What Lies Within (2 page)

The gang I’ve portrayed in this book, the Blood Brotherhood, is fictitious. But their actions are true to life. And, as unsettling as it may be, their actions are mild compared to what some gangs do. If I learned anything from researching this book it’s that those involved in combating gangs—and in resisting them—need our prayers. The world of gangs is a dark, pervasive, spiritually oppressed place where humanity gives way to violence, mercy to degradation. There’s only one source of light in such darkness: Jesus Christ. May we call upon Him with passion and determination to speak to the hearts of those lost in a life many of us can’t even imagine.

And now, the flip side.

May I just say to anyone involved in the military …

Thank you
.

The research I’ve done for Rafael and his Force Recon team has been fascinating. Uplifting. Inspiring. And, at times, terrifying. I can’t believe what those in the military, especially the Special Forces and Force Recon, are called to do to secure our country and our freedom. I’ve seen photos, listened to audio recordings of radio transmissions, read firsthand accounts of battles—both victories and losses—and it has moved me to tears. The men and women in the U.S. military deserve our respect, our support, and our eternal gratitude for all they are and do. As President Ronald Reagan once said, “Some people spend a lifetime wondering if they made a difference. The Marines don’t have that problem.” I’d add that anyone in the military shouldn’t have that problem.

They make a difference. A big one. May God place His hand of protection upon each of them.

Two notes, just for the record: Rafe’s Force Recon team, the Pride, is fictitious. (Their motto is an adaptation of the motto for the “WolfPack,” the 3rd Light Armored Reconnaissance Battalion.) While I’ve done my best to ensure accuracy in the military and battle details, I also took some creative license for the sake of the story.

Also, my sources on gangs informed me that many, if not most, gangs similar to the one in my book name themselves after the streets they live on. I wanted to be sure I didn’t use a real gang name, so I didn’t follow that standard.

Finally, because I know some folks like them, there is a glosssary at the end of the book for the Yiddish, Spanish, and gang terminology used in
What Lies Within
.

And now, I give you the final episode of the Justice clan. May God use this story to bless and encourage you richly.

PROLOGUE   

T
he night was a chameleon. Sometimes soft and welcoming, like a warm hug when you return home. Other times …

Oppressive.

Threatening.

For a moment Kyla’s mind hovered on the thought, probing. What felt so wrong? Then she understood. It was too dark for a city street.

Her hand gripped the railing on the church steps; her feet felt their way down to the street. She was a few feet away from the building when it hit her.

The streetlights were out.

With a glance front and back—was someone out there, watching her?—she walked toward one tall light pole. Something crunched beneath her foot. She crouched, fingers exploring the ground—and her lips compressed.

Glass. Someone had broken—or, more likely, shot out—the streetlight. Her senses went into overdrive and she straightened. It wasn’t hard to figure out who’d done it. Or why.

They hadn’t been able to stop her with threats. So they were taking the next step.

Kyla spun and ran back toward the building, pounding feet sending an ominous echo through the oppressive night. As she drew near the church, she heard a door open. Could just discern someone stepping outside.

“Kylie?”

For a moment stark fear lodged in Kyla’s throat. It took two hard swallows, but at last the words were freed. “Annot, get back inside!”

“Miss Annie, do what your sister says.”

Tarik. Thank heaven. If Tarik was with Annot, then surely she’d listen. Wouldn’t risk endangering the boy.

Kyla should have known better. She watched the dim outline of her sister as she came down the stairs toward her.

“Kylie, what’s wrong? What are you—?”

Two sounds split the night: Tarik’s alarmed cry, and something else. Something sharp and terrifying.

It took Kyla’s frantic mind a heartbeat to identify the sound.

A gunshot. Followed by a second.

Kyla bolted the last few feet and grabbed her sister’s arm. “
Get inside!
”

No response. Kyla could just make out her sister’s features … the wide eyes, the mouth opening and closing without making a sound.

“This is no time to fool arou—” The scold died when Annot slumped against Tarik—and Kodi’s howl echoed, a chilling sound in the night.

“They were after me.” The boy’s low, choked words made no sense—but his eyes spoke volumes. Anguish. Sorrow. “She threw herself in front of me. If it wasn’t for her, I’d be … They were shooting at me.”

No. It wasn’t possible. “Annot?”

Her sister just looked down, her usually smooth forehead creased. Annot’s hands pressed against her ribs, but they couldn’t halt what bloomed behind them, on the white of her shirt. Dark petals reaching out, spreading, covering the white.

Blood.

“Annot!” Kyla’s cry tore through the night as Annot’s knees buckled. She sank to the cold concrete steps, pulling both Kyla and Tarik down with her.

God! God, please!

Pure desperation lifted the prayer skyward. “
Someone
, help us!” She pressed down on Annot’s hands despite her sister’s pained groan, trying to staunch the flow. To no avail.

“Miss Kyla—”

“Somebody call 911!”

“Miss Kyla!”

The urgent words jerked Kyla from her panic. She focused on Tarik.

“Help me.” He struggled to stand, his hands under Annot’s arms. “We have to get her inside.”

Nodding, Kyla gripped Annot’s legs, and they carried her through the entry, into the vestibule, dodging a frantic Kodi.

Tarik pressed Kyla’s hands against the sticky flow escaping her sister’s body. She welcomed the solid feel of Kodi leaning into her.

God … God, please …

“Keep the pressure on. I’ll call an ambulance.”

Biting back tears, Kyla nodded again. She watched as the young man bolted toward the phone. Then she let herself look down at Annot’s white face.

What if they couldn’t get here in time? What if it was already too late? What if Annot was—

No! Kyla squeezed her eyes shut. There was only one thing her stunned mind could take in, a single fact it could grasp.

One person. One person had caused it all. The anger. The danger. Annot getting shot.

Annot dying …

Don’t even think that!

“I’m sorry.” Kyla’s remorse weighted her like a sodden cloak, bending her, breaking her. “Oh, Annot, I’m so sorry.”

Her sister’s eyes opened. Her fingers closed over Kyla’s. Forgiveness drifted on pained gasps. “Not … your fault.”

But Kyla knew different. Her sister was dying. Before her eyes. In her arms. And there was no doubt in Kyla’s mind.

It was all her fault.

ONE   

D
eath was waiting. Staff sergeant Rafael Murphy didn’t have to see Death to know he was there. He could feel him. Feel the icy fingers inching up his spine. The disquiet shivering beneath his Kevlar. The heaviness in his chest, like a claymore aching to go off.

Back off. You’re not getting my guys …

He glanced over his shoulder. He could have sworn the DZ was still in sight, but all that met his searching gaze was the fog cloaking them. The Huey had no sooner dropped them than the blasted fog moved in. Like it was waiting for them.

It took a little longer for the sand to start up.

When Rafe was a kid, he used to go to the Oregon Dunes with his buddies. When the wind picked up, the tiny grains whipped and stung like needles. So when he heard the stories about Iraq sandstorms, he wasn’t worried. He’d been through sandstorms before.

Wrong.

The storms at home could be fierce, but these storms … They were flat
evil. Roiling, roaring clouds that rose out of nowhere; monsters that traveled as fast as sixty mph, billowing down on everything in their paths. Like ravenous demons, they engulfed the world, turning the brightest day into hazy black night. As if that weren’t freaky enough, there were times when the storm reached out and snatched the sun’s light, absorbing and diffusing it until everything was tinged orange or red.

Blood red.

Iraq sandstorms weren’t just nature flexing its muscles. They were living entities, bent on destruction.

At least the storm that met them today was a baby. Just enough to blend with the fog and limit their vision. That wasn’t good, but it was better than it could have been. At least he could see a little—thirty meters or so. About a third of a football field away.

It wasn’t great, but Rafe would take it.

He turned his eyes to the front, snugging his M4A1 assault rifle just a fraction closer. The Pride’s mission was clear. Secure the area around a small town north of An Nasiriyah. Battalions were already on their way and would be moving on the town at 0 Dark 30.

It was 1600 hours now, which gave his team about two hours before dark. So far they’d had limited contact. One group of civilians passing by. A large group. Moving en masse.

That’s when Death first spoke to Rafe. Whispered a low, rattling chuckle in his ear.

Sure, civilians often left town in twos or threes, but all together? That said one thing: “See ya later. Enjoy the ambush.”

He and his team eyed the group of men, women, and children as they went by, watching … waiting … but nothing happened. The fleeing civilians made their way past, bowing their covered heads against the increasingly wind-whipped sand.

That they passed without incident should have eased Rafe’s tension. Instead, it amped it up a notch.