Authors: Holly Hart
A
dozen
long seconds or maybe more passes like this, with me sticking my head in the ground like an ostrich, but finally I realize that whatever's happened, I'm going to have to face up to it – because I can't spend my whole life hiding in this cave.
A
nd then I
hear something that changes everything.
"
K
atie
? Are you okay?"
I
can barely speak
– my throat's all clammed up with grateful emotion as I realize that Mike's alive, and that I won't have to raise his child alone.
"
I
'm up here
," I call, shouting down to the lover who's just saved my life. He closes the distance in a matter of seconds, seeming to ignore the pain emanating from his leg, even though through my trained eyes, I can see precisely how much pain it's causing him.
Y
ou stupid man
. You stupid, beautiful man – you shouldn't have come after me. And I'm glad you did…
H
is face is wrought
with worry and strain as he reaches me, and when he does, for a few seconds he just clings to me in a huge, powerful bear hug that envelops my shoulders and squeezes me against his thick, muscular chest.
“
A
re you okay
?" he asks, his voice thick with concern. "I'm sorry for being brusque with you just then –"
I
cut him off
. "You're sorry?" I ask in disbelief. "Mike – you just saved my life, and you're worried about whether you were a bit too
rude
to me in the process?"
"
I
guess so
…"
"
T
rust me
, Mike – you've got nothing to be worried about."
I
reach
up with my mouth and plant a long, passionate kiss on his lips, gently teasing his with my tongue, and sliding my hands into the back pockets of his military fatigues, squeezing his ass possessively.
"
B
ut you're okay
?" he asks, returning right to the heart of his concern. "Katie, I can't believe I let them take you. Please, tell me nothing happened to you out here?"
"
Y
ou've got
nothing to worry about, Mike, I'm fine," I say reassuringly.
"
A
nd our
…" Mike trails off, looking awkward.
"
O
ur child
?" I reply, chuckling lightly. "I'm sure it's fine, too – but there's a couple of months yet before it's more than a tiny ball of cells. I'm sure it's fine."
"
W
e need
to get you back as soon as possible," Mike decides, beginning to bustle about, "and get you checked out. I'd never forgive myself if something happens to you."
"
T
rust me
, Mike, I'm fine. But please, please – just take me home…”
C
hapter
Twenty One - Mike
"
C
an’t be far
to go now," Katie says with a happy, relieved smile on her face, and I can't help but admire how calm and strong it sounds after the ordeal she's just been through. More than that, I can't help but be amazed that she's still going after everything she's experienced – and more than that, the fact that she's dragging me along with her is frankly amazing.
I
kick out at a stone
, pissed that the dirt bike ran out of gas so close to safety, and immediately wish I hadn't as a whole host of damaged nerve endings squeal with displeasure.
"
W
hat are you doing
?" Katie asks, a stern look on her face. "You'll rip your stitches doing something stupid like that!"
M
y lips are drawn tightly together
in a hard line of pain that extends across my face, bisected by two throbbing veins popping out of my temples as my body reacts to yet another painful insult.
"
N
o kidding
," I gasp while biting down on the side of my lip to try and hide the extent of my pain from her. "I think that happened some time ago…"
"
W
ant
me to take a look at it?" Katie asks, getting straight to business with a concerned look chasing away the displeased expression that had so recently graced her gorgeous face. Of course, the pain in my leg doesn't just disappear – but I'd be lying if I said that it doesn't feel just a little bit better after seeing her react with such immediate concern.
"
D
on't worry about it
," I say, putting a brave face on the situation. "I think if I stop moving right now things are just going to go from bad to worse. Like you said, we aren't far from Bagram – reckon it'll be okay to wait?"
T
he dubious
, wrinkled look of doubt plastered on Katie's face indicates that she couldn't disagree with my review of the situation any more if she tried.
"
D
o
you know how stupid you are?" she asks me, her voice finally quavering with emotion.
"
W
hat are you talking about
?" I reply, a little bit surprised at the vehemence in her tone.
"
I
'm talking
about you coming after me," she says, staring me directly in the eyes. "You know how stupid that was?"
"
S
tupid
?" I reply with a shit eating grin on my face – exactly the kind of smile
I learned to stick on my face when a corporal at boot camp was shouting at me for doing exactly what they asked, but half a second too late, or a second too early.
"
Y
es
," she replies firmly, making me realize that I'm not going to get away with things that easily. "You could have been killed, you know that? And then where would we be?"
W
e
?
"
I
think
you're being a little bit dramatic, aren't you?" I reply, ducking her gaze. "I mean – that guy couldn't shoot for shit…"
"
N
o
, actually I don't think I am," she says. "First of all," she continues – lifting her hand and stretching out her fingers as though she’s about to start counting off a list of my failings, "how could you possibly have known how good a shot he was?"
"
I
took an educated guess
; the Taliban aren't exactly known for spending much time on the firing ranges –"
"
S
econd
," she says stretching out another finger, "how stupid do you have to be to think that you – with all your injuries – were the only person who could have saved me?"
"
W
ell
," I say – a little bit affronted after all the hard work I've been through to get her back, "I wasn't exactly wrong about that, was I?"
S
he cuts me off again
.
"
I
don't
care how right you turned out to be, how do you think I would feel if you'd gone and got yourself killed chasing me down?"
I
feel
myself getting slightly worked up – not angry, but definitely a little bit defensive. "And how do
you
think
I
would feel if you had been killed by that, that," I reply hotly, struggling to find exactly the right word to convey exactly how terrified I'd been for her safety.
"
M
onster
?" she replies softly, a slight tear coming to her eye.
I
mmediately
, I feel all of the stress and all the tension draining from my body, only to be replaced by an overwhelming feeling of sadness and sympathy for the poor, sweet girl limping along next to me with her arm slung over my shoulder – not for her support, but
mine.
"
I
'm sorry
," I say, squeezing her shoulders, "I didn't mean to remind you of everything you've been through – it's bad enough that it happened once. I shouldn't be putting you through those memories over and over again… But I couldn’t not have come after you, for you, and our child."
"
N
o
," she says with a hint of stiffness creeping into her voice that makes me think that perhaps I've offended her. She quickly dissuades me from that notion. "I should apologize – I shouldn't be getting on your case for coming and saving me – even if I
do
think you should have waited around for the army to do their job…"
"
W
hat are you talking about
?" I say with a grin. "I am the army! Hell – I’m better, I’m Delta."
"
N
o
, Mike," she says with a smile finally creeping onto her exhausted face, "you're in the army – there's a big difference!"
"
T
omato
,
tomato
," I reply with a cheeky smile on my face.
"
H
ow long do
you reckon it'll take before we get back to base?" she asks. "I'm serious about your leg – if we don't get someone to look at that pretty soon, I'm worried about sepsis setting in. And believe me, you don't want that."
"
S
epsis
?" I ask, pretty sure I've heard the term before – probably at some interminably long training seminar back in the States before we deployed. "What's that?"
"
B
lood poisoning
," she says – fixing me with a stare that leaves me in absolutely no doubt that she's serious about what she's saying, "from an infection in your leg."
"
I
don't think
it's infected –"
"
W
ho's the nurse
, Mike?" she says. "Trust me – if you've been trekking around this desert after me for the last twenty-four hours, then that leg is definitely going to be infected. How long til we're back – I want to get you hooked up to an IV immediately."
I
cock my head
, trying to guesstimate how far we've got to travel before we make it back, when a sound in the distance catches my attention.
"
A
couple of kilometers
," I say – distracted, "about a mile and a half," I clarify – remembering that Katie hasn't been through basic training and therefore been brainwashed into the military's use of the metric system like me. But I can't get my mind off the mechanical sound in the distance – my brain is working in overdrive, trying to figure out whether the sound might be a threat. Could it be the Taliban, chasing us down? I hadn't exactly been subtle when I found Katie, after all…
"
W
hat are you looking at
?" Katie says, her eyes following the direction of my gaze.
"
Q
uick
, come with me," I begin to say, but before I get the chance to finish, two sand camouflaged vehicles speed around a rocky crag, machine guns pointing straight at us. My gun arm raises in an automatic, reflex reaction, and though my ears vaguely recognize Katie's worried squeal, my brain flicks straight back to fight or flight mode – but this time, not only is my leg cut to shreds, but I've got someone, no – two someones – to protect – so it immediately discards the ‘flight’ option.
T
he rifle nestles
comfortingly in my shoulder, and the hard, unyielding wood of the heavy stock feels like it was always destined to rest there. I lay my cheek against the smooth, varnished surface and a part of my brain – somehow strangely disconnected from the urgency of my situation – appreciates the fact that I managed to pick up an old AK-47, one whose wooden frame has been worn down over many years of careful handling. The wood nestling against my face is almost soft – somehow made supple by generations of hard mountain fighters gently, almost religiously, oiling the weapon of death that might one day save their life.
O
r not
, as it turned out.
I
can hear
shouts in the distance, but the individual words are lost in the din and ruckus of the heavy armored vehicles racing towards me, kicking up huge clouds of dust behind them.
"
G
et down on the ground
!" shouts a voice through a loudspeaker, and I realize in shock that the voice is, undeniably, English – and more than that, it's got an American accent.
"
W
hat's going on
, Mike?" Katie shouts into my ear. "Why are they pointing guns at us?"