Page 50 of Last Destination

Ambrose nodded, though seemed not nearly as enthusiastic about the announcement as I was. His attention wasn’t a bit on my face or my body. He eyed the vodka in my hands like I’d brought home a pet hippopotamus. Hesitant and disapproving.

When the amber of his irises finally rose to greet mine, they shone with a kind of tender care I hadn’t anticipated the grumpy man to offer.

“What if she needs you, man?” He put a hand on my knee, beseeching. “We have no idea what kind of condition Madman is bringing her back in. She loves you. You might be the only one of us who can give her some sort of comfort.”

As if the siren call of our girl had sounded, we looked toward the river bend in unison. The disappointment of her absence clung to my skin and clawed at my insides. Where was she?

“Hell,” he said, lowering his voice, “we’ve come this far, but what lies around the corner? None of us can afford to be drunk right now.”

I took an absentminded sip and halted just after the bottle left my lips. The icy burn I could only barely register glided down my throat like an old friend.

“You’re right.” I screwed on the cap and set it down between us. “Good point, mate.” I wiggled my legs in front of me on the sloping hill, eager for the attention to be turned elsewhere. “For the record, it wasn’t a celebratory drink. Sometimes, I get a bit of nerves, that’s all.”

Like right now, when Ambrose was staring at me with an overt mixture of caution and compassion. But he chose not to speak whatever was on his mind, and we sat in silence until the sky shifted to a shade of aubergine.

No Marley. No Madman. No Jamie.

The alcohol sat between us, mere seconds away from soothing my growing nerves, but I held still, every muscle in my body aching with frenetic energy begging to be freed.

“We should probably go back to the shack,” Ambrose murmured when the tiny light posts of the small village dimmed one by one beyond our heads up the hill. “I don’t think they’re coming.”

Visions of Madman getting shot, Marley getting taken, and Jamie fucking off out of fear, spiraled in cruel circles. My hand groped for his in the dark, begging him to stay with a single, desperate squeeze.

“Just a few more minutes, baby. Please?”

On autopilot, I pulled the vodka back into my lap, and after several moments of debate, I unscrewed the cap and drew another sip.

Fuck. Ambrose was right. I couldn’t afford to be drunk for any of them.

I handed the bottle to Ambrose and his eyebrows lifted so sharply at the sudden intrusion I could see them in the dark.

“Keep this away from me for now. Bad habits die hard.”

Startling splashes captured my attention more than the retreating bottle. Ambrose and I stood, immediately searching for the source. More splashes, far blunter than the elegant swale of an oar slicing through water. Was it some sort of aquatic animal?

A single pole right at the water’s edge was the sole light source, and we scrambled to our feet to get closer.

The aggressive noise grew sharper. The light did nothing to aid our sight, more blinding than helpful as we stared across the dark water. My heart entered the Olympics in gymnastics as I craned my neck, blinked my eyes; anything to see better into the gloom.

A dark — mattress? — came into my sight just before the bobbing shadows of three human heads, one on top, and two gripping the sides from behind, propelling it forward with their feet.

“Oh, thank fuck!” I crowed, elation filling every empty crevice in my heart and soul.

Ambrose waded into the water to help pull them in. When the camping mattress hit the sand, I scooped Marley up in my arms, more tears stinging my eyes at the delicate sight of her. She’d lost so much weight since we’d crashed — far too much — her hair stringy and covering much of her beautiful face.

I raised my gaze to meet the storming, tired eyes of her savior. “Thank you, Madman. Thank you.”

They’d traveled that entire river by mattress on virtually no food and water, and were still alive to tell the tale. They stank of river water and held the weariness of their day in their bodies. Jamie could barely stand upright, and our gang leader cradled his arm as if it were broken.

Madman shrugged, but it was not dismissive. “It was Jamie’s plan.” He came up behind me and reached over to stroke Marley’s cheek. “She has been in and out of dreams.”

“There’s a doctor here.” Ambrose pulled the mattress onto the shore and dragged it behind him up the hill, leading us back toward our shelter. “But it’s probably too late for that right now. There’s a building you can stay in beside ours. I already paid for it.”

Of course, he had. Ambrose had spent his day thinking about all our needs, and I’d spent it drowning in myself.

When we arrived at the shacks, Ambrose quickly unlocked both stalls and tossed the air mattress into ours on the floor. It was far too large, and would have half its side up the wall, but it made for another bed for the night.

“You can sleep in here with us,” he told Jamie while I entered the opposite one, careful to protect Marley’s head in the narrow space.