23. Twenty-Three
I barely register the transition from dark tunnel to blinding forest light. My feet pull my numb body forward, keeping pace with the men who are silently trekking through the forest, following an indiscernible path they’ve clearly drilled before.
If the world wasn’t swirling around me, threatening to pull me into darkness, I would be amazed by the way they’re moving. Huge and stealthy. Fast, yet refusing to make a single misstep. Forging ahead without leaving a trace of our presence.
Everyone stays silent, even the sounds of the trucks are quiet in the distance. Tucker continually checks his phone, tapping Dane’s shoulder to communicate updates as they come in.
I don’t look at the screen. I don’t want to know where they are. How close we are to being caught. How close I was to being dragged back there. Like this was all a dream and that hell had just been fucking with me this whole time.
We cross some invisible boundary all the men recognize immediately, and they turn, facing Ray.
I can’t speak. I can’t ask what’s going on. I don’t have any words in me that aren’t choked with sharp panic, so I just watch. Their silent communication baffles me, all hand signals and pointed looks. Clearly formed through years of working closely together, building trust and understanding.
A hand clasps onto my shoulder, and I flinch. A scream begs to claw out of my throat. But I don’t break the silence we’re all clinging to right now.
I turn, seeing Tucker looking into my eyes. He’s trying to relay whatever they’re all clearly on the same page about, but I can’t get my mind to understand. When it’s clear I’m not in the right frame of mind to decipher a look, he whispers, “You’re safe.”
I don’t believe him. I want to, but I can’t. I can’t just be safe. Not with them out there. Not with John looking for me.
His hand squeezes my shoulder and my body stiffens. I want his touch, his comfort, but my body wants to run. To hide. Tucker pulls me tightly against him, burying my face in his chest. His hand firm against the back of my head, not giving me enough room to turn away. I feel him move as if he’s nodding to someone, and I hear a soft click. A switch being flipped.
A tense second passes and the stark silence is shattered as an explosion rips through the forest.
I scream into Tucker’s chest, but it’s not nearly loud enough to compete with the cacophony rumbling around us.
We have to be at least a mile from the clearing by this point, and don’t need to see the camera feed to know that it, as well as anything or anyone there, has been completely destroyed.
The sound of the blast echoes relentlessly through the woods, continuing long after the explosion itself.
I don’t feel sympathy, not an ounce of it. Every single one of those people were out to do one thing and one thing only: bring me back. At any cost.
I can only pray John was with them.
We hike for another hour, chasing the last of the daylight as we continue to move away from the rubble we’ve left behind. With every mile we put between us and the house, I can feel the men start to relax around me, the quiet between us taking on a different tone.
Gone is the tactical unit, moving with military precision through the forest, evading capture and possible execution at the hands of Omni Biomedical. Now they’re a group of men, beaten down by their circumstances, without the place they call home.
A part of me, a small, terrible part, feels relief they’re in this situation too. I’m not the only one whose life has left them reeling. I’m not alone in the fight against Omni. Against John.
The nagging weight has been lifted now we’re in this together. Now that we’ve all been devastated in our own way. Through the exhausted haze in my mind, I’m no longer concerned about negating their pity and proving that I’m whole. We all have a score to settle now. We’ve all been wronged.
More twists and turns, more massive trees and unforgiving briars pass by until we finally come across a small opening in the dense forest, barely large enough to let the sky peek through between the trees. The clearing is just large enough for a van and another narrow road leading away from the house.
It’s not the armored tank of a vehicle we left behind and probably destroyed in the explosion. The vehicle in front of us is a dark gray panel van caked in layers and layers of dirt and grime. It’s probably been here for years, lying in wait for us to need it.
Dane slides open the side door, and I have to brace myself against the sound of it, the drag of the metal bringing back memories of a crushed minivan and a soul rattling silence. That memory gives way to sharp teeth and snapping jaws. My heart pounds in my chest, my breath comes in shallow pants, and the numbness inside of me threatens to split, to turn back into terror. I can’t go back to that. I won’t.
Instead, I focus on what’s actually in front of me. An open vehicle with a long bench along the inside of it. A bench where I plan to plant my ass and ride out the rest of the waning adrenaline until we make our next move.
We all pile in, finally in an enclosed space, far out of reach of any ears that might hear us, but no one speaks. No one breaks the shaken silence hanging thick in the air between us.
Ray, for the first time since I’ve met him, looks anything but cocky, a distinctive mixture of rage and sorrow etched into his features.
Scanning across the others, I see the same expression mirrored on all of them. But Dane… Dane looks like he’s barely holding himself together. He’s bent forward, clenching and unclenching his fists, his eyes are unfocused, and a vein is pulsating in his forehead. I can’t take my eyes off him, everything in me refusing to look away from the present threat.
He looks up to me, his expression fiery. My muscles lock up, freezing entirely in front of him. I want to curl into myself, disappear entirely under his glare. He blames me, he has to.
This is all about me.
This whole situation. The loss of their home. The danger they’ve put themselves through, as well as the job that’s soon to come. All of that is because of me.
No one around me is safe while I’m in the center of an endless cycle of loss, forced to witness those around me suffer while I slowly stitch myself together only to experience it again, and again, and again.
Dane drops his head forward and drags clawed hands over his hair. My vision blurs as tears threaten to spill and I quickly rub my hands over my face in a useless attempt to cover my shame. This does nothing to loosen the knot in my throat, nor the one twisting in the pit of my stomach.
Tucker meets my eyes, assessing my face and giving me another reassuring nod. The vast difference between the man I thought he was and the man that he’s showing himself to be is so jarring it’s almost impossible to reconcile the two.
Long moments pass between the five of us, each reeling in our own right, before Silas gets up abruptly, moving to the driver’s seat. His movements are quiet and sure, and I listen as he flips on the car’s power, the lights come to life, but the engine stays silent.
“It looks like everything works.” His deep voice fills the van despite his quiet tone. He cuts the lights back off and turns to Dane.
“We don’t move tonight. If anyone is searching, the headlights will give us away.” Dane’s response doesn’t register when he speaks, the implication not reaching my mind, but I nod quietly in agreement, nonetheless.
Dane gets up, slides open the door and slams it behind him.
My flinch is small, just a twitch as understanding starts to dawn on me. Syllable by syllable his statement coming into focus before crashing into me at full force.
We’re to stay here.
In the van.
Overnight.
A second bomb goes off directly next to me, shredding through me with brutal efficiency.
Ray doesn’t feel the detonation. Tucker doesn’t register the terror. Silas is completely oblivious to my implosion. Everyone around me is settling in for the night, but I’m not moving. I can’t. I’m mentally wading through a lake of molasses, desperate to make it to the other side.
No… No. No. No. No!
A series of thoughts and long suppressed memories are flooding into me, grabbing onto my limbs, and refusing to let go.
My mom shivering, promising everything will be okay. The blue lips on my dad’s slack face. The stiffness of my brother. Silent. Cold. Alone.
“Are you okay?”
I hear a voice, but it sounds distant. Far too distant for it to be coming from the freckle faced man sitting next to me.
I want to respond. I want to ease the look of concern on his face, but I can’t breathe. I can’t think.
“I can’t.”
My whisper echoes in my mind until I’m not even sure it came out of my mouth. Not sure if I actually screamed it.
The other men haven’t reacted as if I had, Silas and Ray regarding me warily, unsure of what set me off. Unsure of what I’m going to do now.
“Can’t what, Mads?”
He’s moved in front of me now, his face taking up the majority of my field of view.
I shake my head, acutely aware of the tears rolling down my cheeks and dripping onto my filthy shirt.
The concern etched into his features deepens before there’s a shift. A spark of understanding flaring inside of him. He scans the van and quickly grabs a bag from below Ray’s seat.
“Okay, I got you.”
It’s all he needs to say. I don’t know if he gets it. There’s no way he could, but it’s all he needs to say before sliding open the door and leading me out, away from the walls that are quickly collapsing around me.
The cool night air acts as a balm, a sharp relief from the stale unmoving air inside of the van.
I’m only peripherally aware of my body’s reaction. My palms have become clammy, the back of my neck too tight, and I think I’m hyperventilating.
Tucker’s moving around me, but I’m not watching him. I’m staring at the rocks beneath me, taking note of each of the sharp little protrusions in the ground with the last bits of light the dusk will allow.
When did I get on the ground?
When did I put my head between my knees?
I know this position. I’ve found myself here a lot, but it’s been years since I’ve needed to pull myself out of this state. Years since the panic and memories have seized me like this.
A warm hand touches my back, anchoring me further into reality. That solid and gentle touch doesn’t move. It doesn’t urge me to crawl out from the deep cavern I’m hiding myself in. I can feel heat beside me too. Tucker must have sat down beside me, allowing me to do whatever I need to do to come back into myself.
His arm shifts around me and tenses as footsteps come near. I whip my head up, not sure who I’d find stalking through the woods. But it’s Dane, a new exhaustion settled on his face instead of the seething rage that had been there inside the van. His eyes bounce between the two of us on the ground, before landing on Tucker.
I don’t know what’s being communicated in the silent look they’re sharing. I don’t have the energy to figure it out, and after a moment Dane breaks the connection and reenters the van. This time closing the door more gently.
Now that we’re alone again, Tucker doesn’t say anything, and neither do I, not for long, long moments. Not until the night has well and truly fallen over us.
I finally look up, suddenly feeling itchy tracks of dried tears on my face. Tucker’s watching me patiently, giving me every bit of support he can without knowing what I need.
“Can you tell me what happened in there?” His voice is gentle when he finally speaks. He’s not probing, but I know he’s ready to listen if I want to tell him anything.
“Not right now.” My voice is weak, matching the way my body feels right now. All my adrenaline has left me, and now all I want is quiet. All I want is sleep, but I can’t do it. Not in there.
I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.
The panic starts to swirl around me once more, finding some final reserve to pull from, when Tucker’s hands squeeze around my balled fists, demanding my attention.
“Hey. You’re okay. We’re not staying in there.”
Through tear blurred vision I look at him fully, finding those green eyes trained on mine. I blink a couple times to clear the haze, and I see a small tent erected a few feet away from the van at the entrance to the tiny clearing.
Relief and gratitude flood into me, the magnitude of each emotion taking me by surprise.
“We don’t have to go in now, but it’s there when you’re ready.”
He’s left me in the tent a couple times, returning to the van to grab different supplies we might need and let the boys know I haven’t run off screaming into the woods.
This time, before coming back into the tent, he taps on the fabric separating me from the outside and makes a knocking sound. I don’t have it in me to laugh, but I hope he can read the small smile on my face. Hoping he can tell I’m grateful for all the care he’s showing me.
He plops down in front of me and hands me two granola bars.
“You better enjoy those, I had to fight Ray for them. It got violent.”
“I bet. It looks like you got pretty beat up.”
“You should see the other guy.” The smile on his face feels like a safe harbor. Like he’s giving me every bit of himself to make sure I’m okay.
It’s not nearly as dark in here as I thought it would be. The moonlight streams through the trees and shines beautiful shadows on the fabric above me. There’s enough light for me to fully make out the few things he’s brought out for us; a couple of sleeping bags, a small pile of clothing for him, my entire pack of clothes he put together for me, and the few discarded wrappers from granola bars sacrificed to our hunger.
“It’s the van, right?” His words are wary. He clearly wants to understand, but he’s cautious. Tucker doesn’t want to push me back into the panic.
I nod, the thoughts still forming, still solidifying.
“You don’t have to tell me anyth-”
“They found me in a van.” I blurt. My words silence him immediately. He knows that this tenuous grip on the conversation can slip at any point.
“Not John, not Omni, but a rescue party. It was winter. My family… We were taking a road trip, but we took a wrong turn somewhere. We got lost.” I take a deep breath. I’ve been through it so many times in my head, but it’s difficult to put into words. Nearly impossible to give the memories power to return. I’m trying to give my body a chance to relax, hoping I can keep it together because, for whatever reason, I need to tell him. My nose burns as I tangle my fingers together in my lap. I need him to understand.
“The snow was falling too fast, and my dad couldn’t see the road well enough. We must’ve hit some ice, and we slid off the road. Rolled down a hill. My dad… he couldn’t move the minivan. It was so cold and…” I trail off, not wanting, or needing, to continue with this part of the story.
“I don’t know how long had passed, but the snow kept getting higher and higher against the windows before someone finally came. They broke the windshield and found us. Found me.” I wait for the panic to take over, wait for it to sweep me away, but the tidal wave never comes. Through my exhaustion I may as well have been telling someone else’s story.
He nods, taking in every detail with care. He knows this story is precious to me, something I refuse to give to just anyone. He understands the level of trust I’m showing him by sharing this.
“The minivan from the Tank.” Not a question, but a confirmation. His first intrusion into the story.
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
I don’t give him the reassuring statement of ‘It’s okay’ I’d been conditioned to offer to others in my childhood. That response is designed to ease the guilt and tension within the other person, and I don’t want to do that. I’m pulling him into this with me, and I have no intention of releasing him from it.
“We can drive and continue with whatever it is we’re going to do, but I just… I won’t sleep in there.”
“You don’t have to.” He takes a moment, searching my face for something I don’t know how to give, even if I knew exactly what it was. “If there’s anything else, just let me know, and I’ll take care of it. You don’t have to go through it alone.”
“I think I’m ready to sleep now,” I whisper, closing the door on this conversation fully. I don’t need to rattle off every trauma I’ve experienced, and it doesn’t feel like he’s expecting me to either. We can take everything as it comes. I take a deep breath, feeling lighter now that I’ve shared a little of my story. He’s not going to pry for more, he won’t demand more answers from me. Maybe that’s why I chose to share this with him.
He unrolls the sleeping bags and lays them side by side. They’re set only a couple inches apart, the tent only allowing a small bit of space between them.
“Lady’s choice.” He gestures grandly at the sleeping arrangements, his flourish bringing a tired smile to my face.
I quickly settle into the closer of the two and struggle to find a position where I’m not being stabbed by a rock.
“Here, switch with me. It’s not so bad over here.” Tucker’s voice cuts through the relentless swishing of the fabric.
“No, because then you’re going to be on the rocks. I’ve already ruined your sleep enough.” I let out a grunt, swishing around a little more, finally finding an angle that I can contort myself into that doesn’t leave me practically pierced on every other inch of my skin.
“Mads, if you keep thrashing around like that, neither of us are going to get any sleep.”
“Tucker, I’m fine. Just go to sleep.”
He tries, and so do I, but I quickly realize there is no way I’m going to actually get any rest like this. I quietly roll once more, giving in to the idea that I’m going to be staring up at the moonlight streaming through the tent for the next few hours.
I can sleep when we get to wherever we’re headed.
I don’t know how, but he knows I’m not going to sleep here. I toss once more before he wraps a deceptively strong arm around my torso and pulls me against him, the fabric of the sleeping bag sliding easily over the bottom of the tent.
I’m instantly more comfortable, not only because of the relative lack of stones digging into me, but because of the firm hold Tucker has around my waist. I shift onto my side, trying to leech whatever warmth I can from him, and he follows my movements, wrapping himself more securely around me.
I feel so small next to these men, but in this situation, I’m seated so perfectly into the contours of Tucker’s body, it’s like we were created to be in this position. My chest warms at the thought.
I let out a sigh and try to wriggle closer to him, desperate to sink more fully into the comfort of his arms, this moment sitting in stark contrast to the cold and empty feeling I was drowning in while inside the van.
“Mads.”
His tone is different, a hint of a warning laced through the single syllable whispered against my hair.
“What?” I ask, confused.
“You have to be still, no more moving around like that.”
His comment knocks up against the side of my exhaustion and falls flat. I can’t understand why I’m not allowed to move into this comfort other than me pushing off his sleep for another few moments. I’ll be done in a second, he just needs to let me luxuriate in his hold for a little longer, and then we’ll both fall asleep. I shift closer one more time, and his hold on me tightens, the firmness of his grasp emphasizing his earlier command.
Fine.I guess I’ll stay still for him.
It’s only moments before my thoughts quiet down and the world fades to black around me.