Chapter 18 #3
Taryn made her promise. If something happens to me, you don’t stop. You run. You run and you don’t come back.
Ayla said she wouldn’t leave her.
Taryn just smiled.
“You will. That’s how we both make it out.”
They escaped two nights later.
A guard came early. Drunk. Aggressive. Taryn struck first and kicked him hard enough to make him drop the keys, then she used the knife. Ayla caught them and turned away, knowing it was either them or her and Taryn. With the cuffs off, they ran barefoot, bleeding, hearts pounding like war drums.
For a few precious minutes, it worked until they caught up to them.
Taryn fought so hard, but there were too many.
They dragged Ayla away from her, and her necklace snapped as Taryn went down.
She slashed with the knife, screamed for Ayla to run.
But she was frozen to the spot as they violated her, beat her and beat her until she stopped moving, then they turned to her.
Ayla ran, the earth called to her, showed her places to hide, gave her directions, told her never to stop running. It was strange that the earth sounded like her brother, Taryn, and her sweet Lala.
Ayla wanted to go back. But Taryn had told her what to do. Even though she could barely breathe, she wouldn’t make her death meaningless by getting caught.
She ran until the jungle blurred.
Until the trees bled into the sky and her legs gave out and her world collapsed in green and ache and silence.
She thought she’d die there. She might have. But then the woman came, painted in ocher, hair in long black braids, wrinkles etched deep like river valleys, and eyes ancient and knowing.
She said nothing at first. She simply knelt beside Ayla’s broken body, placed a hand on her chest, and whispered something soft in a language she didn’t understand, and Ayla cried for the first time in days.
But she didn’t speak at first; her voice had been lost to her.
It wasn’t until three whole months had passed and the safety of these people wrapped around her.
They sheltered her, fed her, clothed her, and loved her until she became what she was now.
A survivor.
Ayla blinked. The fire snapped back into focus. Dakota was still standing there, staring at her like the world had just split open. The beautiful woman stood behind him, her eyes wide and glistening.
Ayla stepped forward, the memories still raw under her skin.
She screamed so loud birds took flight, monkeys jabbered about danger, and her tribes-people all halted what they were doing.
“Dakota!” His name came out of her like a call for home, like her heart had found its desire, like she was no longer that survivor, but simply a sister. Then she was running.
He caught her on a sob, his arms closing around her so hard, she couldn’t take a breath. Slipping with her to his knees, he pulled her close, his harsh cries mingling with her own, rocking her against him, saying her name like a prayer, like a homecoming.
After all this time. She was found.
Bear couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. Could only hold her.
Ayla shook in his arms, her nails digging into his back like she feared he might dissolve if she let go.
She smelled like smoke and crushed herbs and the wild green of the jungle and, beneath that, the scent of home.
The scent he remembered from when she used to crawl into his bed after nightmares, her hair smelling like Lala’s sweetgrass and river water.
He pressed his face into her hair and sobbed. Not quiet tears. Not contained.
His body broke open with every sound she made.
“?ha?té…” he whispered against her temple, using her childhood nickname, his voice shredded. “Blessed Ancestors. Ayla… baby girl, I thought— I thought—”
“I’m here,” she cried. “Dakota, I’m here.”
Bailee’s breath hitched somewhere behind him, a hand over her mouth, tears falling unchecked. The tribal villagers looked on in reverent silence, understanding instinctively that something sacred, something ancestral, was being restored before their eyes.
Ayla cupped Bear’s face between her palms and pressed her forehead to his, the way their grandfather had taught them.
“Waníyetu wi?há?a,” she whispered. Winter man. The name she gave him when she was small because his quiet always reminded her of snow.
His throat tore open on a cry he couldn’t contain. “I came for you,” he said, voice raw. “I never stopped looking. Ayla, I swear to the Creator. I never stopped.”
She shook her head, tears streaking her cheeks. “I know. I know. I felt you in the jungle. In the earth. I thought it was my mind playing tricks but—” She swallowed, voice breaking. “It was you. It was always you.”
Bear pulled her close again, rocking her gently. “I’m not letting you go this time.”
“Good,” she whispered, clinging to him like a lifeline. “I’m so ready to go home.”
Bailee stepped closer then, slow and careful, her eyes soft and shining. Ayla looked at her over Bear’s shoulder, and something in her went still.
“You saved him,” Ayla whispered.
Bailee blinked. “No…he saved me.”
Ayla shook her head. “No. I know the way people look at my brother. The way they expect him to hold everything alone.” She reached out and rested her hand over Bailee’s heart. “But he doesn’t look like that with you.”
Bailee’s breath trembled out. “I’m honored to know you.”
Ayla smiled, small, tired, real. “You will.”
The rest of the team arrived fifteen minutes later, weapons low but eyes sharp. Flint barked once at the approach, just enough warning to keep the Tsimané calm.
Zorro was first through the trees, face streaked with sweat and dirt, rifle slung over his chest. He slowed the moment he saw Ayla in Bear’s arms. His breath caught.
“Brother,” he said, voice thick. “She’s real.”
Bear nodded, unable to speak.
The others fanned out behind him, Joker, Blitz, Professor, all moving with silent awe, as if they understood the magnitude of what they were seeing.
No one rushed. No one joked.
Zorro stepped forward and pressed his forehead gently to Ayla’s, whispering something in Lakota that made her smile through her tears.
Then it was time to go.
They moved carefully through the jungle on the way back, Bear carrying Ayla’s weight like she was made of something sacred. She didn’t speak much, just held tight to his shoulders, her cheek resting against his back.
At the riverbank, the SOC-Rs were already waiting.
The team loaded in without a word.
Bailee and Ayla sat side-by-side on one of the side benches, their knees touching, hands entwined. Bear sat across from them, watching. Guarding. Flint dozed at his feet, muzzle twitching.
Ayla watched the water go by with wide eyes, silent but alert.
He caught her looking at her reflection once, and saw something flicker in her face, a small grief, maybe, or disbelief. But she didn’t look away.
Back at the hotel, Bear took Ayla up to Bailee’s room.
Bailee unlocked the door. “I’ve got everything she’ll need for now, clothes, shampoo, quiet.” She gave Bear a pointed look. “No mirrors she hasn’t already faced.”
Ayla kissed his cheek before walking through the door, her arms looping around his neck like she used to when she was little. “I’m so glad you found me,” she whispered.
“Me, too,” he said.
Bailee showed her the bathroom, and Ayla let out a soft gasp. “Running water and a commode. How wonderful.”
Bailee came out of the bathroom. “She’s ecstatic.” She glanced toward the connecting door, then back to him.
“We need to talk.” She took his hand and pulled him through. His heart tightened at her solemn face.