* * *
The bleeding had started, and he watched Greg doing his best to staunch the flow. Marina had regained consciousness a few minutes before and tried to sit up. All she managed was to open the wound, and at the same time her eyes closed with agony caused by the effort. Almost immediately, she slumped back and passed out.
"We have to do something," he said, knowing there was nothing they could do.
"We’re doing all we can," Greg said. He sounded weary, "Stoner, you need to prepare yourself. She's getting worse, about the only thing will save her now is a miracle."
He didn't answer. He was staring out of the window, after he caught sight of a dark shape approaching through the heavy snow. For a second, he thought they were coming back, and he started to line up the barrel of his rifle, but he recognized the Fordson model F. Ahmed was driving. When he saw Stoner staring at him, he gave him a merry wave. The dog barked, his tail wagging backward and forward almost like a propeller.
He walked out to greet the boy; relieved Massoud hadn't killed him. He hadn't mentioned it to Greg, but he'd worried the Afghan and his psycho pal may spot him as they drove past. Yet there'd been nothing he could to stop it. Nothing.
"Ahmed, it's good to see you, kid."
"I thought you were all dead." The boy's face creased in a huge smile.
"They tried, my little friend. We killed some of them, including Sardar Khan."
His face fell. "Khan? Mr. Stoner, I wanted to confront him before he died. He had to atone for killing my father."
"Yeah, I'm sorry. Sometimes it's just the way the dice rolls."
"Dice?"
"Shit happens. It happened today to Sardar Khan, just not in the way you wanted. But he's dead."
The boy was silent as he digested the news. Finally, his solemn face relaxed into a smile. "Perhaps it is the will of Allah he died this way."
"No, it's the will of Stoner and Blum."
He thought about that and nodded. "Yes, I owe you a great debt. One day I will repay it."
"Call it quits. Listen, Marina took a bullet."
"Marina? The kind lady?"
"She's not good. Be prepared when you come inside the house."
When he saw the pale, bloody body stretched out on the floor of the kitchen, a tear rolled down his face. He'd only just met her, but she'd made an impression on him.
"Will she die?"
"It's possible, yes. She needs medical attention, a hospital, and there's no way we can get her out. They shot up the front tires of the Wrangler."
"But, I have the Fordson. I can take her on that."
He shook his head sadly. "That'd be great, but she wouldn't survive such a journey. Not out in the open in the middle of a blizzard."
The boy shouted a word in Afghan he didn't understand and went back out into the snow. Stoner watched him from the door as he walked to the Wrangler, inspected the ruined front tires, and then looked at his tractor. Then he came back.
Before he could speak, Stoner shook his head. "I know what you're thinking. We could swap the wheels from the tractor to the Jeep. It ain't gonna happen, kid. It's impossible."
The boy looked back at him in frustration. "No, no, that's not my idea. I can get the Wrangler out."
"Without front tires? I don't think so."
Ahmed almost stamped his foot in frustration. "No, no. You use a tractor to tow agricultural machinery, like plows and harvesters. We can connect the front of the Jeep to the back of the tractor, and I will tow it. We can get to the hospital, and she will live."
"Let me take a look."
He was running through the thick snow, his boots sinking almost up to his knees. Sure enough, the old Fordson had some kind of a rusty steel hitch at the back. His Wrangler had a massive towing eye on the front. It could work. He looked at the boy.
"Reverse the tractor to the front of the Jeep, and let's give it a try."
"Right away, Mr. Stoner."
He started the engine and maneuvered into position. Stoner watched, and when the two vehicles were almost touching, the hitch on the tractor was much higher than the towing eye on the Wrangler. He ran to the trunk, dragged out the hydraulic jack and positioned it underneath the front frame. It only took a few minutes for him to raise the front of the vehicle so the two towing eyes were level with each other. Ahmed climbed down to look.
"I told you, I told you," he exclaimed, hopping up and down with jubilation, "My father keeps a…" His eyes closed briefly in grief, and then he opened them again. "I have a bolt behind the seat for the hitch. It will lock them together."
He pulled out a long, thick, rusty bolt and pushed it through the hitch and the eye. All they needed was a locking nut, and he even had a huge spanner to tighten them. He gave a final wrench to make sure it was secure and stood back. His face had filled with pride.
"It is done. Put the lady in the Jeep, and we can go."
They ran inside and explained to Greg what they were about to do. He helped them carry her through the snow and placed her gently on the back seat. Greg covered her with blankets they'd found in the house and positioned himself next to her to monitor the bleeding.
Stoner nodded to the boy. "We're ready to go. I'll run the engine so we can use the heater to keep her warm. I'm afraid you're going to be pretty cold out there in the open."
"I will be fine," he replied, "We're used to snow, and I don't recall it ever killed anybody." Then his face clouded. "Oh, dear, I almost forgot. There was a call from Sheikh Daud."
He explained what he'd heard. Stoner looked at Greg. "It must have been as they were trashing the house before they left. Massoud probably didn't answer his satphone. Jesus Christ, Greg, I'm sorry. As soon as we get her to a hospital, we'll deal with it. We can…"
The Russian’s face was bone white. He'd seen men angry in his time, incandescent rage before they pulled the trigger and waded into the enemy. This was something else, something elemental. For a fraction of a second, he almost felt sorry for Sheikh Daud.
"I'll kill him, and I'll get Faria away from him." His accent had thickened, and Stoner could swear the genes of his Russian ancestors were speaking from inside of him, "I swear before God, before all the saints, I'll kill him. He will take a long time to die. That is my promise. And when he descends into hell, the real agony will start."
Ahmed looked at Stoner. His mouth opened in shock as the raw, deep emotion of Greg's utterance had rocked him. "Can he do it? Save Faria, and kill Sheikh Daud?"
"He'll do it, and I'll give him a hand."
"I will help to."
"Yeah. Get going, Ahmed. She doesn't have much time."
He nodded and went around to the tractor. Archer jumped up next to him on the seat, and the engine started. A few seconds later, the Wrangler jerked as they started forward into the blizzard, the snowstorm that had brought almost the entire area to a standstill. Except for the ancient Fordson, plowing through the snow, with the dog clinging next to the seat. Ahmed was rigid at the wheel, almost like a stone statue, proud, intent, and almost unstoppable. If there was a spirit left inside Afghanistan after the Muslims had brought it to the point of utter ruin, it resided inside that brave boy.