Silent Creed by Alex Kava Page A

Creed’s vision. He could taste it, clots of it stuck in his throat, trying to suffocate him. Somewhere on the other side of the mud wall he could hear Peter Logan telling his men to stand down until the dogman cleared the way. But when Logan appeared from around the corner, none of his men accompanied him. Instead, he was walking with a small boy.
    Creed recognized the kid. His name was Jabar, but the men in the platoon called him Jabber because for an Afghan kid he talked a lot and fast, no matter which language he used. From what Creed had observed, Jabar spoke at least three, including English.
    He guessed the boy was nine or ten going on twenty. The men thought it was funny that Jabar acted so grown-up, even bumming cigarettes off the men and smoking alongside them. The first time Creed met him, Jabar took one look at Rufus and backed away. It wasn’t as if he was frightened but that he thought the dog was bad luck. He warned Creed that the other children in his village would throw rocks at dogs and if Creed didn’t want the animal to be hurt he should not take him beyond the camp.
    Jabar came and went as he pleased. The men barely noticed him, and if they did, they teased him. But even after a few weeks Jabar still kept his distance from Rufus. Creed had put it off as superstition, until that last day, when he discovered the real reason.
    He was back there again, seeing it as if he were standing off to the side, watching and knowing what happened next but not able to change the outcome. So many warning signs. Why hadn’t he seen them?
    Jabar’s bright white athletic shoes should have been a tip-off. A size too big and laced up around his long skinny legs. But the kid was always showing up with crap like that. Most likely the shoes came from Logan. The two exchanged contraband on a regular basis. It was one of the things Logan expected Creed not to notice, or if he did, to look the other way. Especially since Creed had made it clear that he wasn’t interested in “free” designer sunglasses or athletic shoes or diver’s watches. And he declined the experimental cough drops and cough syrup. He knew there was other experimental stuff Logan distributed to his men. That was the real reason for the gifts. Where or how Logan got any of those things, Creed didn’t know and didn’t want to know. He and Rufus would move on to the next platoon in another week or so.
    Jabar showed up that day wearing a baggy jacket, a sleek zip-up windbreaker in addition to the white athletic shoes. The sleeves were rolled up to the kid’s elbows, bulging with too much fabric and making his stick arms look even more fragile. Likewise, the rest of the jacket bulged, but in ways that indicated there was more than only Jabar’s slight frame hidden underneath.
    At first Creed thought certainly Logan must know that Jabar wasn’t exclusively his little con artist. The kid was a hustler who could swindle and trick even someone like Logan.
    But on that day Jabar jabbered faster and louder than usual. He had the swagger and belligerence of someone twice his age and three times his size. Creed heard him yelling at Logan, climbing on rocks and jumping down with his arms out, making the baggy sleeves look like wings.
    Logan seemed annoyed but not alarmed. He cursed at the boy, then laughed at him, but it wasn’t in jest. Instead it sounded too much like mockery, too much like he was daring the boy.
    Rufus started whining at Creed’s side, straining at the end of the leash. Nose in the air, neck hair bristling, tail curled, ears pricked forward. The dog was alerting.
    That’s when Jabar saw Rufus. Creed didn’t notice that the boy’s hands were balled up. The first rock he threw hit Creed in his temple. The next landed with a sickening
thud
against Rufus’s shoulder. Jabar yelled at them, digging into his pockets, plucking out and throwing rocks, his arms swinging in exaggerated wild loops. Even Logan took a hit.
    “What the hell are you