"Resupply?" It was stupid to parrot him, but her brain wasn't working as well as she'd like. The rigors of the trip were definitely slowing her down.
Merely talking about water tortured her. She was so thirsty. The last time she'd been in these mountains, all of the huts had been inhabited. The people were extremely hospitable and would always share with a traveler, even one who was not Yazidi. She had expected to be able to buy supplies from them.
"I don't have any intention of explaining our logistics," he said, his tone annoyed. "Count yourself lucky that we're better prepared than you are." He thrust the bottle at her again. She couldn't resist. She twisted off the cap, and greedily took a large gulp. Not as much as she wanted, because it always paid to be stingy with supplies while trekking. But her entire body shuddered with relief at the pleasure of the cool liquid. Not that it was actually chilled, but it was so refreshing that it seemed so.
Declan frowned at her. "Drink it all. You're smart enough to know you're showing signs of dehydration."
"I can wait until later."
"You're trying my patience." His mouth thinned in that way that told her he was harnessing his temper. "I told you to drink it. I don't want to have to carry you."
Ouch. How did he always manage to put her on the defensive? She took another long swallow of the revitalizing water, grateful, despite herself, that he'd insisted.
They packed up and moved out, the sun assaulting them as if it had a physical presence. Within fifteen minutes, they'd left behind the remnants of the stone walls that made up the foothills of the mountains.
The plateau that had been on their left opened up in front of them, brown and arid, stretching out of sight.
Zack, who'd been leading their line, suddenly began cursing.
Chapter Fifteen
"Christ. One problem after another." Zack muttered a long string of curse words under his breath.
"Save the poetry," Dec answered. "What's going on?" Zack was on point, several feet ahead of the rest of the file. They'd all relaxed a bit. No one could approach them without warning in this wide open space covered with nothing but clumps of dusty green grass and hard rocks.
"Looks like some bodies a few hundred yards away at 1 o'clock."
Declan heard Zack's answer in his helmet just before he saw a bit of red fabric flapping up ahead. Shit. Civilians. Hapless folks who'd been living peacefully in this area not too long ago. The mountains that had been their ancestral home had not been kind to them in their need.
Or the clump of rags could be a booby trap. You never knew.
"Laila." He turned back to her. "This is not something you're going to want to see." Zack's profanity had been all the warning he needed to know that the sight would be ugly.
She kept plodding toward him. "Don't treat me like a school girl."
"You can't afford to see something that will make you vomit," he said, keeping his voice hard. He needed her to buck up because he was only stating the truth.
"I'm not squeamish," she snapped.
He refrained from rolling his eyes. "Most people are sick the first time they see a raw death," he pointed out. "You should wait here."
None of them could afford to lose any of the nutrients they had in their bodies, but he and the guys had seen sights like this too often.
"Check it out, Zack," Dec said into his microphone.
"Roger."
He watched Zack kneel down beside the fluttering fabric. It had to be a woman. Declan cursed silently as he approached. Laila, ignoring his advice, was right beside him and she cried out just as Declan noticed the other body that had been partially hidden by the woman's voluminous clothing.
Quietly, Zack drew the woman's bright red scarf over her face. Dec couldn't help noticing the fabric looked like a smear of blood against the dun colored earth. He turned his attention to the next body, a young boy probably under the age of ten, although it was sometimes hard to tell in these poverty-stricken areas. The boy was pressed against his mother, one thin arm partially over her body, as if he'd tried to hug her. His bare feet clung together like baby mice curled up for warmth.
Dec wanted to turn away, but Laila had flung herself down beside the child, as if she might attempt to breathe life into him.
Meanwhile, Zack had picked up the kid's wrist, automatically checking for a pulse he clearly didn't expect to find. Suddenly, his head snapped up, and he moved his hand, pressing two fingers against the boy's neck.
"What?" Laila said. "What is it? Is he alive?"
Zack glanced over at Dec, looked down at Laila, and then he shrugged. "Amazingly enough, he is alive. For now."
"Oh my God," she cried. "Get some water. Dec—"
Harp had thrown himself on the ground, grabbing a moment of rest, and Greg was standing guard.
Dec eyed the child. His closed eyes were set in little sunken craters, and his skin was shriveled. His body was clearly lacking the fluids it needed for survival.
"Laila." Dec squatted on his haunches beside her. "This boy is not going to make it."
She turned her head and stared at him. "What are you saying? You can't know that."
"He's going to die."
"No, he's not!" She turned back to the boy and leaned over him. "He's alive. We have water and food. We can save him, and I intend to."
Declan sighed. "Look, his mother has already died. Usually, it's the children who go first. It's just a fluke that he's managed to survive. Mostly likely, some of his internal organs have already shut down."
"You don't know that," she cried wildly. "Why are you being so negative? Help him!"
Zack had walked up with a water bottle and handed it over. Dec screwed off the top. "Let's see if we can get some of this in him. But don't," he warned, "waste it."
She threw him an angry look, but her hands were gentle when she put one behind the child's head to lift him slightly. "Give me the bottle." She tipped it to the boy's lips. A thin stream of water ran down his mouth and chin.
"I need to open his mouth." Moving with extreme care, she injected her forefinger between his lips, opening a small seam. She tipped a little water in. It ran down his chin.
Dec let out a breath. He had to admit it, he'd had a moment of hope himself. He stood up. "Look," he said quietly, "if we had a state-of-the-art hospital right here, and we could get an IV started, then he might possibly have a chance. But we don't have that. The medical supplies we have are designed to help with wounds and physical injuries, the kinds of things fighting men might experience." Their team medic might have been able to help the boy since he had additional equipment in his kit, but there wasn't any point in saying so, since he wasn't available.
Laila's mouth had a stubborn set to it that made Dec shake his head.
"I don't care," Laila said. "You wouldn't just leave him here to die, would you? All alone? A little boy like this?"
Zack caught Dec's eye and mouthed the word 'Sorry'.
Declan turned away and spoke quietly into the radio so Laila wouldn't hear him. "You did the right thing, Zack, even though it still won't end well."
Zack shrugged, but his quiet response was somber. "I couldn't just walk away and pretend he was already gone."
"Understood."
Then Declan turned back to Laila. "I want you to know that we can't save him, no matter what we do." He needed to be firm on that point because he knew who she'd blame when, not if, the child died.
"We can try! Where is your compassion? If we don't have our humanity, we don't have anything."
"Where's your sense of humanity when it comes to girls being abused in brothels?" he snapped back.
Her eyes flashed. "Women have always sold sex. I don't know why you'd assume they are enslaved. You have no idea how anyone is being treated in that—that place."
"If you say so, Pollyanna. It's all sunshine and roses." Declan glanced down at the poor child. His hair was matted, his face dirty and scratched. His clothes were ragged, his shoes missing. But those w
ere all superficial problems. The main problem was his complete unresponsiveness and his distance from even adequate medical care. Still, Laila was right. They couldn't simply leave him lying in the dirt to die alone.
But taking him along was going to hinder their progress. He'd have to be carried, and they were already overly burdened. In the event they were attacked again, the child would be a major hindrance, and yet another person in addition to Laila to protect. The lieutenant would have a fit when he heard about it, and rightfully so. Dec knew he was being a wimpy-assed fool.
"I'll make a deal with you," he finally said to Laila. "You take that stupid veil off your face and I'll help you bring the boy to Sinjar."
She clutched her veil like she feared he might tear it off. "You can be thinking about this veil right now?"
"It just pisses me off, okay?" Truer words he'd never spoken. "Now, we need to be going. Is it a deal or not?"
"You wouldn't just leave him here." But her eyes gazed at him uncertainly.
"Try me."
"Fine," she said, with a little spit in her tone. "You don't have to help. I'll carry him. There must be some kind of hospital in Sinjar. They'll be able to save him."
"Suit yourself." Cursing silently, Dec signaled to the men to resume walking. Laila picked up the boy, very carefully, hugged him to her breast, and began walking. Dec had to admire the stiff tilt of her chin and the martial art in her eyes. Still, he knew what the outcome of her brave little stunt would be.
It took no more than half an hour. He was surprised she lasted that long. The sun baked them mercilessly, sweating fluids and minerals out of them all. The position in which she had to carry the child was awkward, with her arms and back pulled forward. She'd already been exhausted and dehydrated when she started.
All in all, the half hour was plenty of time for him to start regretting the fact that he'd called her bluff. He should have been the one carrying the kid all along.
He took a few steps to catch up to her. Damned if she wasn't humming that little tune, "Edelweiss", so quietly he could barely hear her. His heart twisted. He knew she wanted to comfort the child.
"Laila."
The humming stopped abruptly as she halted, and looked up at him.
He held out his arms.
"I can't carry him anymore." Tears glinted in her eyes. "I'm afraid I'm going to drop him accidentally."
She transferred the boy, her shoulders slumping with exhaustion. Turning forward, she began walking again.
Damn, the boy was light, even for a child of seven or eight years.
"Laila." He called her back. "I want you to say goodbye to him."
Her gaze flew to his face. "He's not—?"
"Not yet." Declan had been keeping his voice low, but Harp must have overheard.
"Christ, Dec," he said. "You are one morbid son of a fuck."
"You want to save this child, be my guest." Declan held his teammate's gaze for a moment. "No? I didn't think so. Come on, Laila."
She approached slowly. "Why are you making me do this?"
"Cuz I'm mean."
She touched the boy's head, looking down at him. "What do I say? I don't even know his name."
"Say you tried, Laila." Dec regarded her over the frail body between them. "That's all anyone can do."
She leaned down and pressed her face against the child's. "Someone is with you," she whispered. "You're not alone anymore."
She raised her face and captured Declan's gaze. "Will you hug him, Dec? Be sure you hug him, okay? I—I don't want him to feel alone."
Dec swallowed. Christ, she was making even him maudlin. "I promise, Laila. I'll do my best." He wanted to repeat that he couldn't save the boy. He wanted to erase the pain he saw in Laila's eyes. Instead, he knew the pain would grow and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.
"Thank you." Laila straightened up, turned around and began trudging after Harp.
Declan looked at her bowed back, knowing that this situation was going to get worse. He hated this damn feeling of helplessness. Pressing the boy a little closer to his chest, he followed Laila.
Chapter Sixteen
The boy died just before they were scheduled for their evening stop. Declan didn't realize he'd been attuned to the feather light motion of the child's breathing until the motion stopped. Stopped dead, in every sense of the word. There was no drama, no last gasp for breath, no gurgling in the throat. Nothing. Just the cessation of life.
Automatically, Dec called out, "Halt!" Then he wished he hadn't as Laila turned, her eyes round with fear.
"It's time for us to rest, right?" Her words spewed out of her as if she could prevent the truth from happening if she could only prevent Dec from speaking. "That's good. I'm tired, but I can hold the boy and try to give him some more water. There's a little shade right there." She waved wildly at a four foot tall mulberry bush.
"Yes, that's a good spot," Dec agreed. He headed over there, his own unreasonable grief almost overwhelming him. Why did he care? He'd seen death many times. He knew life could be relentlessly cruel. The boy had certainly suffered in his life, but he didn't seem to have suffered in death.
Laila hurried over. "Let me take him." She held out her arms. "Do you think he looks a little better? Thank you for carrying him, Dec. I know your own gear is heavy. Will—"
"Laila." Dec held up a hand to stem the flow of words. "He's gone, Laila."
She stared at him, a blank look in her dark eyes. "Who? What do you mean, Dec?"
Behind him, Dec heard Zack muttering curses in Spanish. Greg had taken up security, and Harp was quietly removing a fold-up shovel from his pack. He kept it out of Laila's sight.
Fuck. Dec closed his eyes for a brief respite. Looked like he was the one who was going to have to tell her what had happened.
He knelt down and deposited the boy in the scanty shade of the mulberry. Laila dropped down beside him. She grabbed Dec's arm and shook it. "You're wrong, Dec. I know he's weak, but—" She broke off and leaned over the child, her burka almost hiding him from view. She began crooning, soft words of nonsense.
Then she reached behind with one hand. "I need the water, Dec."
"Snap out of it, Laila! The boy is dead." His voice was harsh, but Declan had his own demons to deal with. If only they hadn't stumbled across this child! The whole death brought him back to the death of his sister—another tragedy to another child which he hadn't been able to prevent. He had sworn to himself that he'd never think about the day she'd died ever again, and here he was, reliving it all once more.
Hearing the terrible news, running out of their house and racing down the street to the corner where she'd ridden her bike. She was only going to visit a friend. She wasn't supposed to be riding her old, pink bike to her death. Why hadn't he stopped her? Why hadn't he foreseen the tragedy? Why? Why? Why? So many questions, and no possible answers.
She'd gone out on a bright sunny summer day like she often did. Her friend lived only one block away. What could go wrong?
Dec had heard the screech of braking tires through the open windows. He'd heard the crash that pinned the car to a telephone pole. He didn't hear his sister scream.
He'd raced out the door, phone in hand, already dialing 911. That's when he heard someone scream—a high pitched, terrified scream. But it hadn't been his sister Suzy.
No, it had been Suzy's friend, a young girl who was also scarred on that day by what she'd witnessed.
Even when he'd seen Suzy, although some part of him knew it was too late, his heart had refused to accept it. He'd screamed for an ambulance, a cop, anything to fix this god-awful, blood-and-flesh-and-mangled-bones mess.
So yeah, he understood how Laila felt. The sense of utter helplessness.
The rage.
The self-blame.
None of it changed a damn thing.
"Water, Dec!" she screamed again. "I need water!"
He would have passed over a bottle of water, merely to calm her, but they couldn't
afford to waste it. They were expecting a supply drop today, but they couldn't count it.
Greg was standing guard, but Harp and Zack had dropped down on the hard-baked ground to grab a moment of rest. Dec sensed their disapproval. Laila was causing too many interruptions, jeopardizing their mission. They had to get to Sinjar and have everything in place to move on with the mission they were out here to accomplish.
He dropped an arm around her shoulders, and moved his mouth to her ear, so that only she could hear his words. "Laila, you need to end this drama. Now."
She stiffened, and held the pose for a long moment.
Then a great shudder ran through her. Dec tightened his arm around her, so she wouldn't fall onto the child.
She smoothed her hand over the boy's forehead, and then turned her head back to look at Dec.
"This land is so hard, so unforgiving," she whispered. "What will I find—"
She broke off abruptly, as if she'd almost divulged a secret. What was she expecting to find that she couldn't talk about?
"The land is harsh," he agreed. "But nowhere near as harsh as the people who commit these atrocities."
He stood, and held out a hand. "Come. We need to take care of the boy, and move on."
He didn't add, 'as quickly as possible,' but that thought was uppermost in his mind. He wanted to reach Sinjar tomorrow, and they still had many miles to cover.
His neck was still itching and he regretted the time and the energy they'd expend burying the boy. It had to be done, but it would cost them, he knew that. Everything had a price.
* * *
The distinctive chop of a helicopter high overhead announced their re-supply just when they'd finished digging a shallow grave. They'd been contacted by cell phone to obtain their coordinates while they were digging. Fortunately, they were close enough to civilization to have cell signals now.
As soon as they heard the chopper the men all stopped walking. Three of them, plus Laila, threw themselves on the ground. Laila hadn't said a word since they'd finished burying the boy in a shallow grave, and Dec knew she was at the limits of her strength. But they had to continue on. There was no reason to believe the jihadis had stopped their march.
Field Stripped: 15 Steamy Military Romances Page 118