The Heart of a Mercenary

by White, Loreth Anne

The ground literally fell away at her toes, where a rocky chasm yawned. Tens of feet below, to her right, a torrent of white water raged through a tight gorge and boiled angrily out the other side, rising in violent waves several feet high that fell back on themselves with a booming sound. The explosive action sent a plume of white mist right up the cliff face on which they stood. It formed tiny droplets on her eyelashes that flashed with rainbows of color when she blinked.

  To her left, about five hundred yards downriver, the raging froth calmed and settled into a startling glasslike sheen of emerald-green, broken only by rocks that sliced through the surface.

  The water then disappeared into space, under another cloud of white mist churned up by what sounded like a thundering waterfall.

  The sight was so awesome, so spectacular, that if she wasn’t so exhausted and sore, and her brain so numb, Sarah knew she’d find it heavenly. But right now she had a sick feeling that this was going to be just one more terrifying obstacle she’d have to overcome.

  Her eyes cut to Hunter. He was surveying the cliffs as if looking for a way across. Please, God, no! Don’t tell me we have to cross this.

  “That’s the Blacklands on the other side,” he said. “Once we get across, we’ll be safer. And closer to Cameroon—maybe only two days from the border if we keep moving.”

  Sarah gulped. “How do we cross that?”

  “See that ledge down there?”

  The blood drained from her face as she saw where he was pointing—to a rocky outcrop that hung above the point where the river narrowed into an angry, frothing mass and licked at a monstrous fallen log balanced precariously across the gorge.

  “We need to work our way down there, to where that old Bombax has fallen over the gorge. We can use it as a bridge. I’ll go first, test it, draw a rope across, secure it, and then you can edge over, using the rope for support.”

  Her mouth went bone-dry. She didn’t think she could do it. But she wasn’t going to whine. Not now. Never again. She’d come to Africa to prove she could be strong once more. And she was going to. Exhaustion and fear had almost gotten the better of her, but she wasn’t going to let it happen again. She was going tackle her fears head-on—even if it killed her. Because what did she have left? She reached for her crucifix before remembering that even that wasn’t there. Then she heard something else, a pulsing sound rising faintly over the hollow boom and thunder of the Eikona River.

  It was a thudding so vague and strangely omnipresent she thought at first it might be the beat of her own heart or the blood in her ears. But it swelled around her, grew louder, faster, rising to a panicked rhythm that seemed to grip her heart and make it race along with the sound.

  Her eyes flashed nervously to Hunter’s. “What’s that?”

  “War drums.”

  She listened, trying to identify the direction of the noise. Was she imagining it, or was one set of beats being answered by others? The drumming seemed to be coming from all around her, from everywhere, emanating from the booming river, echoing through the core of every tree. It was the heartbeat of the very Congo itself.

  Goose bumps crawled over her skin. She could feel the primeval beat right through her core, talking to the rhythm of her pulse.

  “Sarah…” A cool edginess sparked in Hunter’s eyes. “We need to get into the Blacklands now. Those drums—the dissention is everywhere.”

  She looked at him, then the river. The sound of the drums swelled, echoed. She shivered. “You’re sure we won’t…won’t be followed?”

  “Not by anyone local.” He unslung his pack, removed a length of bound black rope. Talons of fear ripped through Sarah’s heart as she stared at the rope. He meant it. She had to cross the Eikona. Her resolve wavered.

  She glanced in desperation at the jungle, then back at the river, then at him. He was unraveling the rope. “I’m going to fashion a crude harness to help you down to that ledge,” he said as he worked. “You go down first, I’ll belay you from above. Once you get to the ledge, wait and I’ll follow.” He looked up. “Got it?”

  She stared at him, unable to move.

  He reached out, cupped her face. “Sarah, it’s not a tough climb. You can do this.” His eyes drilled into hers.

  “I know,” she whispered. “I know.” This was her test. This was where she made her ultimate choice. If she lost her will-power now, she would die. She knew that. And she wanted to live, even if she couldn’t yet picture a life for herself beyond this jungle.

  Hunter studied her face for a moment, then nodded as if in approval. “Hold out your arms for me.”

  She did, and he looped the rope under them and around her back. She watched as he knotted the rope carefully above her breastbone.

  “Ready?”

  She slid her eyes up to meet his. This man was the most solid thing in her world right now. “Yes,” she said quietly. “Yes, I’m ready.” In more ways than one.

  Hunter could see that something profound had changed in Sarah. The jungle hadn’t broken her yet. She’d tapped into some well of inner strength, and she was doing her damnedest to hold on to that. It made him ridiculously proud of her.

  He helped her edge over the first rocky outcrop, and began to feed the rope out gradually as she worked her way down to the ledge, bits of rock and sand kicking out from under her feet as she moved. She slipped suddenly, and the rope jerked taut. Hunter’s heart stalled. But she found her footing again, dislodging a small shower of stones as she did. They tumbled down to the river and she turned her head to watch them go.

  Don’t look at the water, Sarah.

  But she stared at the raging torrent below, unable to get going again. His throat went tight. “You’re doing great, Sarah,” he yelled over the roar of water. “Keep going. You can do it.” He willed her to get moving.

  Relief washed through his chest as she began once again to inch her way down. She finally found her footing on the ledge, and looked up.

  Hunter blew out the breath he’d been holding, gave a thumbs-up and quickly climbed down after her. He reached the ledge and couldn’t help what he did next. He yanked her into his arms and held her tightly, too tightly, for just a moment. He told himself it was to feed her resolve, but deep down he knew it was more. He needed to hold her. In more ways than one. And that meant he was in serious trouble. “You did great, sweetheart,” he whispered into her hair. “Just one more leg and we’re over.”

  She said nothing, just nodded, but he could see that her face was porcelain with fear.

  He quickly untied the harness and secured his polypropylene rope to a solid piece of rock jutting from the cliff face. He looped the other end around himself, then glanced up at the jungle fringe along the top of the cliff. Still no sign of the militia. The quicker he and Sarah got over the river and into deep cover on the other side, the better.

  “Okay, Sarah, hang ten here. I’m going to draw the rope across the log, secure it at the other end and come back for you. Got it?”

  She nodded. Her lips had gone thin and white and she was trembling. He had to move fast, before she lost it.

  He edged out onto the thick log and his boot slipped almost immediately. He caught himself, hesitated. The wood was rotting under the constant spume of mist, and covered with a slick layer of black detritus. He steadied himself, bounced lightly, testing his weight. The fallen log was solid enough to hold them both and seemed securely planted against the opposite rock face. He edged sideways along it, feeding the rope out as he went, testing resistance with small bounces. The awkward cylindrical shape of the biohazard container tied to his belt threw his balance off. The thing weighed maybe eighteen pounds, and he had to concentrate on compensating.

  River mist saturated his hair and droplets began to drip into his eyes. The rope was also wet now. But Hunter made it to the narrow ledge on the opposite side, and again looked up at the rock face. It wasn’t that steep on this end. It would be a fairly easy scramble up into the forest cover. He just had to get Sarah across
. He drew the rope taut and secured it to the trunk of a sapling that grew out the rock face. Grasping the rope, he made his way quickly back over the log to Sarah.

  He held his hand out to her. “Your turn.”

  She stared at his hand, unable to move.

  “Sarah, you want to survive. Make it happen.”

  She clasped his fingers, a little too tightly, a little too desperately. Worry pinged through him. He told himself he had to exude calm. He had to show that he had confidence in her. He guided her hand toward the rope as she edged her feet onto the log.

  “It’s slippery, but solid. Just work your way along slowly. Hold the rope with both hands, but don’t lean into it. Don’t think about the water. Don’t even look at it.”

  She let go of his hand and grabbed the rope, immediately putting too much of her weight into it, and swaying out over the water. Hunter’s heart kicked. He jerked the rope back so that her weight was once again centered over the log, almost losing his own balance in the process. The biohazard container lurched around his thigh, threatening to topple him.

  “Easy, Sarah. Easy does it. Keep your weight over your feet. Just use the rope as a guide.”

  She swallowed hard and began to shuffle sideways, making little moaning noises as she went. He moved slowly alongside her, muttering words of encouragement, ready to grab her if she slipped.

  They were completely drenched now, Sarah’s hair plastered to her face and her knuckles white on the rope. Her movements grew jerky as she neared the center of the gorge. Hunter could literally see her losing her nerve. She made it to the middle, where the boom of the water was loudest, echoing between the rock walls of the canyon. Waves licked up toward the log. She faltered, then froze. “Just a few more steps and you’re more than halfway,” he yelled over the roar.

  She glanced nervously at the opposite bank, subconsciously leaning toward it as she did. The motion shot her left foot out from under her, and she went down onto log with a scream, just managing to hold onto the rope with one hand. The movement knocked Hunter off balance. He flailed backward and the canister swung wildly out behind him. He grabbed for the rope, catching himself, but his added weight jerked it from Sarah’s hand. She screamed as she clutched at a small bit of branch, just managing to halt her slide off the log and into the river. Her feet dangled precariously over the churning white water as she stared, wild-eyed, up at Hunter.

  He dropped flat onto the log. “Sarah! Give me your hand!”

  But she couldn’t seem to make herself let go of the small, rotting branch she was hanging on to for dear life. He could literally see it tearing loose. It was going to go at any second.

  He lunged for her, grabbing her arm just as the branch gave way. The canister swung out over the water, threatening to pull him over, too.

  Hunter hung on to Sarah desperately as she swung over the gorge. He could feel his grip on the log slipping as the black detritus began to slough off. Her arm was also slick with river mist, and he could feel he was losing his grip there, too, gravity and her weight conspiring to fight him, the river hungry and waiting below.

  She began to slide from his grasp, and the waves licked at her shoes. She flailed wildly with her free hand, trying to grasp the canister hanging almost within her reach. She grabbed it just as her arm slid free of Hunter’s hold.

  The fresh weight on his belt yanked him sideways around the log. Hunter swore as he dug his fingers into the rotting wood, knowing that if he lost his grip, they would both go down.

  He clung with all his might, but the thin cord on his belt gave, snapping free with a jerk.

  His heart lurched. He scrambled up onto the log, and the last thing he saw was Sarah’s hair churning like brown streamers in the white water before the foam swallowed her completely.

  Then he saw her head pop up downriver, the canister lolling in the waves beside her—both heading inexorably toward the smooth, glassy sheen of water racing toward the falls.

  He could never reach both before one went over.

  He faced the choice. Sarah or the canister.

  Her life, or the lives of millions?

  Hunter plunged feetfirst into the roiling maw.

  Chapter 8

  08:22 Alpha. Eikona Falls.

  Tuesday, September 23

  Sarah thrashed against the roiling current, but the powerful Eikona sucked her under, whirling her along.

  She forced her eyes open, trying to figure out which way was up and which was down, but all she could see was a milky-green blur. She was running out of breath, and she didn’t even know which way to push for the surface! Terror squeezed her lungs. She knew she was being hurtled toward the falls, could already feel the change in the water… She was going over. But just as the knowledge slammed into her, she felt something grab at her.

  Hunter!

  Hope kicked at her heart. She began to fight harder against the current, struggling to find the surface. She felt the iron strength in his arms as he pulled her toward him, hooked his arm around her chest and dragged her up through the water until they popped to the surface like corks. She gasped for air as he towed her diagonally across the ribbed sheen of water that surged toward the falls, and into the calm of an eddy. He hauled her roughly up a slope of rock, dumped his pack with a thud beside her. His gun and machete clattered down beside it. “Use them if you need them!” he yelled over the roar of the falls.

  And he was gone, back into the river, cutting across the glassy, swollen surface with smooth, powerful strokes. Sarah’s heart stalled as she saw him heading for the biohazard container bobbing dangerously close to the brink of the falls.

  It was impossible. He’d never reach it in time. She watched in numb horror as Hunter was swept sideways faster than he could close the distance between himself and the canister.

  She saw him near the container, grab it. Her heart jerked against her ribs. He turned, began to swim toward her. But he was moving backward even faster. She caught her breath.

  He wasn’t going to make it!

  Sarah leaped to her feet, pressed her hands over her mouth as everything began to unfold in sickening slow motion.

  Hunter was pulled to the edge of the falls, and for a second he seemed to hang there, poised in the mist on the knife edge of the swollen, glassy river. Then the Eikona sucked him over and he disappeared into the steaming sky.

  “No!” she screamed. “Oh, God, no! Hunter!” She spun around, hysterical. She didn’t know what to do! Then she spotted his pack, his gun, his machete. He’d left all his equipment. He’d known all along he wasn’t going to make it. She was on her own. He’d left her all the tools he could for her to try to survive without him.

  For a second sheer terror paralyzed her. She wouldn’t believe it. She could not believe he was gone. He was invincible. He was her lifeline. She choked with emotion. No, he wasn’t invincible. Hunter McBride was only human in spite of everything she’d learned and thought about him. He’d saved her first. Her life had meant more to him than his mission.

  Tears streamed from her eyes. Oh God, she had to find him! She pressed her hands to her temples, trying to think. She’d need his pack if she found him. She’d need the first aid gear, food, whatever else he had in it. She grabbed it, hefted it up to her back, but it swung violently, throwing her off balance. Her wet runners slithered out from under her on the slick surface. She crashed down onto the rock, landing hard on her hip. But she barely registered the explosive spark of pain. She scrambled back onto her feet, repositioned the pack on her back. It felt incredibly heavy in her weakened state. Bowing under the weight of Hunter’s gear, she grabbed his assault rifle and machete, slung them over her shoulders.

  How in heaven had he carried all this stuff, and hacked through the bush at the same time? How could he have possibly looked so relaxed under all this hot and cumbersome gear? Sarah clenched her jaw against the strain, staggered awkwardly over the rocks in her sodden runners. She reached the muddy bank, grabbed a fistful of coarse g
rass, dragged herself up off the rock slab. On hands and knees she clambered up the steep slope toward what looked like a narrow path along the ridge.

  Breath rasping in her throat, fear slamming her heart into her ribs, she reached the path. She bent over to catch her breath, saw animal tracks in the red soil. She lifted her eyes. It was a narrow game path leading toward the falls, where it disappeared alongside the booming curtain of water. She suspected the trail led all the way down to a big calm watering hole at the bottom of the falls. She’d seen something just like this on a nature program.

  Sarah staggered along the path, fatigue and panic making her sway wildly under the weight of Hunter’s pack and gun and machete. Her hair was plastered to her face, her wet clothes chafed her skin and her feet skidded and squelched in her drenched shoes. But she was blind to it. All she wanted was to get down that path and find Hunter.

  But the jungle fought her every step of the way. She tried to run, making it to the edge of the falls before the weight of the pack swung her sideways and she skidded on vegetation slick from the heavy, constant mist churned up by the thunderous falls. Sarah landed hard on her butt and began to slide downhill alongside the crashing curtain of water. She held the gun tight at her side, worried it would go off as she tried to control her hectic tumble down the steep path. She hit a rock, lurched head over heels, came to a dead stop. Blood thudded loudly against her eardrums.

  She had to focus. What had Hunter said? Panic could kill you. She forced herself to breathe, and peered nervously through the mist and rainbows.

  She could see something down below. A dark, limp shape lay at the edge of a tranquil, turquoise-green pool at the base of the falls. She froze. The shape was unmistakably human. It was him, had to be, lying facedown in the mud, sprawled out, unmoving. Her heart stalled. A part of her didn’t want to believe it was Hunter. She willed him to move, to show some sign of life. But he didn’t.

  “Oh God, Hunter,” she whispered. “Please be alive. Please be alive. Please be alive….” She repeated the words over and over like a mantra as she scrambled down the path to the rim of slippery, rust-colored mud.