“Joey, trust me,” Ford says as he holds out his hand.
“You do know gravity’s a thing, right?” Staring down at the amusement park spread out before us, I then turn my gaze to the zipline. “That little thing is going to support both of us? I don’t think so.”
“Buttercup, I’ll hold you the whole way down. And…I’m pretty sure I saw an extra large box of Red Vines for sale at the concession stand by the ferris wheel. One trip, and the candy’s on me.” His deep voice rumbles against my chest as he wraps his arm around me. We’re already harnessed together, and the line behind us starts to get restless.
This was my idea. A stupid one, I can see now, but still…my idea. Something to help me get over my fear of heights. Plus, Ford swears it’s fun.
Throwing my arms around his neck, I bury my face against his soft t-shirt. “I’m not watching.”
As he steps off the platform, he cups my cheek and guides my lips to his. Suddenly, we’re flying, and the heat of his kiss, the way his arousal presses into my stomach as we glide five hundred feet, the wind ruffling my hair…it’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before. It’s…perfection.
There’s a small thud and a muffled curse back in the tent, and the memory fades. My hand moves to my pocket, and I find the paperclip I always keep there. Working it free, I drag it across my stomach. Not hard enough to make me bleed. Just hard enough to make me feel. Something. Anything but the paralyzing regrets and fears I carry with me every single day.
The tingling sensation calms me, and the slight pain as I press the tip in a little harder, just in one spot—lets the tension seep from my limbs. It’s enough. For tonight, I’ll be able to sleep for an hour at a time—maybe even two—before the nightmares come.
The next day dawns even hotter than the last, and before I do much more than brush my teeth and put on the white vest that marks me as one of the doctors, sweat is dripping down my back. But even though this isn’t our official camp—the locals are lining up, waiting for us. Turkmenistan has been without advanced medical care in the rural parts of the country for more than ten years, and while many still distrust us—our little group of six is made up of two Americans, three Brits, and Mia, who’s French—they’re desperate for mobile medicine.
I grab my clipboard and head for the triage line. “Adyn näme?” I ask in Turkmen as I kneel in front of a boy no older than six. It’s one of the only phrases I know, but it works with the little kids.
“Batyr,” he says softly with a smile.
“Hi, Batyr. Menin adym Dr. Joey.”
He shrinks behind his mother as one of our security guys—and our translator—helps me explain what happens next. The brief exam, the cholera vaccine, and any potential side effects over the next few days. Six boys, three girls, and four adults later, a hand on my shoulder makes me jerk and whirl around.
“Shit, Ray. Don’t do that.”
Dr. Raymond Phillips, the senior physician in charge, passes me a bottle of water from the case in the corner of the tent. “Sorry, Joey. But if we don’t start out for Turkmenabat soon, we won’t make it before nightfall.”
Glancing back at the intake line, I do the math in my head. “If you let me keep working while the crew packs up the sleeping tents, I can finish up with these last six patients in thirty minutes.”
“Joey—”
“Please. These people need us. The last mother and baby I saw walked for two days to get here. There aren’t many left. I’ll make dinner when we get there.”
“You mean you’ll pass out the MREs?” He chuckles and shakes his head. “Fine. But make sure I get the shepherd’s pie one. None of that chicken casserole shite.”
I blow out a breath as I twist the cap off my water bottle. “Shepherd’s pie it is. Thanks.”
We don’t make it to Turkmenabat before dark. Two flat tires and a faulty headlight force us to stop a hundred kilometers from our destination. The locals we hired to drive us argue quietly in Turkmen as they help set up two of the small tents a short distance from the road, and I collapse face first on top of the sleeping bag, not even bothering to take off my shoes.
The first shot banishes sleep instantly, and I’m on my feet, my heart in my throat. Ivy screams, and I grab her and slap my hand over her mouth, then drag her to the back corner of the tent. Mia joins us, and we huddle together, shaking. Shouts and more gunfire surround us, and I start chanting silently, “Not again. Please…not again.”
“What do you want?” Dr. Phillips says, his tone devoid of the authority it usually carries. His fear ratchets up my own, and I squeeze my hands hard enough to leave little crescent-shaped indentations in my palms.
The tent flap opens as a single shot pierces the night, and behind a man clad all in brown holding an AK-47, Dr. Phillips crumples to the ground, blood streaming from his head, his eyes open and fixed on me.
No. Ray. We’re dead. We’re all dead.
“You. Up,” the man with the gun says, gesturing at me. “Now.”
I can’t move. Mia and Ivy tremble on either side of me. The scent of blood fills my nose, and my vision wavers as the man strides forward, grabs my arm, and yanks me to my feet.
“Please!” I cry. “Don’t hurt us! We’re doctors! We just want to help!”
He propels me out of the tent where four other men—each holding one of the massive guns—wait. One of them takes the flaps of my white vest and rips them open, spinning me around and jerking it down my arms before tossing it away. A second man approaches with a bunch of dark blue fabric clutched in his massive hands, and he throws something at me. “Put this on or we do it for you.”
No, no, no…. I can hear Jefe’s voice in my head as he forces me to the ground in that railcar all those years ago, and my inability to move in the present earns me a smack to the face.
