Edge of Reason (EDGE Security Series Book 2) (24 page)

She frowned and nodded. “Warn me next time. I think some shrapnel hit my helmet.”
 

Cat’s helmet had a crack in it. His fingers traced it. Thank God E.D.G.E. used the best and lightest armor there was.
 

The gunfight started up again.

“Sitrep, Lucky.” It was Jake’s voice over the comms.

“Five by five, College.”

“You’ve got tangos running through the woods to your location.”

“Copy that.”
 

 
He stood up, making sure he was covered by a tree. He changed his mag and noticed Cat’s hands shake just a little as she did hers. Her face was paler than normal. She’d lost too much blood already, but he had to push her or they weren’t going to get out of this.

“Come on, Valkyrie. It’s time to run.” He held out his hand. It told him how hurt she was that she took it. “Don’t quit on me now.”

She bared her teeth and her eyes blazed. “Never.” She turned and ran.
 

He followed, jumping logs and racing through the squat trees, promising himself that at the first opportunity he was going to convince this woman she belonged with him.

Cat’s arm had numbed, and she knew her senses had too. She’d managed a rough bandage a while back, but the wound needed something more. Her head and arm pounded in time with her heart. She panted more than she should, but didn’t complain and kept focused on the situation. Rhys needed a partner at his back, not a liability, if they were going to get out of this.

They’d run probably only five kilometers, but it felt like a marathon. It was late afternoon, the heat pressed in on them and the sky getting steadily darker with thunderclouds. The darkness within the trees had grown, which gave them an advantage, but the number of Boko Haram soldiers chasing them seemed to grow along with it.
 

Their progress slowed. More trucks had come, disgorging more soldiers to comb through these scant trees for them. The tangos had been driving her and Rhys away from the river. They’d been able to stay within the cover of the trees and brush that grew on either side of the Yobe River, but it had been a close call at times.
 

A rolling thunder broke through the shouts and calls of the soldiers chasing them. It would rain soon. Rhys halted and held up a fist. She stopped behind him, gaze scanning for movement as she listened intently.
 

Rhys knelt by a fallen, hollowed-out log. It looked like termites had eaten through it. He pulled at the bark near the bottom and dug under the log.
 

“What’re you doing?” she whispered.

“They’re herding us. We need a hiding place so they’ll go by.”

She didn’t offer to help him dig, but instead kept watch. They didn’t have much time, but she didn’t urge him on. He knew as well as she did that the soldiers were almost on them.

After long tense minutes he finally said, “Done. Get in.”

Rhys had dug a six-inch-deep, narrow trench beside and under the log. It would allow them to use the top part of the log as cover while they nestled in the dirt under it.
 

She shook off her webbing, stored it near where her head would be, and then dropped and rolled into the trench. Rhys had scattered the dirt he’d dug while she settled. He dropped in beside her and used leaves and branches to cover them.
 

It was dark, and a tight fit. They didn’t move and barely breathed. She prayed for the rain, which would make it more difficult to find them and would cover any noises they made. Her throat was dry, though the rest of her body was damp with sweat. She swallowed, wishing she’d thought to have a drink before holing up.
 

Voices speaking in Hausa made her still. She forgot her discomfort, her throbbing arm, her thirst and fatigue. She breathed silently, her rifle gripped loosely in her hands. She could only see Rhys’s broad back in front of her.

The voices yelled, blaming each other for losing the fucking Americans. One man stood right near the log. She craned her head and could see his boots out the far end. Rustling noises sounded and then the scratch of a lighter. Moments later, the thick scent of marijuana entered their hiding place.
 

They could not be caught by these men. They wouldn’t just be killed, but the Boko Haram had a reputation for torture unlike any other. She would be raped repeatedly during it all, before she and Rhys were both eventually beheaded. She would not go out like that.
 

She wouldn’t let Rhys die like that, either. He’d gotten into this mess because of her. She’d make sure he got out of it.

The soldier continued to smoke. Another one joined him. She gripped the handle of her knife. Should they kill them now, before more joined them? She reached up and squeezed Rhys’s shoulder. He shook his head slightly. He had a better view and obviously knew what she was asking.

She trusted his judgment and settled back, still holding the handle of her knife. Sweat rolled into her eye, stinging it and making her blink. A termite of some kind crawled on Rhys’s back. She tapped it off silently, wishing she could do that to whatever was traveling up her leg.

Gunshots cracked the relative calm of the moment. A man shouted at the two smoking to move it or he’d kill them. The marijuana butt dropped in front of the log and the men ran off, shouting threats to Americans. The third man cursed, fired shots, and went running off.
 

She let out a long breath that she hadn’t known she’d been holding. She squeezed Rhys’s shoulder again, but otherwise didn’t move. They weren’t out of danger yet.
 

They waited. The patter of rain on the log started. The rain would help hide them from the searching men, but it would also hinder their hearing when they finally started to move.

Three times men ran past their hiding spot, but none stopped. The rain continued to fall gently, making their hideout damp as well as hot. Her arm ached and she had the urge to sneeze.
 

It had been about thirty minutes since they’d last heard shouting.
 

“Time to move,” Rhys said quietly, rolling out of position.
 

Cat followed, wanting to groan, but instead focusing on being thankful the soldiers had missed them. “They’ll come back with another sweep.”

“I know,” Rhys said. “We’ve got to hit the river while we can. But first…” He dumped his helmet, pulled out his med kit, and tore the wrapper off a bandage. “Let me see that arm.”

She held up her arm and he used his knife to slice the sleeve open so he could see the wound. She’d managed to shove a quick bandage against it earlier and tie it off, but her sleeve and the bandage were soaked with blood.

“We need to do this properly, or you’ll lose too much blood to make the swim.” Rhys threw the old bandage in the log and then pressed a clean one to the wound. “Hold this,” he said. He unwrapped a long bandage and started to wrap that around her arm again and again.
 

The rain came down harder. Cat pulled off her helmet, closed her eyes, and let the rain sluice down her face, the coolness a welcome relief.
 

Rhys tugged the bandage tight. “You’re set.”

She opened her eyes and stared into his. He hadn’t moved back. His hair lay plastered to his head and raindrops hugged his eyelashes. She sucked in a breath at the heat and determination in his eyes.
 

“We’re going to make it,” he said. His hand went to the back of her head and pulled her in for a short, hard kiss.
 

“Damn right,” she whispered, but he’d already turned away, putting his gear on and changing his mag. She did the same.

“We do a straight run at the river,” he said. “No stopping, no thinking, just jump in and swim. It’s dark enough that if no one’s around we should be fine.” He looked at her. “You can do this.”

She nodded and knew she could. She’d trained exactly for situations like this. She ran toward the river with Rhys keeping pace.

As they ran closer to the river, they could make out shouts coming from somewhere near them. The rain screwed up her hearing and she couldn’t locate the source. Were there soldiers standing on the riverbank?

She glanced back at Rhys, but he motioned straight ahead. She could make out the river through the trees. It seemed darker and more turbulent than before. A single soldier stood by the bank. Without hesitation, she shot him in the head. He fell into the water and was swallowed by the churning river.
 

She slung her rifle across her body as she ran, not wanting it to be swept away from her. She leapt bushes and rocks, her heart thundering not from exertion, but from fear of the dark current that could so easily choke the life from her.

“You can do this,” Rhys said again, as he pulled up beside her.

“I know,” Cat said.
 

Their feet pounded the earth together. The river loomed before them. Memories of that failed mission tried to surface, clawing at her insides, but she refused to acknowledge them and ran harder.

“Stay with me,” Rhys said as he ran down the bank and plunged into the water.
 

Gunfire and shouts ripped the air behind her. The bullets impacted the water, making small fountains where they hit. She didn’t look back. The water pushed her legs as she ran in, making her slip on the rocks beneath the surface. She dove after Rhys.

She swam under the surface, but not too deep. She let the current carry her down, trying to spot Rhys in the murky water. She couldn’t see him. She lifted her head and gasped in air. Shouts muffled by the rain made her duck under again, just as bullets zipped around her. She let the current carry her downstream before surfacing again.

Where was Rhys? He’d said he’d stay by her.
 

She dove again, fighting the current and the burning of her lungs, her arms sweeping through the darkness, searching, before popping up to the surface and dragging in another breath. She no longer heard shouts or gunfire.
 

“Rhys,” she screamed. “Rhys!”

She dove again. Where was he? Where was he?

This couldn’t be happening. She had to find him. She dove deeper, swimming against the current as much as she could, but it dragged at her, sucking her down further. It was almost completely dark this deep.
 

Her leg hit a jagged rock and the pain focused her.
 

Something had happened to Rhys. The only way he wouldn’t come to the surface was if he was trapped by something or he was unconscious. She doubted anything could trap a Navy SEAL in water, so he must be unconscious.
 

She stopped fighting the current and began to swim with it. She rose once for another breath of air and dove again. Her limbs were heavy in the water, tired from supporting her and the extra weight of her kit and weapons. Her wounded arm ached from use, and from the driving water that tore at the bandage and her flesh.

The rushing water and her heartbeat filled her ears, creating a cacophony that drowned out reason. She swept her arms again and again in front of her. Where was he? Had she guessed wrong? SEALs were trained to swim without air longer than normal people. But even so, he didn’t have much time left. Her lungs squeezed tight with her need to breathe, making her want to claw her own throat, but she stayed under, going deeper.
 

She wouldn’t lose him this way. She wouldn’t. She kept swimming, the need for air dissipating as a sense of calm washed over her. She knew logically that this was a danger sign. She was close to blacking out. Lethargy overtook her and her body demanded that she just float. Close her eyes. Open her mouth for air and let go. Forget Rhys.

She closed her eyes.
 

Rhys.

Something drifted into her leg. She jerked in the water and grabbed.
 

An arm.
 

It was like she’d been tasered; she jolted to life. Holding tight to the arm, she swam for the surface, dragging the body with her.
 

Please God, let it be Rhys and not that soldier she’d shot.

She broke the surface, gasping and coughing, hauling the person up with her.
 

“Rhys!” she screamed. His head hung limp, his helmet gone. She strained to keep them both afloat. Blood poured down his face, too fast for even the rain to wash away. The wound was high on his forehead. A bullet must have grazed him and knocked him out.

She couldn’t see anyone on either side of the bank, so she stayed on the surface and made her way to the other side, no longer fighting the current, just trying to make it across as fast as possible. She swam on her back, Rhys’s head on her chest, her arm supporting him.
 

“Rhys,” she said. “Wake up. I need you.”

She continued to talk to him as she worked her way to shore. She had no idea if Rhys was breathing or not. Panic ate her reason as she swam, using the last of her energy.

Her arm hit a rock and she turned to look. She could stand. Slipping and wobbling, she dragged Rhys onto the muddy bank. Kneeling beside him, she felt for breath as she radioed Jake.

“College, this is Valkyrie, over.”

 
She tilted Rhys’s head back and opened his mouth, blowing her breath into him. “Come on, Rhys. Breathe, dammit.”

“College,” she said into her mic. “Do you read me? Over.”

She blew again. “Rhys, you bastard, wake up.”

“Valkyrie, this is College. Sitrep.”

She blew once more into Rhys’s mouth. “We’re on your side of the river. Downstream…” She looked around. “Downstream maybe eight kilometers from the bridge. Lucky’s down.”

“Stay put, Valkyrie, we’re almost at your position.”

She didn’t reply but blew another breath while she put her fingers on Rhys’s carotid artery, feeling for a pulse.
 

Faint, erratic. Hope bloomed. She breathed for Rhys again.

And again.
 

And again.

He began to choke. She rolled him to his side and he vomited river water onto the bank.