Karida - Episode 3

Erotic Substance

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CHAPTER 3

The Accent

Of

Freedom

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Sixty new students, half Afghan, half American, divided into five groups of twelve, five classes a day, five days a week for five weeks. This was Tobias’ new schedule after agreeing to help his country by coming to Kabul to train the U.S. embassy staff in combat-oriented self-defense. Recent events had begun to erase the work put into winning the hearts and minds of the Afghan people, and now that tensions were at an all-time high, authorities realized that with each new incident their attempts at damage control became less and less credible. Ill-prepared for the blow up on the brink of occurring at any moment, they needed their people trained as soon as possible with practical, realistic defensive skills that anyone could learn. Something basic enough that could be taught within a few weeks’ time yet having the effectiveness of protecting oneself from real-life violence. The embassy had been attacked the previous year, with troops being able to hold the adversaries at bay, but with the tension only escalating since, a backup plan had to be put into place just in case the first line of defense failed.

And so here Tobias was, the backup plan. Despite the chaos which lied beyond the compound’s walls, the setting was peaceful in this temporary training hall the government had set up for him. When asked what he needed for the five-week program he only listed the basics like mats, knife and gun replicas and if possible, a part of the building that was both spacious and relatively quiet.

They ended up having exceeded his expectations, virtually soundproofing a great-sized space and decorating it with fresh plants, an indoor fountain with a constant stream of flowing water and an impressive array of training weaponry along the wall joined by Japanese items such as kimonos, beautifully crafted fans, a rack of authentic katanas, and wooden plaques displaying inspirational kanji with its English translation written at the bottom.

With Tobias supplying the centerpiece of the ancient Nin scroll and the soothing aroma of his favorite incense, the tranquil dojo made him feel as though he were in the art’s motherland of Japan.

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The house was ransacked from top to bottom as angry footsteps made their way from room to room, muffled frustrated voices arguing with one another as furniture was pounded, dragged and thrown across the wooden floors of the humble home.

Karida had been sure to align the removable floorboards perfectly and to secure them underneath before crawling through the hidden tunnel of dirt to her secret library after her third and final trip down. Food had been scarce the past few days, as had always been the case when waiting for her father to arrive just in time with his earnings, which meant the only thing she had besides her rationed bottle of Yoo-hoo, and now six peanut butter cookies, was a small pitcher of water, a couple pieces of bread, and three cups of cooked rice her mother had prepared earlier in the day. She figured if she were careful, it would last her for a week, maybe two.

Hide down in our sanctuary until-

What had her father meant to say? Had it been true that he had been working with the Americans? Did he not tell her so as to protect her? So had he been like a secret agent from some of the spy novels she had read? Or more like a Ninja engaged in psychological warfare in pursuit of freedom for his people, or in this case, his family.

Looking down at the books he had brought home to her, the ones he had been struck by, she wanted to cry again but held it in for the fear that she might be heard. Even her breathing seemed louder than usual. Were the few feet of earth between her and the enemy enough to cover sounds that felt as though they were being amplified? The slow chewing of a small piece of cookie? The soft shifting of her body weight atop her blanket? The careful turn of a page?

Her dear father had tracked down the last two books in her beloved series of the Vampire Chronicles, Blackwood Farm and Blood Canticle. It had been a fifty-fifty chance that Omar had picked up the former, and if he hadn’t, it would have been her who would have died in her father’s arms, for she was sure her sweet mother wouldn’t have been able to read the word Canticle.

The thought again filled her eyes with tears, but this time the sorrow was accompanied by a new emotion. Rage. And from rage, defiance. Wiping away tears, she grabbed the neck of the broken bottle she had taken from where the bloody scene had started and began cutting away at the burqa. She had shed the garment from her body as soon as she returned home, but brought it down with her to hide from those she knew would be coming. And now all she wanted to do was destroy it. Puncturing the fabric, and cutting away at it with the sharp glass that had wounded her father. Slicing. Shredding. As she swore to herself that if by some miracle she were to get away from the evildoers above and find freedom, she would never again be imprisoned by someone else’s beliefs.

But that risk, that possibility, would have to be contemplated later, to be conceived in a more clear-headed mindset. Right now she just needed to mentally escape, and who better to provide such than her adored vampire Lestat. And so she opened the book that took her mother’s life but saved hers, and began to read.

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Was it day or night? Karida had no idea, as the only clock in the house was in the kitchen plugged into the wall. Her father had planned to run additional wiring down to their secret library to add a few more appliances, but she was just grateful for the light that allowed her to keep feeding her brain. Judging from how much food she had left, she guessed it had been four or five days, dividing her unknown time between her two newest books and the revisiting of some of her old favorites. The Secret Garden. Misery. Tulku – A Tale of Modern Ninja. After all, she didn’t want to finish the end of the Chronicles too soon, as her father had found out they were sadly the last two published thus far in the series.

Like a mouse hidden beneath the floorboards, Karida nibbled on her second to last peanut butter cookie while engrossed in her literary treasure. The muffled voices and footsteps would come and go as if it was their own home, and she was sure the house was under watch even when it appeared no one was there. But they were definitely there now, obnoxious in their noise and ignorant to the fact that the one they were waiting for, the one they thought would come crawling back after finding no permanent place to hide, was actually so near and inwardly free.

But a sudden PING jolted Karida back to her physical surroundings while grabbing the attention of those above. Everyone froze.

Another PING.

After a few seconds, another.

And then another.

Footsteps started to search.

Were they using some type of detector to find her? No, based on their reactions they were just as surprised as she, and as Karida focused on the sound she realized it was closer to her than they were.

PING! PING!

PING! PING!

Now coming in intervals of two, she followed it to the top shelf of the wall opposite the tunnel. Up behind the autobiographies.

Nothing but earth. But a patch of it seemed out of place. As if it had been dug out then put back. Rushing over to grab the jagged-edged bottle neck, she ran back and started to dig, her heart racing in fear as the volume increased, along with the overhead chaos.

It was a black box, no bigger than a paperback, now producing PINGS by sets of three, Karida frantically looking for an off switch but finding none.

She ran back over to her blankets and wrapped it up in all, but to no avail, the attempt providing less of a muffle than the dirt between her and those who now started to rip away at the floorboards.