But I take advantage of the confusion on the road. As the men swerve, I line up a shot at just the right trajectory ahead of the nearest one while he’s distracted, and I fire off another round that catches him at the base of the skull, killing him instantly.
He falls off his bike to his left, and the vehicle skids out from under him and screeches toward the front of our car.
I have a window of opportunity.
The leader has already whipped around, and he’s aiming a shot at the front of the car as his bike carries him forward like a torpedo.
I could hold my position and get down low, but I realize that would send the bullets on a path right for Becca. I can’t allow that. Even if it means risking exposing myself.
So within a split second of his arrival, I dive out of the car and for the cover of the fallen motorcycle. I hear a loud blast, and the shotgun peppers both the motorcycle and the front of the car with bullets that would have killed me instantly.
I waste no time in standing up from cover the next moment and firing a round into the leader’s head, precise as a machine, before he can do so much as see if his shot touched me. But I’m unscathed, and he topples off his bike and sprawls down into the ditch beside the road. Food for the buzzards circling overhead already.
The last man riding looks over his shoulder, seeing his comrades dead on the ground, me standing over the ruins without so much as a scratch on me. I see his mouth move as he forms an expletive, and rather than turning to try to avenge his fallen brothers, he puts the pedal to the metal and tries to blaze down the road, weaving back and forth to evade a shot.
Coward.
I’m not ready to let him escape so easily. Even if I could afford to let him report to his superiors, I have no sympathy for craven wretches who’d leave their comrades to rot out in the country sun.
I drop to one knee, taking my time as I breathe deeply, watching the pattern of his weaving for a few moments. As easily as anyone else might sign their name, I hold my breath, line up the shot ahead of where he’ll be, and fire the round.
A moment later he wobbles, flails, then he hits the ground after a bullet sails through his spine, and his bike rolls on top of him, crushing him under the hot metal.
The silence that follows is deafening. My heart rate slows down, and I tell myself that all of them are indeed down as I glance back to the SUV. My first thought is of Becca.
I sprint towards the vehicle, nearly ripping the back door open to see her terrified face looking up at me, unharmed.
Relief washes over both our expressions at the same time as I pull her out and hug her tight into me, feeling her let out a sob as I squeeze her.
“It’s okay, baby,” I whisper into her ear. “It’s over. They’re finished. Are you hurt?”
“Are you?” she gasps, looking up at me and putting her hands on my strong jaw. I grin.
“Me? I can take a bullet or five. But no, I’m fine.”
Her lip quivers, but she breaks down into a mix of crying and laughing as I hug her again, stroking her back reassuringly. But then she looks back at the SUV and nearly collapses in shock, looking at the devastated vehicle.
“It’s...it’s ruined,” she breathes. “We’re stranded!”
“The car was dead anyway,” I say grimly. “Not much use to us now.”
“Who were they?” she asks, looking over at the carnage all around us. I can see her eyes drifting to their leather jackets as well, her brow furrowing. “They… don’t look like a biker gang.”
I stride over to the body of the leader, and she follows at my heels. I turn his body over and look into his vacant, dead eyes before I pop his jacket open, then start ripping his shirt in two to confirm my suspicions.
“These men don’t wear patches,” I say in a low tone before pulling the ripped shirt back to reveal his bare chest. “They wear something more permanent.”
Becca’s eyes widen as she looks at the body. Emblazoned across the man’s chest is a large, red, eight-pointed star. The emblem of the Russian mafia.
Rebecca
I’m sitting in the backseat of Adrian’s bullet-riddled rental SUV, poring over the contents of my purse, in a dazed state of confusion and mild panic. I keep reminding myself that I have seen worse. I have witnessed terrible things, and this should not affect me so strongly. I have seen death. I have heard gunshots and the sickening crunch of fallen bodies on the unforgiving earth. But still… something has definitely changed — I have definitely changed — and I can’t just compartmentalize as well as I used to.
I know exactly what the difference is, why I can’t seem to put all this fear aside. My gut is twisting with anxiety and nausea, my thoughts muddled and frenzied as my poor brain tries to make sense of what’s just happened. I know this place so well. This rural road holds sweet memories for me, learning how to ride a bike, playing hide and seek with my cousins when I was a child. The forest is so thick and overgrown that there are endless places to hide when you’re very small. And of course, having grown up here, I was never very afraid of getting lost.
But now there are streaks of blood marring the otherwise pristine pathway. There are circular, serpentine marks on the ground from where the motorcycles swerved and revved their engines. And still, none of this would have too strongly affected the Rebecca Summers of a few years ago. Back when I was totally in control of my own emotions and actions — well, with the exception of how I felt about Adrian — and it took a hefty heap of trauma to knock me off-kilter. But nowadays, I’m not so unshakable, and it’s easy to figure out why.
Now I’m a mother.
This world is not just my own to navigate, I now have to contend with the fact that such horrors and tragedies coexist alongside the innocent, guileless little girl I gave life to. Maya’s sweet, smiling face is ever-present in the forefront of my mind, and it’s difficult to balance out the contrast of such childlike goodness with the bloody smears of death on the road which always led me home.
It’s hard to come to terms with the fact that a world which can bring forth such terrible suffering and fear can also create angelic young souls like Maya. I want to protect her, especially since my work with NATO armed forces gave me a glimpse into the darkest shadows of the human condition. I know just how bad it can get out here, which is why I am so fiercely protective of my little girl. That’s why the very same day I found out for certain that I was pregnant, I immediately began to see the world differently. Suddenly, every close call, every adjacent danger that I might have shrugged off in the past, all at once became too real, too close for comfort. Because I knew that I was no longer simply guarding my own life, which is mine to either guard or wager as I please, but the life of my unborn child, innocent of all this.
So I left service, leaving my dangerous background totally behind. Suddenly my mission to save the world seemed… well, silly. I realized that while I couldn’t save the whole world by myself, I could certainly save my daughter as much pain as possible. Once I left NATO and returned to my former quiet, slow-paced life in Canada, I never really looked back. It almost feels now like that was somebody else’s life, or some film I watched. It’s hard to believe that the woman who treated bullet wounds and listened to horror stories of native people losing their young children to insurgents and even to American soldiers… is me. I am simply not the same person anymore, and I owe it all to Maya.
Still, some part of my NATO training remains, having lain dormant for years. But now I’m remembering my skills, my obedience and sense of discipline, because I am being thrust back into a sort of battle front. If there is one thing that has stayed with me the most, it’s my ability to fall in rank. And out here, out of my element and out of practice, Adrian becomes my commanding officer with ease. He is a natural leader, and while I consider myself to be a leader, too, I know that this is not a battle I was made to fight. It’s been years since I last had to contend with real death and fear like this, so I know it’s better to listen to Adrian on this. He’s more recently re
turned from war. This is still his element, even though it breaks my heart to think that way.
So when he told me to leave my purse behind but remove anything that might bear my address or any of my parents’ information, I immediately start to do as I’m told. And as I look over all the various contents of my bag, I bite my lip, feeling a rush of fear and sadness come over me.
There are the usual suspects, like lipstick, tissues, keys, my cell phone which is totally dead, a pack of gum, and a little notepad and pen. And then there are the accoutrements of life as a single mother. There’s an old pacifier of Maya’s, the crumpled up scribble she made one day in the car when she got ahold of a restaurant receipt and a crayon, and a business card given to me by her pediatrician, informing me of when her next checkup appointment is. My eyes start to sting with tears and I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from crying. I used to be so strong. Nothing could hurt me. But now… I just miss my daughter. And I fear for her.
“Adrian, what if — what if they find my family?” I ask softly, my voice trembling despite my best efforts to keep it even and calm. He’s been walking around the area, his eyes hawk-like and his expression stern. He’s going straight back into wartime mode, and while it’s definitely appreciated, it also just reminds me of darker times that I have tried so hard to leave behind me in the past.
Adrian stops and looks over at me from across the road where he’s been surveying the dead man’s chest tattoo. The sharpness in his gaze softens when he locks eyes with me.
“I won’t let them harm your family — our family,” he assures me, and I know he must be thinking of Maya, too. He hasn’t met her, but with the millions of pictures I showed him, at least now he has a face to put to the name. That undoubtedly makes her more real, more present in his thoughts. Which would normally warm my soul and give me butterflies in my stomach, but right now all I can think about is how afraid I am — for Maya, for Adrian and me.
“I’m scared,” I confess. “I have worked so hard to put my past behind me, for Maya’s sake. I can’t stop thinking about what might happen if they find her… what they might do to her…”
Adrian closes the distance between us in several quick, long strides, bending down to kiss my forehead while he cups my cheeks with both hands. “Becca, I promise you nothing is going to happen to your family. I will do whatever it takes to keep them safe. Especially our daughter.”
“I feel so out of place now,” I tell him softly. “This isn’t my element anymore. I-I’m not a warrior like you are, Adrian. I’m just a mom now, and I’m so afraid. I want to protect her but I don’t know how. I don’t understand what’s going on here. Who are these guys and what do they want with us?”
Adrian sighs heavily, and I can tell he’s holding something back.
“These Russians… they’re not after you. They’re after me. But now that they’ve seen us together, they’ll know I have a new weak spot, a new vulnerability. Which is why we have to make sure they have no way of tracking you or your family down. It’s an advantage that your folks live so far out in the country. These guys don’t know this area like you do. But we have to throw them off as much as we can.”
“Is that why I’m supposed to leave my purse behind?” I ask.
Adrian nods. “Yes. Don’t leave anything that could tip them off to who you are and where you live. The less they know about you and your life, the less likely they can harm you. But leaving the purse makes it look like they might have captured you. So that when the next round of cavalry comes by and sees the SUV broken down here, they might not expect that you got away safe.”
“But what about the bodies in the road?” I press on, swallowing hard as I force myself not to look around at the scene of destruction laid out around us.
“Let me take care of that,” he replies gravely. “I’m going to hide them off the road. Just wait here and keep looking to make sure there’s nothing left in your purse that could identify you or your family. You want to be totally certain.”
“Then what?” I question, terrified of the answer.
“We’ll have to move on. We have our duffel bags. I have rations. I have weapons. And you’re more familiar with these woods than I am. It’s getting closer to midnight and we can’t go far in the dark, but we’ll at least get a start before making camp for the night,” he explains. My blood runs cold at the thought of tromping through the dense forest with Adrian in the dark. Although these woods are pretty much my home, it’s been a long time since I ventured away from the beaten path, and I get the sense that we aren’t going to be able to stay near the road. It’s too dangerous.
Still, I can’t exactly come up with a better plan than what Adrian’s proposing, so I simply return to dutifully cleaning out my purse. I take my driver’s license, credit cards, and notepad — the latter has my name emblazoned across the front – and leave just about everything else. Except for the items which indicate that I have a child. With a heavy heart, I decide to do my own little burial ceremony, only instead of laying to rest the bodies of murderous Russian motorcyclists, I’m tucking away the pacifier, pediatrician’s card, and Maya’s little crayon scribble.
I take about twenty steps off the road into the woods and dig a little hole with a broad piece of broken branch, then drop these items in and cover them back up with dirt. This way, even if I lose my duffel bag or, even worse, I am captured by the enemy, at least I won’t have any mementoes tipping them off to the existence of my daughter.
Then I walk back to the dead SUV and wait for Adrian to return from his own burial process. He comes back about twenty minutes later, looking very disheveled, his nice clothing stained with dirt.
“Are they… are they totally covered up?” I ask nervously. Adrian nods and puts an arm around me, helping me out of the backseat.
“Yeah. They’re buried under dirt and branches. It’s a shallow grave, but at least it means they’re off the road. What about you; are you all packed and ready to go?” he asks.
“I guess so,” I reply, and I suppose the sadness in my voice is more evident than I intended for it to be, because Adrian gives me a regretful, heartbreaking look. He pulls me into a tight embrace, stroking my hair.
“I know it’s hard to leave this behind,” he says gently, his breath warm on the top of my head. His hands slide down my back and I melt into his arms, closing my eyes.
“I never wanted my daughter to be exposed to the kinds of things I saw over there in the desert, Adrian. I wanted to keep her safe from stuff like that,” I admit, a tear rolling down my cheek. Back when I was with NATO, I prided myself on being able to stay rational and calm even under extreme pressure. It took a LOT of stress to make me crumple and fall apart, and even seeing blood and sickness and death and suffering day in and day out was usually not enough to make me cry.
But now… all I can think about is Maya. And about my newly rekindled love affair with her father, this beautiful and powerful man holding me close on the side of the wooded road. And I just feel like it’s all slipping away through my fingers. For a moment I got a glorious glimpse of what could be, of the wonderful life I could have led, the perfect family I nearly had. I want that more than anything— to be free and happy and unafraid, for my daughter to grow up with that same joy and fearlessness.
The thought of losing that is more devastating than any horror I witnessed overseas.
“Don’t cry,” Adrian whispers, squeezing me close to him. “Everything is going to be okay, I swear to you. I will keep you safe. I will get us out of this. You just have to trust me. Do you?”
I push back slightly and look up into his face, the earnest expression in his vivid green eyes, and I nod my assent. “Yes. I’m terrified and I’m sad, but I trust you, Adrian.”
“Then we’ll be just fine. Stick close behind me, Bex. We’ve got to get moving if we’re gonna get enough space between us and the road before it’s time to make camp for the night,” he says. We leave the scene of the carnage behind, the dead S
UV parked lopsided on the side of the road as the two of us venture out into the unwelcoming woods.
The trees overhead are so thick and bushy that we can hardly make out the luminous orb of moonlight dangling somewhere above us, and the light from Adrian’s pocket-sized flashlight is dim and limited at best. At first, he insisted on carrying both duffel bags, wanting to spare me any extra discomfort and pain, but I put my foot down and reassured him that I am as strong now as I ever was — in fact, maybe more so from years of carrying a baby and her supplies around. So he gives up my duffel bag and I hoist it over my shoulders, following him more deeply into the forest.
There are eerie sounds all around us as the woods awakens and comes to life. Owls and other nocturnal birds of prey cry out, their ominous calls echoing through the dark woods. I can hear the rustling of the underbrush from all angles, and there is the distinct high-pitched chatter of bats flying overhead now and again. These sounds are usually rather comforting to me when I’m sitting on the front porch of my parents’ house in the evening, Maya babbling and getting sleepy on my lap, and a glass of red wine in my hand. But at the moment I don’t feel particularly comforted by my surroundings. I have the strong sense that I am out of place, that I am somewhere I do not belong, and the chattering forest knows it, too.
Adrian and I trek for what seems like a couple miles before he stops us and announces that we’ve got to set up camp for the night. I have no idea where we are at this point, having gotten a little swept up in my own thoughts rather than paying much attention to the direction in which we were traveling. Although really, it would not have mattered much even if I had been paying close attention; these woods have changed a lot since the carefree days of my youth, and besides, it’s too dark at night to navigate through even for an experienced hiker.
So Adrian unravels an oversized bed roll, which to my relief is more than large enough for both of us to cuddle into comfortably. Still, he insists on letting me sleep alone first, wanting to look over me while I rest. He smiles and does his best to banish my paranoia, but I can still tell that he is worried. And that realization makes it very, very difficult to fall asleep. They’re out there… somewhere. Was that noise them?
Sights on the SEAL: A Secret Baby Romance Page 10