Chapter 4 #3
She sat on the edge of the platform, not even bothering to stand up, while I shot down all five of the clay plates.
She didn’t speak when I stepped into the water, just climbed back onto me and took the gun from the loader.
But by the time we made it to the other side, her thighs were trembling from the effort of holding on.
Once on her feet, she seemed even less steady than normal.
“You okay?” I asked, as we pulled off our hip waders.
She avoided my eyes. “I’m fine.”
The course only got more difficult after that, and the incoming weather alternated between sleet and pouring rain.
By the time we got to the rowboat and the small lake, Mila was a huddling, shivering mess.
After the lake, we had a decent hike up a wet, treacherous mountain path and then traversed creaking rope bridges that stretched over a rushing stream below.
Mila was a trooper, working hard to keep up with me, but I could tell she was struggling with the cold and the wet.
When we hit the wall and net station, I wasn’t sure if she’d make it. It was a typical military course. Competitors alternated between crawling along wet sand cratered with cold puddles and scaling big wooden walls made slippery with the rain.
Mila probably had an easier time with the crawling than I did, but when we got to the first wall, she stopped short. “I can’t do it,” she said with conviction. “I’m done.”
I ignored her. “Come on, time to climb up. I’ll help you up, and all you have to do is hang on to the rope.”
“I can’t do it,” she resisted.
I made a cradle with my hands. “Step up and grab hold of the rope.”
She wobbled, but she moved up that rope as I lifted her more than halfway up the wall.
“Can you hang on if I let go?”
“I don’t know,” she squeaked.
“Try,” I said, as I let go of her foot. She held on.
I scrambled up the wall beside her until I was straddling the top of it with my legs.
I reached down, grabbed her wrists, and hauled her up until she was straddling the wall and facing me.
She made a squeaky noise in fear that almost made me laugh, but I was breathing too hard with the effort.
Mila shook harder than a leaf in a storm and clung desperately to the beam. “How do we get down?”
I swung my leg over and jumped the eight feet, landing in the soft sand in a control crouch. I turned around and looked up at her. “Your turn.”
“I can’t.”
I looked up at her. “What’s the problem?”
“I can’t jump because I can’t move.”
“Lean forward and hold onto the beam with your arms. Then swing one leg over.”
She shook her head.
I put my hand on the ankle that hung down on my side. “I’ll catch you.”
“No, thank you.”
We didn’t have time for this.
“Just relax,” I told her. I tugged hard on her ankle and easily pulled her over the wall. She screamed and fell neatly into my arms.
Without ceremony, I set her down. “You okay?”
She stood on shaking legs, but she nodded.
“Good. We only need to do that four more times.”
By the time we went over the second wall, she was crying.
She wasn’t theatrical about her emotions, but she didn’t hide the silent tears that ran down her face as she shimmied through the mud and puddles before allowing herself to be pushed and pulled over each wall.
She didn’t speak, complain or quit, but I could tell that she suffered from the way she clung, petrified, to the top of the walls, and the way she crawled with weary exhaustion along the sand.
My training as a soldier took over. Even though my fingers were numb and my body was cold, I methodically took every shot I had and then used all my focus to get Mila to the next shooting station.
The course lasted a grueling four hours. Even I was happy to see the warming tent and the finish line. By the time we stepped inside, Mila was shivering uncontrollably.
“I need to get her warm,” I told the staff without ceremony.
I sat her on a chair in front of a heater before helping her peel off her wet coat and soaked sweater. I wrapped her in a warm, dry blanket and then held her cold hands.
“Thank you,” she whispered. Her entire demeanor was both dejected and exhausted.
“We’re being watched.”
I saw a faint spark of annoyance in her eyes. “Is that the only reason you’re helping me?”
I looked into her eyes and spoke honestly. “Yes.”
“I still appreciate it.”
“I know.”
“We’ll come in dead last, and it’ll be my fault, but I want you to know that you tried really hard.”
I rubbed both of her small hands in mine because her fingers were still ice cold. Maybe she hadn’t noticed, but I had hit every single one of my clay pigeons. Even if our time was slow, I knew we wouldn’t come in last.
I saw Grisha walk into the tent, so I chose that moment to lift Mila’s fingers to my mouth to blow warm air on them. “Better?”
She stared at me with an expression I couldn’t read. “Better.”
I smiled up at her. “Don’t forget to smile.”
Instead she did something I didn’t expect. She leaned forward and kissed me on my cheek, before whispering in my ear, “Better?”
She’d been sweating, wading through dirty water and crawling through the dirt alongside me, yet somehow she still managed to smell fresh and feminine.
“I’d like to take the time to announce the winner of today’s competition.” Grisha’s resonant voice immediately quieted the buzz of conversation in the tent.
I reluctantly pulled away from Mila and her elusive scent to turn and listen to Grisha.
“I’m sorry to say that three entire teams didn’t manage to finish the course. And today’s winner surprised all of us. Coming in first place for both time and shooting score is my niece, Mila, and her boyfriend, Axel.”
Mila looked up at me in shock. “We won?”
I looked over at Grisha, who raised his glass to us. “We won.”
“Are you serious?” Mila came alive. She jumped up and down in disbelief before throwing herself into my arms. I caught her, and we hugged hard and I spun her around.
Most of that was for show, but I couldn’t help but notice how delicate she felt against me.
“I’ve never won anything before,” she whispered.
I squeezed her tighter before reluctantly setting her down. “I’m proud of you.”
She pulled back to smile at me. I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen her really smile before, but I think I would have remembered. It transformed her face.