Funny, he’d always admired Aaron’s sunny outlook, the easy way he attracted others like blossoms enticed bees. Aaron was the jovial one in their friendship, beloved by everyone for his charm and by his peers for his fun-loving nature, by Gideon too. He’d never had the same charisma. Maybe he was envious of Aaron on some deep psychological level. Jealous, possibly, of the way Mackenzie admired her brother so deeply. He tried to swat away the thought along with the gnat that pestered his vision.
He looked from under the dripping brim of his hat atthe landscape, everything strange and unfamiliar, shoving branches aside as they plowed onward.
What was happening between him and Mackenzie?
Nothing.They were trying to survive, pure and simple, thrown together in a bizarre twist of fate.
Water snaked between his shoulder blades, and he cinched his collar tighter. He was moving them in the right direction, toward his Jeep, but there seemed no end to the sprawl of wilderness ahead. They were depleted, physically and emotionally, inhabiting that dangerous mental space where thinking could get fuzzy. This was the epitome of an “isolating event” in SERE lingo. As he routinely taught his classes,“The assigned mission is to return to friendly control without giving aid or comfort to the enemy.”
At least they’d been successful in that part of the mission so far. Al and Jerry were driving around in the mess too, one of their vehicles disabled and left in the mud, minus a jerky, a visor, and a couple pieces of saltwater taffy. Better yet, the two lackeys had been thwarted at the bridge and again at the barn, where no one had been shot. At least, he hoped not. It appeared that Kevin had been fortunate enough to get away, unless of course he and/or Cordelia had been part of the ambush in the first place.
The “friendly control” they were searching for was going to be hard to find in a flooded town where Bullseye seemed to have an incredible reach. If they did come upon a local who hadn’t evacuated, would they promptly be given up to the drug lord? The line between friend and enemy could be impossible to recognize, and it was clear they had a price on their heads.
The only way around was through, so he shook the water from his hat and pressed on. He was never sure if cold or heat was harder to bear, but he was beginning to think there was nothing more miserable than an inescapable chill.
The hours passed in a painful blur as the cold seeped deeper into his bones. His shoulder ached to the cellular level. Mackenzie didn’t complain, but she seemed to be developing a limp that worsened as they toiled on along soggy stretches of wooded hillside.
In late afternoon, when their pace slackened to a trudge, they split the beef jerky stick and drank water from their packs. He refilled the bottles they’d emptied earlier from a stream and added purification tablets.
He knew her feet were complaining, blisters forming at the heels from the sodden jogging shoes Kevin had given her. His feet ached too, though his sturdy boots were the best money could buy. Never skimp on footwear, that was a lesson he’d learned the hard way. He’d rather go hungry than wear flimsy shoes.
How much longer?
The desperate question ran silently through him, but he refused to let it take over. Wilderness survival was his life, his career, and he could go on as long as he needed to. But Mackenzie was fatigued, and if they couldn’t find shelter soon, he’d need to improvise one. He could use the tarp and supplies from his pack, but there was no way he could risk building a fire. Thirty more minutes, he told himself.
They arrived at the lip of a valley. The view would have been spectacular in other circumstances, the rocky peak on which they stood dropping from a dizzying height into awooded canyon where two forks of a great river thundered along. No doubt there were cabins and homes nestled in scenic locations alongside the water, but the failing light and oppressive fog hid them. It reminded him that they were two very small people in an enormous wilderness.
“Any homes down there?” Mackenzie asked, voice pitched above the sound of the rain. She was shivering, her hand pressed to her side as if she had a cramp.
“Maybe, but they’d be empty, likely. With the flooding, everyone’s been encouraged to evacuate, and most people with good sense have left,” Gideon called back. He’d let the irritation slip out a bit there, and she’d surely caught it.“I didn’t ask you to come,”she’d say.
Truth. He’d made the choice, eyes wide open. And he wouldn’t change it, in spite of the unending discomfort. Mackenzie did not have a corner on the stubborn market.
Seeing the topography from above reinforced how dire their situation might become. At the upper elevation, the Cotton Flower Dam bottled the neck of the valley, the cement shoulders holding back the mighty crush of water from the town and its offshoots, like this peaceful vista. If it failed ...
He shook the hair from his face, the water sluicing off, and raised his volume to make himself heard over the downpour. “Let’s get to higher ground. We’ve got a half hour or so before it’s too dark to travel. Looks like we’re gonna have to make camp until we get some daylight. Need to find a suitable spot.”
“No camping,” she called back. “We can keep going.”
“Not without busting an ankle.”
She didn’t argue, a clear indication she was approaching exhaustion.
They struggled on as the trail paralleled the valley’s edge. Steep, then steeper. It was necessary to pitch their bodies forward to maintain their progress without tumbling, but their pace slowed anyway as the wind stiffened and their energy waned.
Punishing cold chased them around a slow bend in the trail.Keep going. Keep pushing. But they were both fighting for every step as they made the turn. When they trekked past it, he stopped so fast she bumped into him.
“What?” she said.
He blinked, and it was still there. A new rush of hope infused his spirit. He pointed in the misty gloom, almost afraid he was dreaming.
She scanned around him. “I don’t see anything.”
Because the foundation was tangled in shrubbery and he’d been concentrating on his footing, so he hadn’t noticed it at first either. He tipped her chin up.
At the top of the peak ahead of them, a wooden fire watchtower rose into the clouds. The tall, squat structure perched a solid one hundred twenty feet up.
As they stared, the rain slithered down his cheeks, adding more goose bumps to his skin if that was possible.
