19. Michael
CHAPTER 19
Keeping my eyes focused on the tree line, I try to push through the pain and the fatigue. I’ve been in combat zones less stressful than this, but I know the only reason I feel that way is because I’m here with Reyna.
Not trained soldiers.
Not my fellow Rangers.
The woman I love.
“Into the trees!” I urge. Thankfully, I don’t think they’ve seen us yet, and with any luck, it’ll stay that way. We slip through the trees, nearly losing our footing as we leave dry ground and descend into a swamp.
The water sloshes around us, and I frantically scan for cover, for anywhere we can hide until the immediate threat passes. We need the water to settle before they reach the edge, otherwise, they’ll follow us, and I know there will be no escaping.
Thankfully, just to the right, there’s a thick cascade of brush. “There,” I whisper, gesturing toward it. She nods, sweat beading on her brow as she struggles to move through the water that is up to my waist and well above hers.
We slip behind the brush and stop moving as we both turn our full attention to the tree line. Something brushes past my leg beneath the water, and I close my eyes for a moment, breathing slowly and trying to steady my nerves.
Please do not be an alligator.
Don’t let us escape bullets to end up in the belly of a predator.
“Can you see them?” a man calls out. “They in there?”
“Nah, it’s too thick. Ugh, smells terrible, too.”
I keep my gaze focused ahead, and Reyna remains completely silent in my arms.
“If they are in there, they aren’t gonna survive long in that pit,” one of the men says. “If the gators don’t get ‘em, the man will bleed out.”
“Boss isn’t going to like the uncertainty.”
“Then let’s go wait on the other side. They’ll either make it out or they won’t. Personally, I’m betting on them getting eaten by gators. But I’m not going in there. We don’t get paid enough for that.”
I wait until I see the second man slip back out of the trees before I risk looking over at Reyna. Her face is red and slick with sweat, and she has a wound bandaged on her forehead, but otherwise, she looks okay.
“Are you all right?” she asks.
“I’ll survive. We need to get moving.”
“First.” She reaches into the top of her dress and withdraws the cell phone. “Yes! Signal. What’s Lance’s number?” I give it to her and she types it in as I barely manage to stay on my feet. My vision is blurred, my body going numb. “Lance. It’s Reyna.” I can’t hear what he says, but she presses the phone to my ear.
“Hey, boss.”
“Michael. It is good to hear your voice. Elijah is working to trace the call.”
“Good. We don’t know where we are. A swamp of some kind. So, maybe in the south?”
“We’ll figure it ou?—”
The line goes dead. “It’s not on anymore.”
Reyna pulls it away. “The battery is dead. Come on!” She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “Okay. Let’s do this. Get out of here first, panic later.” She shoves the phone back into her dress then begins walking again.
The air is thick around us, the humidity alone stifling. And that’s not even taking into account the mosquitos that are already making a dinner out of my exposed skin. The stench of the swamp is rancid, but we’re alive—so there’s that.
“Where are we?” she asks.
I doubt Elijah had time to trace the call before the phone died, but I’m holding out hope he managed to ping us on a nearby cell tower. That way, they can send out reinforcements and be here by the time we manage to make it to dry ground.
“I have no clue. But I’m fairly certain we’re not in Maine anymore.”
“This whole thing is insane.”
“We’re going to be okay, Reyna.” You’re going to be okay. Because truth be told, with how I’m feeling, I’m not entirely sure I’m going to make it out of this swamp. Images of the desert fill my mind.
The hopelessness I felt when I lay there, bloody, waiting for God to call me home.
“How?” she asks. “How do you know we’re going to be okay?” She turns her head to look up at me.
Even with the pain and the less-than-stellar circumstances, I’m taken by how beautiful she is. Delicate features, gorgeous wide eyes…I could fall in love with her for the rest of my life. And it’s more than her looks that have always drawn me to her. Reyna is a pure soul. A kindhearted do-gooder who has always deserved a whole lot better than me.
A whole lot better than this.
“We have God,” I tell her, nodding toward the sky. “And He is going to carry us through this.” Dear God, please let it be true. Please, God, let us survive.
“This isn’t the first time He’s guided me out of a life-or-death situation.” I try to joke, but my attempt at lightening the mood falls flat. Likely because my tone betrays the pain every step causes me.
It is true, though. There were many times on the battlefield when I’d taken a hit then had to walk or even carry someone else. More times than I care to count where I shouldn’t have made it, but I managed to pull through because God kept me alive.
“Yeah, well, let’s hope this is the last time He has to do it,” she replies.
“We can hope,” I reply.
As we continue walking, I keep my gaze focused on the way the water moves around us, hoping that if there is an alligator nearby, I’ll have time to react before it pulls us down.
One good thing about walking through a swamp though? Our footprints will be hidden. So on the off chance someone does try to follow us, it’ll make tracking us incredibly difficult.
I have no idea how long we walk, but by nightfall, I’m barely staying on my feet and Reyna’s breathing is ragged. My muscles burn with exertion, and the injury in my shoulder has finally reached the point where the pain is so great that it’s nearly numb, but thankfully we’ve run into none of the typical predators one might find in the swamps.
I’ve been watching for any sign of alligators, snakes, anything that could cause us more trouble. I haven’t seen one yet, though I know that doesn’t necessarily mean they aren’t there. Especially now that night has fallen.
Reyna grunts as she guides me up onto an embankment, then falls down beside me. I hit the ground with a heavy thud, legs collapsing as I lie back.
“I’m sorry.” She groans and turns her head toward me.
“You don’t need to be sorry,” I reply. My eyes grow heavy, so I close them for just a moment, hoping that in the few seconds of stillness, I can catch my breath. Right now, I’ll be absolutely no good in a fight, and I honestly wish Reyna would just leave me behind.
If she goes alone, she stands a much better chance at getting out of here alive.
“I’m going to see if I can see anything.” Reyna pushes up from the ground with a groan, then walks away. I turn my head, following her every movement. “There’s a light,” she whispers. “Straight ahead.”
I try to get to my feet, but every muscle burns, every movement impossible. “Is it far?”
“No. It’s steady, too, not moving like a flashlight would.”
“Could be a ranger station, if we’re in a state park somewhere.”
“A state swamp park?”
“It happens,” I tell her.
“If it’s a ranger station, they could help us,” she replies.
“No. You can’t go.” Fear claws at my throat. I’m useless to her right now. Literally over two hundred pounds of dead weight. “What if the source of the light isn’t a friendly? What if it brings us more danger?”
“Michael, we need help. They may have first aid, or a radio—something that could help us.” She drops down on the ground and grips the side of her skirt. Using her hands, she tears at the fabric all the way around, shortening the gown, and then tosses the swamp-stained fabric aside.
“Please, Reyna.”
All I can see is that image from my nightmare. Reyna, crawling along the sandy ground in that stifling desert, her face bloodied.
She crouches down beside me and grips my face. In the dim glow that casts through the trees from the moon above, I can barely make out her expression as she stares down at me. “I cannot lose you, Michael. And that is exactly what is going to happen if I don’t get us help.”
“I—”
“You’re going to wanna set that gun down real slow, son. Then keep your hands where I can see ’em as you turn.”
My stomach twists and I tilt my face to find myself staring down the barrel of a shotgun. The man holding it glares down at me, his gaze serious. Using two fingers, I lift the gun from where it rests against my stomach and set it aside. Reyna remains still, her hands resting on me.
The stranger reaches down and takes it, shoving it in the waistband of his pants. Then, he shifts his gaze back to us.
He has a scruffy beard that has long since turned grey, and his face is dusted with dirt, his eyes wide and afraid. He holds the shotgun steadily, though, and I wouldn’t imagine he’d hesitate to shoot me if he felt the need.
“Why are you here?”
“We’re not here to cause you any harm,” Reyna says.
“I’ll decide that, won’t I?” he says. “Answer my question.”
“Lower your weapon. I don’t want either of us getting shot because you have a happy trigger finger,” I tell him as I try to sit up enough to look somewhat like I could be a threat. Because right now, I’m a sitting duck—literally.
The man narrows his gaze a moment but lowers the barrel just slightly. “Now, answer me. Why are you here?”
“We were abducted and escaped,” Reyna says. “We’ve been running ever since, but my friend is hurt.”
His gaze narrows on my wrapped shoulder. “That true?”
“Does it look true?” I snap, irritable because my vision swims. It’s so hot. Why is it so hot?
He clenches his jaw. “You got a real mouth on you for someone lying on the ground.”
“Please,” Reyna says. “We need help.”
His gaze shifts to her, and nerves wreak havoc on my system. What if he decides she’s an easy target? What if he kills me and takes her? What would a man out in the middle of a swamp—alone—do to her?
But then he surprises me and lowers his weapon all the way.
“All right. You both look rather rough.”
“Thank you,” she says. “Can you tell us where we are?”
“Florida. Come on in. I got supper cooking, and there will be plenty. I also have a first aid kit so we can take a look at that there wound.” In a move that is all trust, he holds the shotgun out to Reyna. “You carry this, and I’ll get him. I’m more sprightly than I seem.”
She looks to me in surprise, then accepts the weapon and helps the man get me to my feet. He wraps my good arm around his shoulder and guides me toward the cabin.
God, please don’t let this be a mistake.
We reach it in minutes, and Reyna rushes ahead to push open the door. I watch as she peeks her head in, then steps inside. For the brief seconds she’s not in my line of sight, terror creeps into my mind.
But then I see her, setting the shotgun aside and rushing to shut the door behind us.
The man leads me to a bed, and I hiss through clenched teeth as he sets me down. Something is cooking over an open fire in the corner, and my mouth waters, my stomach growling with hunger even as pain makes me nauseous.
On one wall, shelving is full of various types of packaged foods. From the kind you get from a store to some he’s probably preserved himself.
There’s a small refrigerator, but no TV, no lights aside from lanterns hung throughout the cabin, and only a single twin-sized bed. Just over the bed, multiple war medals hang, as well as a black-and-white photograph of soldiers. So he’s military.
“Solar panels,” he says as he mixes whatever’s cooking. “Keeps my food cold.” When he smiles, I notice a few missing teeth. Crossing back over to me, he reaches beneath the bed and withdraws a tactical backpack. “This is the medical kit, but I need a look at your wound before I can assess it.”
“Okay.”
He starts to remove the gauze, and it sticks to the injured flesh. Reyna grips my free hand as I hiss through clenched teeth, groaning when the air hits my wound. “Whoever bandaged this didn’t care if you lived or died,” he comments as he reaches into his pack. “You?—”
“Reyna,” she says. “This is Michael.” Her tone is pained, and she sniffles. She’s crying? For me? Or is she hurting?
“Reyna,” he repeats. “My name is Caleb. There’s a bucket over there. It has freshly boiled water, should still be somewhat warm. Can you soak some of the rags on the shelf right there and bring them to me?”
“Yes. Of course.” She offers me a tight smile, then leaves my side. I watch her go, my vision wavering yet again.
The man presses his hand to my forehead. “You’re feverish. There’s infection. I’m going to need to clean this, and it’s going to hurt.”
“Doctor?” I ask.
He laughs. “Medic. Former military. You’re in good hands. I’ll do what I can to keep you alive.”
“Protect her,” I choke out as darkness ebbs my vision. “Please.”
“Don’t you give up, Michael Anderson,” Reyna says. She’s back again, but I can’t see her.
I can’t see anything.
But I can feel the pain.