Nightshade (Discarded Heroes), page 30
part #1 of Discarded Heroes Series
But what kind of cad would stop the medic from working on a missionary woman?
Jaw ground, Max balled his fists, watching the futility of the resuscitation attempt. What good would that be if they all died?
Why? Why in the name of all that was holy and just would God put him in this situation? Was God going to force him to kill one of His children?
A whistle stabbed his thoughts. The Nightshade signal. The Kid, it was the Kid warning them the Higanti were close.
Max clamped his hands on Jon Harris’s shoulders and jerked him back. “Get under that bush and do not move.” With a thrust, he shoved the guy in the direction.
“My wife—” he yelped, pressing his hands against the pouch containing his daughter. He started back toward the woman.
Ruger snapped up, Max stared down the barrel to the man, his chest tight, his pulse thundering through his head. “I will put you down myself.”
The man froze … then wilted. “She’s dying.”
Max lowered his weapon a fraction “We all die if we don’t hide.” An unfamiliar pressure pushed down on his shoulders. “I—I’m sorry, but …”
Where had his soul gone? How could he be this calloused? He wiped the sweat from his face as the man turned, walked to a cluster of trees not far from his wife, and lay down on the floor with his daughter in the pouch, then covered them with jungle litter. All too clearly, he watched his wife battle for her life.
Being hacked into a thousand pieces by the Higanti paled in comparison to the million pieces of his heart held together by sheer willpower. With a quick glance around the area to make sure the team wasn’t overtly visible, Max realized he didn’t even have the strength of heart to curse God this time.
He tucked himself flat amid a bramble of weeds and bushes and pulled his M4 up so he could yank it up at will. His gaze probed and poked the darkness until he finally spotted Fix burrowed in next to the missionary woman, still working. Fingers digging into the cool soil, Max groped for control, for something to go right. Yet every quiet thump of the medic’s hands over her heart sounded as a gun blast to Max’s trained ears. A bitter taste burst across his tongue, and he swallowed the squirt of adrenaline and fear.
The crunch of leaves and twigs silenced his morose thoughts.
Fix hesitated and glanced in Max’s direction then lowered himself to the earth.
Gradually, a dozen forms solidified in the small clearing. The way they walked through the jungle, as if they were a part of it, not as if they were trying to get out of it, unnerved Max. They were too familiar with the hills—would they recognize the odd rises and color patterns in the terrain that were screamingly obvious to him?
He eyed Fix and the woman lying sandwiched between two trees and a line of small palms. It was impossible to tell if grief or the all-quiet imperative kept the medic’s head down. A trickle of light danced over one side of Kimber Harris’s face … and revealed her slow descent from this world.
He swallowed, hoping the Higanti couldn’t see her and panicked that he’d be forced to watch her die.
Her lips parted then closed. Again … opened.
Seconds pounded through his skull as she lay there without moving. Fix’s gaze crawled to Max. His shoulders sagged, and he finally lowered his head.
No! Max coiled his fingers into the soft dirt, squeezing … wishing he could reach across the open space and hand-pump Kimber Harris’s heart. Keep her alive. She deserved it. Deserved to live with her husband who loved her so much and the adorable child so much like her mother. He squeezed again, mentally prodding her to live.
Do it! Live!
He tightened his hand around the dirt until the strain almost shook his arm.
Snap!
Max flinched and peered up at the sound. An oak of a Higanti warrior approached. With legs that seemed thicker than cannons, the guy swung a long-handled scythe loosely at his side. Each step brought the tsing of that blade closer.
Closer.
Max’s finger eased into the trigger well. Fury licked through him that these whacked-out villagers had put Kimber Harris’s life on the line. Possibly pushed her into eternity. Forced him to do something that shredded his soul.
A flurry of words shot out, and the Higanti paused. His heart rapid-fired as one snuck toward the Kid’s position and poked a spear at the earth. Max’s gut clenched at each jab. God—?
The Higanti near him turned back. Swung his scythe wide.
Metal and fire sliced Max’s cheekbone, the tsing of the scythe ringing in his ears. He fisted his free hand and bit through the pain. Warmth slid down his jaw and neck. Behind the cluster, he saw Midas throw something down the incline.
Seconds later, birds screeched and shrieked, breaking the deadly silence, and erupted through the jungle. Branches swayed and palms thwapped.
The Higanti warriors raced in the direction of the birds.
The team waited as silence once again gaped and yawned. Finally, Max wiped the blood from his face and gave the all clear.
Jon Harris scrabbled from his hiding place and rushed to his wife. A half gulp, half sob burst from the missionary. “No …”
Max cringed, unable to remind the man to keep his voice down so he didn’t draw the Higanti back. Let them come. He shivered, recognizing the bloodlust that coursed through him.
Sorrow clung to the man’s face. He shook his head and sighed. “Oh God, I wasn’t ready.” The man crumpled against his wife. “Kimber, we need you. Maecel needs you.” With his daughter sandwiched between him and his dead wife, he cried. Sobbed.
Max shifted away, the turbulent emotion ricocheting through his chest. Too bad he couldn’t sedate the man just like his daughter, anything to quiet that gut-birthed sob.
You’re a jerk!
No, he had a tight lid on things, and that kept him topside, above the emotional squall. If he could just deaden his feelings the way he had twenty-plus years ago when his father had walked out, he might be able to put a coherent thought together and get out of here—without any more fatalities.
The Kid and Midas moved off to the side.
They needed to move. He needed to move. Put a lifetime between him and this nightmare. His gaze drifted back to the scene. The sleeping babe’s head rested just under her mother’s chin. One asleep for now, the other forever.
Max shook his head and turned away. And yet … wasn’t this what he’d always done? Deadened the pain—no, killed the source so he didn’t have to feel. This is your fault.
No. He’d done everything he could think of—he hadn’t invited the Higanti.
You let her die. Made Fix stop.
What else could he do? Their necks would’ve been severed if the warriors had found them. Why did it matter? Fatalities happened. Missions were dangerous and deadly. That’s why he and the Nightshade team were trained and sent.
“I’ll take good care of Maecel,” Jon said with a shuddering breath. “I’ll never let her forget your smile or your love for her.”
Lips pressed tight, Max drove his gaze to the ground. Worked to keep his chin from quivering as he watched the man hold his dead wife. Heard his quiet cries. Whispered promises. Bury it…bury it.
He clamped his jaw. You did this. Breathed harder. You killed her. Max forced himself to shoulder his pack, ignoring the weight that seemed to descend on him, leaving him exhausted and aching. Why couldn’t he shake this off? He hesitated, his gaze trekking over the scene with Jon, Kimber, and Maecel Harris. He had to remember this, because in some tripped-up way, this was his fault.
A strange glow glittered through the trees. With its first golden rays, dawn stretched from the horizon and kissed Kimber Harris good-bye.
Concealed under the slats of a raised hut, Sydney burrowed in as far as she could and pressed her back against a large support. Warmth dripped down into her right eye. The concussion had thrown her back and smacked her head against one of the market stands. It’d been enough to blind her for a second—but that didn’t stop her from scrambling to safety at the sound of shooting.
Trembling wracked her body as she stared out the two-foot space toward the road. Heat plumes rippled through air from the burning Jeep. Holden. Lane. Where were they? Had they been killed? Pain radiated through her neck and shoulder, but also around the small of her back and into her hips. Come to think of it, she hadn’t felt the baby moving since the explosion. Had the concussion …? Oh no. She couldn’t say it. Couldn’t think it.
“My baby,” she mouthed, hot tears streaking down her cheeks. “Please, God!” Still, she didn’t allow a sound to escape her moving lips. Had she, in her own foolishness, killed her son? Rubbing her belly, she willed the little guy to let her know he was still alive. God, forgive me. Forgive me.
Nothing. Silence. Emptiness. I’ve killed him. Oh sweet Jesus, I killed him. Grief strangled her. She didn’t care if she died. She deserved to die. What kind of mother traipses around the world, willingly walking into danger zones for a story?
Fear wrapped its long tendrils around her chest, squeezing tightly. Thick smoke billowed in under the boards, reaching for her with hungry, greedy fingers. She wouldn’t cough. Couldn’t cough and give herself away. Breathing resisted her every attempt. Thick ash found her in the hiding place and coated her dark clothes.
Crackling and popping of the fire worried her, reminded her of the blaze she’d set to her own life. What she wouldn’t give to go back in time, to show Max more love, to be more patient, to remain on American soil for her story.
Crunch.
Sydney’s heart seized.
Crunch, crunch … crunch.
A boot slowly moved into view, its movement methodical. Heel touched the wood and wreckage-strewn sidewalk first, rolled through the instep to the toe. Left foot next. He was searching for her.
Crunch.
The grittiness sifted into her mouth and nostrils. Down her throat. Her body convulsed to cough—but she stopped it.
A knee dropped into view.
Thump! Thud!
The man splayed out, his face turned toward her, blood streaming down his temple. He’d been shot! But who had killed him? Hurried steps rushed closer.
“Americans, let’s go!”
It’s a trick. Didn’t matter anyway. She didn’t deserve to live. If her baby was dead, so was she. Never would she be able to face Max knowing what she’d done.
“You have five seconds, and we’re out of here.” Another voice, gruff and terse, shattered the obnoxious quiet of the now-empty market. Two sets of black boots stormed into view. One crossed the road toward the Jeep. Another paused in front of the hut where the dead man stared back at her. A dark hand slipped around the man’s neck, apparently checking the pulse.
“They’re all dead.” The gruff voice called. “Nobody’s left.”
“Then who were they shooting at?” the one closer asked.
Movement across the street caught her eye. Lane! He crawled out of a house on his hands and knees, gagging and coughing. “Help! Help! Don’t leave me.”
The two men sprinted and helped him to his feet. “Is there anyone else?”
“I—I don’t know,” Lane said, his voice almost inaudible.
Don’t tell them. Just leave and let me be.
“How many in your group?” Gruff asked.
“F-four. There were four of us. Me, two other guys, and a woman. A pregnant woman.”
“A preg—” A growl emanated from one of the men. “You sure are some special kind of stupid to bring a pregnant woman into an environment like this.”
“Let’s find her.”
Silently, she willed them to leave. Leave here. Leave her. She didn’t want to go back home to normal things. She didn’t deserve anything. In her attempt to find purpose, she’d found death. Now she had nobody. Her mom was dead. Her husband she’d legally signed out of her life. Bryce—that was another story.
No, she was alone. All alone. In a strange country. Her brother didn’t even know she was here. They’d hopped that flight without notifying anyone.
“Here! She’s under here!” Lane’s shouts echoed through the early morning. “Sydney, are you okay?”
She tried to curl in tighter, but her bulging belly wouldn’t cooperate.
A hand clasped her foot and pulled.
She kicked out with her other, screaming. “Leave me alone!”
Still, they hauled her out as she scraped and clawed at the dirt. If she could just stay hidden, maybe they wouldn’t know what she’d done to her own baby.
The large man towering over her clamped a hand over her mouth. “Quiet.” He seemed to scowl at her, even under all the lines of green and black smeared over his face. “You injured?”
Lane cradled her face. “I was so worried about you. I couldn’t find you … and I thought ….” He sobbed. “I thought you were dead.”
The two soldiers shifted awkwardly.
Irritation clawed at her. She batted Lane away. “Leave me alone. Just go away.” The larger man drew her to her feet. Swallowing the bitter taste that glanced off her tongue, she wiped the blood dribbling into her eye.
The soldier tilted her head to the side. “It’s not gaping. We’ll fix it when we rendezvous.”
Everything in her wilted. “I don’t want to go back.”
“Are you crazy?” Lane exclaimed.
She’d come here, hadn’t she? She might as well die here. And she’d bolt the minute the soldier turned—
A viselike grip wrapped around her arm. He held a finger to his ear, and only then did Syd notice the ear mic and the rolled up sleeve—and tattoo.
She’d found them! The team she’d been hunting.
And look what good it did.
The ache around her back and stomach hadn’t lessened.
“Delta One,” the soldier said, tightening his grip as he led her into the thick of the jungle. “This is Ghost One. En route, plus two friendlies.”
Friendlies. Why did that sound wildly contrary? She glanced at the man dragging her through the high grass and bushes. He stood taller than her by nearly a head and a half, with broad shoulders. Of course, the armor that wrapped his body seemed to enhance his chest several inches. The camo rag over his head shielded his hair and the shape of his head, but something seemed oddly familiar.
Insane.
After several long minutes, he finally stopped, tugging her aside. The other guy and Lane huddled up. “We have a hard hike ahead of us. Only a mile, but it’s rugged, and we have to make it fast.” He held Syd’s arm again and peered down at her. “Can you handle it?”
“Does it matter?”
“Not to us,” Gruff barked.
Ghost One held up his hand. “Is there something we should know?”
Those hazel eyes seemed to see right through her the way Max always did. And somehow, in some strange way, it twisted right into her heart. A tremor worked through her lower lip. The avalanche of emotions overtook her. She buried her face in her hands.
Warm hands pulled her in an embrace. Lane was so sweet, so understanding. She let him hold her as the tears wracked her. “I can’t do this. I was so stupid to come out here, looking …” She choked off her confession. The soldiers would leave them here if she admitted searching the world over for them.
“Everything’s going wrong. The man last night. The driver. The explosion. Now Holden’s dead. My baby’s dead. I don’t want to live. I want to die. Right here.”
The arms tightened around her. Warm breath tickled her ear. “Sydney, God didn’t bring you this far to abandon you.”
The words sounded familiar yet different. She pulled back. Hard. Surprise pinged through her. It wasn’t Lane comforting her. The soldier caught her shoulder, his expression solid and sincere.
“You don’t know that. I killed my baby! I can’t feel him moving. God won’t forgive me for that. I should’ve never come here.”
“You got that right,” Gruff snapped. “Move it or lose it.”
Again, the soldier held up his hand as he turned to her. “We have a medic. He can check you and confirm that your baby is just fine.”
She whimpered at the way her heart leaped, snatching that ultrathin thread of hope he dangled in front of her.
With a nod, Ghost One took her arm and guided her up the mountain. A medic would have a stethoscope, right? The fifteen minutes proved grueling, but Sydney rearranged her thoughts and determined that each step brought her closer to hearing her baby’s heartbeat. Would God really grant her mercy?
