Deadly Strain (Biological Response Team)

by Julie Rowe

  He grabbed the other backpack and opened it up, laying out its contents. Three bottles of water, medical supplies, granola bars, two MREs, two magazines for a Beretta, rope, knife, matches, emergency blanket, plastic sheeting, standard survival tin and a compass.

  Her backpack’s contents were very similar, but with two unopened bottles of water, one opened and two bandages less than Sharp’s.

  “If we stay in this cave,” he said. “We’ve got enough water for a couple of days.”

  “We can’t stay that long for a lot of reasons.”

  He nodded slowly. “We’re going to grab a few hours of sleep then try to get to the most likely place they’d extract us from.”

  “Where?”

  He pulled a map out of one of his pockets, and using the flashlight with the red tape, showed her a point on it circled in red. “I think we’re within a couple of klicks of this spot. There used to be a village there, but most of it was blown up back when the Russians invaded. Our intel says it’s deserted.”

  “Can we get there before dawn?”

  “If we push, yeah.”

  “What’s our plan B?”

  “Run like hell.”

  “Well,” she drawled. “As long as we know where we’re going.”

  He folded up the map and put it back in his pocket. “You know me, always looking ahead.” He pulled an emergency blanket out of his backpack and spread it on the sandy bottom of the cave. “Bedtime.” He lay down, leaving what looked like room for three other people.

  She lowered herself carefully onto the middle of the blanket, her back to him. “You don’t snore, do you?”

  “Not allowed.” He scooted a little closer. “Too noisy.” His arm went over her and he inched closer until he spooned in behind her completely.

  He was big, warm and his arm curved over her waist in a way that made her feel protected. “Another one of those things that puts the special in Special Forces?”

  “Now you’re catching on.” His lips whispered the words against the sensitive skin behind her ear. “Sleep. I’ll wake you when it’s time to go.”

  Her eyelids sagged, as if his giving her permission was the one thing she needed to succumb to the exhaustion attempting to pull her under. There was one thing she wanted to do first, though. Something important.

  Grace put her hand over Sharp’s where it curled around her waist, tangled her fingers with his and squeezed. The last thing she remembered before sleep rolled over her was his hand squeezing back.

  * * *

  “Grace.”

  She came awake all at once, but not in a panic. Lately, she woke ready to go down fighting. Her nightmares, filled with explosions and gunfire, following her into wakefulness. Not this time. Her sleep had been deep and dreamless.

  “Grace.”

  “I’m here,” she whispered.

  Sharp withdrew his arm from her waist in a slow slide that made her want to catch his hand and hold it. As if they were two lovers, waking to do normal things on a normal day. What was normal anyway? A home in a place where you didn’t fear bullets coming through the door of your vehicle or explosions bringing down the roof?

  Would she ever have that? Would her nightmares ever retreat to a point where loud noises didn’t make her want to hide under a rock?

  She sat up. The cave was as dark as when she’d lain down. “What time is it?”

  “About zero two hundred.” He sat up next to her, took a drink out of the water bottle she’d opened and handed it to her.

  The water was warm and she sipped it slowly.

  “We slept about four hours,” he told her. “How do you feel? Wounds bothering you?”

  “Not really. Yours?”

  “Nope. You tie a mean bandage, Doc.” He sounded so cheerful it was irritating.

  “Yeah, I’m sure that’s what you really wanted while I was down there.” Shit. Why had she brought that up? She was the one leading the charge on pretending it didn’t happen.

  His body shook in a silent chuckle. “I plead the Fifth.”

  She waited for him to push, to make a suggestive joke, but none came. Instead, he offered her a granola bar and busied himself with folding the blanket they’d slept on.

  Was she ever going to understand this complicated man? It would take a lifetime, but they only had weeks left in their Afghan training mission. After that, she’d be heading to the base in Bahrain. If they survived and got back to Bostick.

  It took them only a minute or so to eat, pack up and crouch at the entrance of the cave to see if it was safe to leave.

  “We’re going to move like we did before,” he told her. “Follow me, stay close and keep watch around and behind us. I’ll worry about what’s in front.”

  “Got it.”

  “If you need my attention for anything, put your hand on my back.” He glanced out again. “It’s clear out there and the moon is about half-full, so we’ve got enough light to see. If it’s too dark for you, though, you can hang on to my belt.”

  She nodded.

  Sharp slipped out with all the noise of a wraith, and she followed. How did a man his size move so quietly?

  They made their way steadily west through dry gullies, over deserted plateaus and around coulees of prickly brush. They encountered no people or animals beyond the sort that scurried away from their faint moon shadows.

  It seemed like they walked for days when the horizon turned a deep azure, signaling dawn’s arrival. Sharp drew her close to speak his dead-whisper in her ear. “We’re still a quarter mile away and there may be people between us and the pickup site.”

  “What do you want to do?”

  “Hide.”

  A shout echoed, then another.

  Her body dumped enough adrenaline into her system to mobilize a fossil, but she didn’t know which direction to go.

  Sharp put a hand on the back of her neck and pushed her down just as she shifted her weight. Balance gone, she tried to catch herself with her hands. One landed on the edge of a rock while the other tangled with a bush. She fell through it and kept on falling into a narrow trench the plants had hidden.

  Grace landed on her side with enough force to knock the wind out of her.

  While she caught her breath, Sharp hissed, “Stay there.” The crunch of running feet on rock told her he’d gone.

  Yelling, voices raised, speaking Dari. Several gunshots punctured the air. More than one person ran past her hiding spot.

  Had they found him?

  Her thoughts raced as she listened to the commotion slowly die down. It didn’t sound like they were celebrating, but they didn’t sound angry either.

  What happened?

  She was about to leave when two men, chattering away in Dari, walked past. They carried water canteens, ammunition and rifles. Men on a mission. With that much water, a long one.

  She waited a few minutes, while the area grew quiet and the sun rose in the sky. Finally, she crept silently out of her dark hole and listened. Voices were audible to the west.

  Not very far away, but between her and them was a ridge of rock. She moved cautiously closer. What she’d thought was a ridge was what remained of a man-made wall.

  She looked around it.

  Four men were visible. Three in traditional Afghan dress, one in an American military uniform. Sharp.

  He was seated, his hands tied behind his back, his head bowed over knees drawn up to his chest. His feet were tied together. She could see his chest moving with every breath. Breathing heavy. Too heavy.

  Damn it. He was hurt.

  The Afghans were talking and cooking around a small fire inside a rock oven. They smiled at each other, their gestures large and excited.

  They’d bagged an American soldier. They probably th
ought they’d really accomplished something. All three were armed with the same Soviet-made rifles as the two who’d left had worn, and loops of ammo were draped across their chests.

  Wonderful. She was outnumbered and outgunned three to one, and she only had one thing on her side. Surprise.

  Chapter Nine

  Surprise wasn’t enough, but if she added a distraction, it might cause the confusion she needed to get Sharp out of there.

  She knew what Sharp would say. The mission was more important than him. She should get out while she could.

  Too bad for him he wasn’t in a position to stop her from doing something stupid.

  Distraction, distraction. What did she have that would work?

  She had a couple of smoke flares. Setting one or two of them off would certainly be distracting. She didn’t dare wait. How long could he last, bleeding who knows how much, with no medical treatment? Were they giving him water or food?

  She was careful and quiet as she made her way back to her hiding place. She found a small gully a short distance away and threw the flare into it as hard as she could.

  She ducked into her hidey hole.

  Shouting followed after only twenty or thirty seconds.

  Several people rushed past her haven, yelling and shouting, toward the place she’d thrown the flare. Two gunshots followed, but they weren’t close. Sounded like they’d come from the direction where Sharp was held prisoner. An aggressive oorah was cut off by gunfire.

  Grace’s breathing staggered to a halt.

  Had they just shot Sharp?

  Had her distraction gotten him killed?

  Oh God, oh God. She’d thought she was so clever and sneaky. Provide the perfect distraction so she could tiptoe in and rescue Sharp with no one the wiser. Only minutes ago she’d been patting herself on the back for her ingenious plan. She should have left well enough alone. Sharp had probably had a plan of escape.

  Now he wouldn’t be going anywhere, because he was dead.

  Self-loathing, regret and indecision held her hostage. Now what? Her situation had only gotten worse. She was trapped in her refuge, alone with only a day’s worth of water and a case of anthrax samples strapped to her back.

  She caressed the butt of her Beretta, dark thoughts making her hands shake as tears flowed down her face.

  How could she have been so stupid?

  Another burst of yelling caught her attention. At first, she wasn’t sure why, until she began hearing words shouted in English, in a voice sounding remarkably like Sharp’s.

  He was alive?

  “I don’t know,” he yelled. It was definitely Sharp. “Whoever did is a long way from here.”

  There was a grunt of pain, then nothing audible for several minutes.

  Someone had probably hit him.

  What were they doing now? Were they hitting him, torturing him?

  Another pain-filled sound echoed and she found it difficult to suck a proper breath in. She had to stop it, save him. She couldn’t bear the thought of him hurt, and she knew, knew he’d never say anything to risk her safety.

  Well, she wasn’t willing to give his life to save her own. He was her friend, her best friend... Oh, who was she kidding? He was more than that, even though she didn’t have a label for what they were to each other. She cared about him and couldn’t leave him in the hands of men who were going to kill him.

  She worked at calming her breathing. Sharp was alive and well enough to holler. The thing was, did setting off the flare help or hinder her chances of getting to him and getting them both out of here?

  Just as she was about to leave her shelter, several men walked past, one talking, the others only adding a word or two here and there.

  She waited for a long time before easing out of her hole and making her way back to the wall.

  She peeked.

  Sharp wasn’t sitting up anymore. He was lying in a fetal position, motionless except for breathing.

  At least he was still alive.

  Two men were tending the fire and talking softly to each other. No one else was visible.

  Perhaps the rest were out hunting the person who set off the flare. She hoped they were searching farther away, because if the rest of those men were close, her goose and Sharp’s were both cooked.

  She palmed her gun, took in a deep breath and resigned herself to killing at least two more people, then popped out from behind the wall and shot the first man in the chest and head.

  The second man raised his weapon, but he was standing close to Sharp, who kicked out at the man’s knees, proving the Green Beret was only playing possum, knocking the Afghan down. He didn’t get up.

  Grace ran over, gun in front and ready to fire, to check the man, but sightless eyes stared back at her.

  “He must have hit his head on a rock,” she said to Sharp as she went to work on the knots in the rope binding his hands behind his back. “Where are you injured?”

  “Gunshot to my right leg, some contusions and a possible concussion.” His voice was low and tight.

  Grace looked him in the eyes. Both pupils seemed the same size. “Headache?”

  “Yeah, and I was a little nauseated after one of them punched me around for a while. You set off a flare?” Sharp asked as he grabbed a knife from the dead man next to him and cut the rope tying his feet together.

  Grace looked around, waiting for another man in Afghan garb to appear. “It was the only distraction I could think of.”

  He growled at her as he shouldered one of the Soviet rifles. “About that. Why the hell didn’t you make a run for it after I was captured?” He took three limping strides, then plucked his backpack out of a pile of stuff tossed to the side. Then he grabbed her by the arm and towed her with him as he jogged away from the bodies, heading in the opposite direction from the one the Afghans took earlier.

  “I was thinking you might appreciate a rescue. You know, from certain death?”

  “Death is everywhere, including the Christmas present attached to your back. You want to try for a better answer?”

  Anger gave her the strength to yank her arm out of his grasp. “There’s a difference between you dying at eighty-six of a stroke, and dying because I didn’t do anything while some asshole put a bullet through your head.” She poked him with one finger. “Besides, you’re a thousand times better at the survival-in-the-field stuff than I am. I need you.”

  “It’s damn difficult to plan an attack or a response to one if I can’t predict what you’re going to do. It’s my job to protect you, not the other way around. Stop thinking with your heart and start using your head.”

  “Well, excuse me for giving a shit, Sergeant,” she said through clenched teeth. “But don’t we have somewhere to go?”

  He paused. “Fuck me.” He looked around, they’d stopped some time during their argument. He grabbed her hand and pulled her along with him, muttering, “Damn doctors always wanting to save everyone but themselves. How can I keep you safe when you throw yourself into harm’s way every other hour?”

  “I thought we were a team. You know, the kind where we help and protect each other?”

  “This team,” he said, pointing at himself and her, “has very defined roles. It’s my job to keep you alive and get you back to base. It’s your job to do nothing to jeopardize your own safety.” He started walking again, but kept hold of her hand so he could tug her along.

  What did he think she was going to do? Have a hissy fit and run off like some spoiled brat?

  “What a load of bullshit,” she said to his back.

  He didn’t respond except to squeeze her hand, then drop it.

  Scream at him or silence. It was a difficult decision, but she chose silence rather than give away their position.

  Sharp set a to
ugh pace, one she struggled to keep up with. His helmet was gone, so were his body armor and the rifle he loved like a pet, and he was even dirtier than before. For a man who had the kinds of injuries he did, and then was beaten and shot on top of it all, showed how strong, how fierce a warrior he was.

  She found herself watching the rocky ground as she jogged behind Sharp, trying to be sure she didn’t put a foot down wrong and twist her ankle.

  There was blood on the ground.

  “Sharp, your leg. We need to stop and bandage it up.”

  “We don’t have time.”

  “You’re leaving a trail.”

  He swore and veered to one side toward a large boulder. He was already tearing his pants open so she could see the wound.

  Matching entry and exit wounds on the meaty part of his thigh were easy to find.

  “These have bled a lot. You need stitches and probably a transfusion.”

  “It’ll hold,” he said. It sounded like his teeth were so tightly clenched he was chewing on the words.

  “Really? How wonderful, you’re a doctor now? Able to diagnose injury at a glance and run long distances in an arid country with no water and no protective gear? How about I just give you a superhero name?”

  He gave her a what the fuck look. “What’s got your panties in a bunch? We’re alive, aren’t we? You’ve got your samples, right?”

  “Oh yes.” She let her frustration drip off the words. “All the necessities of life, right there.”

  “We don’t have time for anything else.”

  “I know, and I hate it.” She was so angry all she could do was shake, because if she let herself do anything else, she’d probably make a fool of herself. “God, I’m going to need so much therapy when I get home.”

  She pulled off her backpack and grabbed two nonstick gauze pads, one for each wound, then secured them to his leg as tight as she could with a pressure bandage. Hopefully it would keep everything in place despite Sharp’s acrobatics.

  He didn’t say anything to her after she finished, just grabbed her hand and urged her to her feet. He went back to that ground-eating jog. They went east for a while, then south, then northwest. After that he didn’t waver on speed or direction.