They crashed through bushes and undergrowth, dodged under branches, slipped around tree trunks. She went down at one point, and Marc didn't miss a beat, grabbing her arm and hauling her to her feet as he raced past. They could hear people in the jungle behind them, could hear the occasional gunshot, but pretty soon, Lily could hear something else, as well.
Water. The sound of rushing water. A river. She remembered looking at a map of the area surrounding Damiano's home. It had only been about a mile away from Rio Quindio, a small river that had several towns up and down its banks.
We're gonna make it. We're totally going to make it. He had a plan. He had a goddamn plan, and it worked.
Then they burst out of the bushes and Lily shrieked as she skidded along the edge of a cliff. Marc's arm went around her waist and hauled her back up against him. She held her breath as she leaned forward a little, looking down. It had to be at least a one hundred foot drop to the river below them. Maybe more.
Fuck his stupid fucking plan. Fucking plans. They never, ever work.
“C'mon!” Marc yelled, then jerked on her arm, dragging her behind him.
They ran along the cliff's edge, and though it did seem to dip down and lower a little, it wasn't nearly enough to make her feel entirely comfortable about jumping. The water was still easily seventy feet below them.
They eventually ran out of room. A huge embankment of rock sprouted up in front of them, blocking them from following the river any farther. They would either have to go back into the jungle to move around it, or they could try to climb it.
Lily couldn't decide which seemed like a worse choice – sheer rock face that offered little to no grips or support, or the jungle that was already full with the sounds of gunmen running through it, getting closer and closer.
“We don't have a choice. We can probably take a few of them down, maybe clear a path,” Marc was breathing heavy as he checked the rifle he'd managed to hold onto, making sure its magazine was full. Lily glanced at the jungle, then glanced at the waterfall, then glanced over the ledge they were standing on.
Seventy feet seemed like a lot. It was a lot. But how high did cliff divers jump from? Weren't they known to go as high as one hundred feet? If they jumped from the ledge, she thought maybe it would be okay. The waterfall would have smoothed away the rocks in the pool underneath it, making it nice and deep.
Or at least deep enough, please god. Maybe the jungle isn't such a bad idea ...
A bullet pinged off the rock next to her, and Lily's mind was made up.
“We can jump!” she yelled over the roar of the water.
“Are you fucking crazy!? Did you get hit in the head!?” Marc demanded. She glared at him, then ripped off her gauzy blouse.
“We can do it! We'll be okay!” she assured him, yanking her hair out of its ponytail and rearranging it into a tight bun.
“No! That's suicide! Don't you step off this fucking ledge!” Marc warned her, then he grabbed her arm and pulled her back.
“That jungle is suicide!” she pointed out, and as if to emphasize that fact, bullets traced through the air above them. They both ducked and Marc returned fire.
“It's a better option than that!” he replied. Lily glanced at the ledge, then back at the jungle.
You're scared. And that's okay. It means you respect the situation. Now move.
“Marc,” she said, her voice soft.
“What!?” he snapped. She turned to stare at him. A lot of time had passed between them. A lot of moments lost. Bonds broken. But still … it was them. Lily and Marc.
“Trust me.”
She took off running. Marc shouted behind her, but she was too quick. She only had about ten steps, and then she hurled herself into the air.
It was an odd sensation of being frozen. She began to wonder if she was actually going to fall. She could hear her blood pounding in her veins, her breath leaving her body, Marc calling out her name. Then bullets ripped through the illusion. She could hear them above the waterfall, listened as they shredded the ledge she'd just leapt from. She started to feel the fall and she screamed the whole way down.
She hit the water hard – she'd never gone cliff diving before, she hadn't been exactly sure what proper protocol was for jumping. She twisted around in the water, fighting against the pain, the undercurrent, the pull of the waterfall. Then something fell into the water next to her and a moment later, Marc was grabbing her, hauling her to the surface.
“That was so ...” he gasped for air, “... fucking dangerous.”
“But it ... worked ...” she was having trouble breathing as well.
The water had ripped most of her pants away, and she kicked her legs to get free of the material. Marc dragged her towards the shore, and though she wanted nothing more than to collapse on the bank, their pursuers broke free of the jungle above them and opened fire on the river.
“Move!” Marc was struggling to pull her along behind him.
Lily eventually found her legs and once again, they tore into the forest. It wasn't exactly fast going, but they easily jogged for about a solid mile, maybe more, before Marc suddenly made a sharp right turn. The waterfall was then at their backs and he started moving forward. They were a mile or so in the jungle and walking parallel to the river.
Lily was only wearing her underwear and a black tank top. Her pants, shoes, and the Kevlar panels were gone, stolen by the river. Marc had managed to keep all of his clothing. But they kept trekking, not speaking or stopping for another half an hour.
A vacation. That's what I want. A vacation, where I don't move for a week. Don't move, don't talk, don't even think. That's all.
Lily wasn't sure how long they went for, it seemed like forever. So much mud and green and pain, it all blurred together. She cradled her injured hand to her chest and walked hunched forward, trying to keep up with his pace while watching her steps, but she finally reached a wall. She leaned up against a large tree, then fell to her knees beside it. Leaned forward and pressed her forehead to a root.
“Just for five minutes, I want everything to be still and quiet.”
She had been moving, non-stop, for over six months. She didn't feel like it was too big a request to ask.
“What are you doing!?” Marc demanded, stomping back to her. She sat up and looked at him.
“I have to stop. You go ahead, I don't mind,” she offered. He snorted at her and lowered himself to sit on an old log.
“To get down that cliff, it would've taken them awhile. If they bothered at all. We should be good for a couple minutes,” he said, watching the area around him with a wary eye. Lily shifted so she was sitting on her butt, still holding her hand against her chest.
“Thank you,” she sighed, leaning against the tree and closing her eyes.
There was a shuffling noise, then she felt him right in front of her. She didn't open her eyes till she felt him grabbing her hand and pulling it towards him. Then she watched as he looked over her injured fingers.
“Jesus, that was sick to watch,” he mumbled. She started laughing.
“You think? You should've felt it.”
“Nah, I'm good on broken bones for a while.”
There wasn't a lot they could do for her. Marc found some twigs, then broke them down to the same size as her fingers, making a splint of sorts. He tied them and her fingers together, using his shoelaces. Then he ripped off a strip at the hem of his shirt and wrapped the whole thing around the splint, almost mummifying her digits.
“Thanks,” she said, examining his handiwork. She was thankful that Damiano had started on her left hand, and that he hadn't gotten too far. It wouldn't slow her down too much.
“Fuck, look at you. I can't believe you fucking jumped,” Marc chuckled, shrugging out of his dress shirt. It wasn't much, but it was better than her tank top, and he draped it over her shoulders.
“Had to do something. I've yet to get shot. I'm trying to see how long I can hold out,” she replied, sliding her arms into
the sleeves.
“Oh yeah? I'll shoot you. Y'know, to initiate you. Like in the leg,” he offered, teasing her. She rolled her eyes.
“So generous. How many times have you been shot?” she asked. He leaned back against a root and thought for a second.
“I don't know. A couple times. Grazed in Africa, when I took the diamonds. One time in the side, luckily straight through. Another time, right in the ass. You wanna talk about pain,” he sucked air through his teeth.
“Kingsley's been shot a lot,” she commented, and Marc grew still.
“Yes, he has.”
She didn't want to get into it. She didn't owe anything to this man, this person next to her. She didn't want him knowing about her relationship with Kingsley. It wasn't any of his business. He hadn't been there for it, and he wouldn't understand it. Didn't deserve to know anything about it.
“What now?”
“Fuck, that got so fucked up, so fast. What happened?” Marc groaned, running his hand down his face.
“I don't know. Damiano acted like he had no clue who I was, when we danced. And I mean, I really bought it. I stared at him the whole time, and nothing. He didn't show a flicker of recognition, not once. It was all a ruse,” she replied. Marc was quiet for a second.
“Or all a trap,” he mumbled.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, it was awfully easy to get in the house. Security seemed lax. Damiano should've been shocked to see you, shocked to find out I was there, shocked that we seemed to be together. Why wasn't he surprised?” Marc wondered out loud. Lily was at a loss.
“In the room back there, he did seem surprised that we were together – he couldn't figure out your role in it all, but he'd heard about me, knew I was in Colombia, knew all about the diamonds. Maybe someone warned him about us, but separately?” she threw out there.
“Maybe,” was all Marc offered.
“Probably. Doesn't matter. It was so fucked up,” she agreed with him, looking down at her hand again. Her broken fingers throbbed.
“But we got out,” he countered.
“Still. I didn't learn anything I didn't already know, whereas Stankovski is now very aware of my presence. Now he's gone and I have to start from scratch. What a waste of time,” she complained, slowly getting to her feet. He followed suit.
“It wasn't a waste. I learned some stuff, like Roksana and Damiano are sleeping together. And now we know that Stankovski has already got Damiano wrapped around his finger, if he's getting him to poach for low lifes like us,” Marc pointed out.
“Whatever. I just want to get out of this fucking jungle. This fucking country. I want ... room service,” she breathed out.
“Spoiled.”
“Shut up, De Sant.”
DAY TWO HUNDRED AND FOURTEEN
They eventually headed back to the river. Marc was positive they were headed towards Romerales, and that it was only a couple miles away. She prayed he was right. A couple miles in the jungle, barefoot, was too long. She didn't know how far she'd be able to go.
Turned out, they were only two miles from the small town. It still took them over an hour, what with Lily's feet. And even then, once they got there, they skirted the edges of the buildings, not wanting to be seen. Damiano would have to know they'd wash up in that town. It was the first stop along the river.
While Lily stole a pair of flip flops off a back porch, Marc found them a car. A tiny truck, Lily couldn't even tell what the make and model was, though it didn't matter. As long as she didn't have to walk anymore. She slid into the passenger side gratefully, closing her eyes as they raced off down a road.
There were several small towns to the east, and they picked their way along for a while, stealing food and clothing. They both looked like shit, covered in mud, leaves and branches in their hair. They got a lot of stares, which wasn't a good thing.
Having Marc in the driver's seat, though, that was almost worst.
What to do, what to do. What would Kingsley do? I don't know anymore.
“Turn left,” she barked, when they were almost ten miles out from Romerales.
They had driven predominantly in silence. Marc looked tense, a permanent scowl on his face. Lily stole a couple looks at him, but kept it to a minimum.
Now that the adrenaline was wearing off and the situation wasn't do-or-die, she was finding his presence … surreal. She couldn't quite believe he was next to her. Sure, she'd kinda sorta hoped to find him again, but bumping into him at a fancy party had not been on the menu. Getting kidnapped with him and restrained and tortured, not anything she had planned. She wasn't sure what to do with him now.
Get rid of him, you have a job to do.
Kick his ass, make him feel the way you felt when he left you.
God, the way he kissed you in that room – how did you ever forget what kissing him was like? Like a vacuum, stealing every breath from every cell.
Stupid bastard. Kick his ass.
They ditched the car along the side of the road. Marc was hesitant to leave it behind, unsure that they could find another. They were in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by jungle, with only one road to follow. Lily pointed out that he could just keep driving, then thanked him for the ride.
Marc followed her when she walked away.
A couple days before the party, Lily had gotten a hotel room in Salento. A place to store a minimal amount of gear and her nice clothing, but her real headquarters had been left in tact. The camp site that Kingsley'd had set up for her, deep in the jungle, was still standing. She'd left the tent up and everything, and after a mile of hiking through dense jungle, she was glad to see that the site was still empty.
“My god. This is where you've been staying?” Marc asked, turning in a circle as they passed by the burned out and empty fire pit.
“Since I've been in Colombia, yes,” was all she said as she pushed her way into the tent. She immediately kicked off her dirty flip flops and headed to a corner in the back.
“Okay. We're free and clear of immediate danger. Damiano is miles behind us, will probably never find us out here. Talk to me,” Marc stated as he stomped up to join her.
Lily ignored him and sat in a fold out chair. She grabbed a bottle of water out of a cooler and chugged its content. Then she began digging around in a duffle bag at her feet, pulling out different pieces of clothing. A shower would've been nice, but she didn't have time. She wanted to have everything she needed packed up and ready to go in twenty minutes.
“Take what you need,” she finally started speaking after about five minutes of silence. “There's a lot of water in the cooler, maybe some snacks. I don't have any clothes that will work for you, but there's extra rain gear and sleeping bags.”
“Are you dismissing me?”
“I'm telling you to take what you need,” she repeated herself, then stood up and pulled on a pair of running pants.
“We need to work some shit out here, Lily. We haven't seen each other in six months. We can't just wind up at the same party, kiss the way we did, get kidnapped, escape, and wind up here, and not fucking say anything,” he pointed out. She shrugged and pushed past him, moving to pull out a fresh tank top from another bag.
“There's nothing to say, De Sant.”
“My name is Marc.”
“Your name is irrelevant. What do you want me to say? I'm sorry we were at the same party because it just screwed everything up. The kiss was just a means to an end. Sorry we got kidnapped, thanks for helping us escape, and that's that,” her voice had lowered to a grumble. She got her tank top in place and made her way back out into the clearing.
“Means to an end, my ass, and that's not that. Talk to me, Lily. What are you doing here?” Marc demanded.
She ignored him and walked to the perimeter of the clearing. There was a crude alarm set in place – yarn, tied around simple stakes that had been shoved into the ground. Every couple feet, a tin can had been tied to the yarn, creating a ruckus when anyone bumped into it.
With the dense foliage that surrounded them, the contraption was actually pretty hard to see.
When she came to a can of peas with a jolly looking giant on the label, she stepped over the line and headed into the jungle. After one hundred steps, she turned right. Another one hundred steps, and she turned left again. Two hundred steps and she came to a tree that had a notch cut into its trunk. At the base sat a rock. Not unusual to the casual observer, but Lily recognized its almost conical point, its wide base. She had placed it there over a week ago. She got down on her knees and shoved it out of the way before digging her hands into the dirt.
“This is what I came back here for,” she called out, knowing Marc was standing right behind her. She pulled a large pack out of the soil, brushing the dirt off of it as it came free.
“Why'd you bury it?” he asked.
“Because. If I was caught, and if they somehow found this place, I didn't want them to find this,” she explained, opening the zipper and delving into the bag. A small, nylon backpack laid inside it and she pulled it out. She double checked its contents, made sure everything was still in place, and then she put it on.
“You didn't want Damiano's personal army to find your backpack?” Marc snorted. She glared as she turned around and she threw the larger, now empty, pack at his chest. He managed to catch it.
“Your backpack. And no, I didn't,” was all she said in response.
She watched as recognition dawned across Marc's face. She'd had the pack for a while – a large bag, with one strap that was made to go diagonal across a chest. A large chest. The bag had been made for a man, but she'd carried it with her for almost six months. A long time. She hated it, but she had to admit she felt a little sad letting it go.
It was my last piece of him. He'll take it and he'll leave and I'll have nothing left.
“I can't believe you kept it,” Marc muttered. When he lifted his blue eyes to her, she couldn't handle what she saw in their depths, so she quickly walked past him.
“I didn't really have a choice – it was the only piece of luggage you left me with, it was a while before I could buy more,” she snapped as she made her way back to the camp.
Out of Plans (The Mercenaries #2) Page 8