Chapter 8 #3
With her cold fingers clasped in his, he prayed.
He’d said grace thousands of times, mechanically, but now his words rang with a deep sense of humble gratitude.
He sensed the same emotion in her amen. God had provided and they were still alive.
She picked up her fork and twirled up a mouthful of pasta.
The rolling of her eyes in pleasure matched his own as they sampled a bite. He chuckled. “Gonna have to write a thank-you note to Kevin’s wife when this is all over. Best pasta on the planet, has to be.”
She ate a bite and forked more noodles. “Oh for sure. I could eat pounds of it.” She gazed in wonder at the next mouthful. “What do you think happened to Kevin?”
“If he was smart, he left town, unless Bullseye commanded him to try to trap us again.”
She shook her head. “I just can’t see him setting us up. He looked petrified at the barn, and he was going to help us escape.”
“Appearances can be deceiving and alliances can shift, and Bullseye owns the town. Maybe he figured out Kevin was aiding and abetting and reached out with some not-so-friendly persuasion. Kevin might have been going to trap us in his car to prevent us from leaving.”
Her expression darkened, and he strove to improve the mood. “But for now, we have hot food and a roof over our heads, so that’s a win.”
“And dry clothes.” She saluted him with her fork. “Thanks for that too.”
He ate another mouthful, trying to keep himself from wolfing it down. “Survival is as much mental as it is physical. A warm meal and a change of clothes can go a long way.”
She was making his point for him, savoring each bite with such fervor he could not help but smile.
Though he could have happily packed away three times the amount, the noodles and sauce took the edge off and restored his senses.
They swigged water to wash the meal down.
He found an old bunch of emergency water packets that hadn’t yet expired, which gave him the confidence to indulge in more hydration rations.
She went to her pack and produced the two saltwater taffies she’d taken from Al’s truck. “In honor of the occasion, I brought dessert.”
“How delightful,” he said. “A sure way to be invited back.”
They took off the waxy wrappers, clinked the candies together, and popped them into their mouths.
“Mmm. Strawberry,” he said. “Perfect.”
“Root beer for me. Remember when my class sold root beer floats at school? You bought one every day.”
He had, but not because he enjoyed the soda and half-melted ice cream.
It was because he’d wanted to see her, something he’d never admit.
He shifted on the seat and let the sticky candy dissolve on his tongue.
“I think this will go down as a most memorable meal. Right up there with the carpenter ants I ate on a training mission. You have to eat a lot of those to make a dent, let me tell you.”
She giggled. “And catching them must be a chore.”
“Patience is required, but I prefer them to praying mantis any day.”
She gaped. “Now you’re just pulling my leg. A praying mantis cannot be edible.”
“Kid you not. They’re 58 percent protein, twelve percent fat, three percent ash, with a dash of vitamin B complex and vitamin A tossed in. The outer skeleton is a compound of sugar and amino acids. They taste okay, but man, you gotta get past the crunch factor.”
She shook her head. “You really do have an encyclopedia in your head, don’t you?”
He tried to appear nonchalant at the praise. “Only about survival stuff and college basketball stats.”
“You’ve studied hard.”
“Harder than anyone else.” He realized it sounded arrogant. “I never wanted anyone to suffer or not make it home because I didn’t know what to do.”
Her hair was drying into soft waves around her cheeks, curly like she’d worn it in college. He liked it that way.
Her eyes locked on his. “And that’s how you live your life, taking responsibility for people.”
Her demeanor was difficult to read. Was it a dig? “No, just for myself. Everybody makes their own choices.”
“And you’re really choosing to leave your career behind soon. Returning to civilian life and building a business. I can’t picture it.”
“It’s time. My family stepped up for me.
So it’s my turn to do the same. I’ll get my survival classes started.
Help my parents with the farm. Take care of Mom.
” He pictured his mother’s worn face, the cheeks that had never regained their plumpness after the cancer treatments, the energy in her movements that had also diminished.
“How is she doing with the cancer? My mom filled me in. She said the surgery was successful and she tolerated the chemo.”
And Mackenzie’d been interested enough to remember the details? “Mom’s doing well. I’m going to make sure she can take it easy so it stays that way. My brothers and cousin handled things all these years while I’ve been in the Air Force. They made sacrifices so I could have my career.”
Her smile faded. Thinking of Aaron? The military career he had and lost?
The tech company he talked about constantly but hadn’t lived to nurture?
The drug culture he’d become prey to and part of?
Anger prickled his belly. Aaron made his own choices and he’d paid for them.
His sister didn’t have to, and Aaron wouldn’t want that anyway. Why couldn’t she see that?
Don’t die for his choices, Zee.
She balled up her tinfoil and put the candy wrapper in her pocket, then pushed her chair from the table. He didn’t know how to make her stay.
He wanted to keep the conversation going, restore them to the easy banter that had delighted him, but he felt it slipping away. “Anyway, my days of eating praying mantis are hopefully in the past now,” he said hurriedly.
Her smile returned. There you go, Gid.
She tapped the tinfoil ball. “I’ve never eaten mantis, but this has to be better.”
“No question.”
“Tastiest meal I ever ate.” The watery moonlight plated her eyes in silver. “Thank you, Gideon.” Her tone was humble and sincere with a hint of tears.
“My pleasure.” And it was. He didn’t remember the last time he’d felt so happy to cook for someone, if dumping and cooking could be considered the same thing.
Maybe the chicken soup he’d produced for his mom after her first cancer treatment when he was on leave had come close.
Every mouthful she swallowed, he counted as an enormous win, his father hovering anxiously over the process as much as Gideon and his brothers.
His gaze drifted across the room to the cookbook.
At present, he believed he could cheerfully polish off 365 bowls of soup.
When they made it back, he’d try each and every recipe.
Mackenzie yawned, which made him do the same. Fatigue rolled over him like a landslide. They had to rest if they were to keep going. He heaved himself to his feet. It was cold, still, uncomfortably so. He chafed his arms and moved around to warm himself.
Mackenzie did a few laps, too, until they met at the map ensconced under the glass sheet.
“Some sort of terrain mapping tool?” she guessed.
“It’s an old firefinder.” He grazed a finger over the topographic map centered on the table.
A circular rim rose up around it, marked in degrees.
“You move these sights, look through the hole, and view the crosshairs in the farther sight aligned with the fire. Back in the day it was used to pinpoint the location of the blaze before there were drones and satellites and the like. Old-school but accurate.”
She bent closer.
His finger tapped on a point on the map. “Here’s where my Jeep’s parked on the bridge.”
She indicated another location with her forefinger. “And here’s the airstrip.”
His gut tightened. “All roads lead to Rome,” he said lightly.
She stared at the two points. “With Al and Jerry on our trail, it’s smarter to split up, isn’t it?”
“Disagree. Never the best option for IP.” He waved a hand. “Isolated personnel. We’ll stick together and I’ll get you to the airstrip like I promised.”
“I didn’t ask for that promise, if you’ll recall.”
Yet he’d gone ahead and made it anyway. “Like I said, I’ll see you to the airstrip.” And then he’d figure out how to get her home. “We travel together for now.”
“For now.”
Until it was all over and they parted ways. Permanently.
He put batteries in the small transistor radio from his pack and tuned into the local weather, keeping the volume lower than the raging storm, then carried it up the bunk bed ladder with him.
The mattress was thin, the springs creaking and groaning as he settled, but his limbs were immensely comforted by the six inches of lumpy foam.
Didn’t matter that there was a dip in the middle from the previous occupant.
There was no more comfortable bed anywhere, he was sure.
He wrapped himself in the wool blanket and silently thanked God for bringing them to safety.
But if they could find the fire tower, so could Bullseye’s people. They’d know their quarry would have to secure shelter.
He wondered if they were closing in right then. He set his watch alarm. He’d give himself an hour of rest and then do a security check.
And just what are you going to do if you spot Al and Jerry with guns pointed? Waiting for you and Mackenzie to come down?
One problem at a time, Gideon.
The rain pummeled the glass windows, mirroring his turbulent thoughts as he tried to force his mind away from the killers prowling below.
****
Mackenzie expected to fall asleep in a flash.
Instead she found herself staring at the bunk above her.
She was amazed that Gideon had provided a hot meal.
Her body still tingled with delight at those precious, succulent—and most of all, warm—mouthfuls.
And the man knew the nutritional makeup of a praying mantis. Who stored that kind of information?