't sure how many days it'd been since his escape attempt with Sydney.
He just hoped for longer intervals between the torture.
He noticed the darkness this time. It must have been night when they started the next session.
After four dunks, Sark was ready for it to stop. He thought back to his family as the guards forced his head under water again.
He could see himself with them. He'd probably be done with college or dating some girl right now. His younger siblings would still be at school. Summer vacations with the whole family. More cheesy tourist spots. The same life.
But safe.
He was pulled from the icy water. His lungs were having a harder time with each session. Sark coughed harder and harder, and almost couldn't breathe in the air around him.
"Again," he heard Halzden say. Sark closed his eyes and didn't even fight the push into the cold.
Home. He could see it. Suddenly the funeral flashed in his mind. He could see his coffin, but it was open in that hole in the ground. Sark peered into it, only to see himself staring back.
Suddenly the guards pulled him out. Sark heard a loud noise, but couldn't place it. The guards dropped him, and Sark fell to the floor. He tried to cough out the water. He heard shouts, but they weren't his own.
Loud pops, like firecrackers.
Gunfire. Sark tried to open his eyes. A swirl of figures moved around him like oil in water. Red mixed in the picture. He tried to figure out what was happening. Nothing was working though.
He didn't move from the wet stone floor.