by Hazel Hunter
“I’m a doctor,” she said in a quavering voice. “I could help you.”
She was looking at Frank, who was coughing again.
“You’ve got the flu,” she said.
So this is the doctor, Seth thought. The man he’d seen had to be the pilot–who was getting away. They didn’t have much time.
“It’s avian flu,” she said to Frank. “It can kill you and your case is advanced.” Then she turned to Seth. “You’ve been exposed.”
Seth grinned at her. He’d show her exposed.
“Me first,” Frank said.
Seth grimaced and glowered at Frank.
“Idiot,” he sneered. “Like we’d do it now. The pilot is still out there.”
Getting farther away by the second. Seth swung his glare from Frank to her. Even under the jacket and long pants, he could imagine what she looked like.
“Get her back to the truck,” Seth growled.
“Why the truck?” Frank whined.
“Because you can find it,” Seth yelled. And so can I. There’d be no way in hell he’d find this spot again. “You think you can handle that?”
Seth watched Frank shift his gaze to her. The gears were turning behind the dull eyes. Now that the thought had been planted in his head, he wanted her at the truck. Frank slowly grinned.
“I can handle that,” he said.
• • • • •
Logan ducked behind a tree, breathing hard, and checked the direction from which he’d just come. This was a good spot. It provided a view about as far as you could see in the forest–maybe twenty yards. As his eyes systematically moved across the terrain, his hand went to the axe tucked into his belt. One of them had to be following.
What’s taking him so long?
The game had changed but not its end goal. Jules was their prisoner now but at least one of them would have to come in pursuit. Logan settled quickly into his SERE training: survive, evade, resist, extract. But all the while, in the back of his mind was Jules.
That look on her face.
He clenched his jaw. It’d been fear but at least it hadn’t been panic. She’d probably been too exhausted to panic. He scanned the trees toward the ravine.
“Come on,” he muttered.
There was no way they’d leave him alive. The remoteness of the airstrip and their weapons told him that. No doubt millions of dollars was at stake, not to mention jail time. Jules would die too but not before…
Logan grimaced. He needed to get to her–fast.
He looked in the direction of the airstrip. Whatever he was going to do, it couldn’t be complicated. Whichever one was coming after him, they’d be sure to have a gun. The one with the rifle would be preferable. In close quarters, he’d stand a good chance of ambushing the man and getting near to him.
Logan searched the trees up ahead. He needed an escape route but–he swiveled his head toward the ravine–if someone didn’t show up soon, he’d need to double back. Losing them was not the point. Not now. He was playing a new game too–a dangerous one. But Jules’ life depended on it.
He dug in the front pocket of his pants for what he already knew was there: a few coins and dollar bills. He took out the rumpled bills and peeled one away from the rest and stowed the others. Another minute and he’d have to go back. This was taking too long.
There! A flash of movement in the distance.
Finally.
He needed to see the man. He tensed and waited. He needed to know if he was up against the rifle or the pistol. The man’s head poked up just beyond a particularly tall thicket. No cap. This was the one with the pistol.
Logan rumpled the bill, tossed it in front of the tree, and ran in the opposite direction.
• • • • •
Frank had either coughed or talked the entire way back to the airstrip. He’d even introduced himself. Not that Jules could answer. They’d only gone several steps as he’d prodded her with the rifle before he realized she could barely walk. Now she wished she was walking. The pain in her stomach and ribs was getting worse. Draped over his shoulder, she could barely breathe. His big hand held her right knee and wrist together on his chest as her head dangled behind his back. The blood rushing to her concussion made her head pound.
The ground cover below them suddenly gave way to grass and Frank stopped. She heard the metal of a tailgate slamming open and he bent forward. The world around her spun, as she was unceremoniously dumped on the tailgate. She landed in a sitting position, legs dangling over the end, but she had to grip the edge so she didn’t tumble backward. As the pain in her forehead spiked, she put a hand to it and felt the world tilt.
“Let’s see,” Frank said between watery coughs, “what I got.”
He pushed her upright and tugged the zipper of her jacket open.
“No,” she breathed. “I have an antiviral.” She grabbed one of his wrists in both hands to keep herself upright. “Stop. I can give you a shot.”
“Later,” he muttered. “First, I’ll give you a shot.”
He wrenched his wrist free as the other hand shoved her backward. Her head landed on the metal of the truck bed with a clang and then he jerked her hips to the edge of the tailgate. Small lights danced at the periphery of her vision as unconsciousness threatened to close in but then Logan’s face swam into view.
Never say die. Use your best weapon.
Though it felt like her head weighed twenty pounds, she managed to raise it and look at Frank. He stood at the edge of the tailgate between her legs. The bottom buttons of the blouse were undone and he was staring hard at the skin of her abdomen.
“Your eyes itch, don’t they?” she breathed. “And you’re coughing up phlegm.”
He ran his hand over her skin, rubbing it with his calloused and dry fingers.
“You’re dying,” she said.
He was breathing hard and suddenly coughed and then he paused and looked up at her. In his eyes, there was not only unbridled lust but also the beginnings of conjunctivitis.
“Avian flu kills,” she said. “Have you seen your eyes recently?”
He frowned at that and he ran his scratchy hands to her waist and squeezed hard. She grimaced at the pain. That made him smile.
“You’re dying,” she rasped. “I have the antiviral. You need it now.”
“What I need…” he started but a fit of coughing took over.
Spittle flew everywhere, including his beard. He really was sick.
“Look at your eyes in a mirror,” she said over the coughing. “Just let me give you the antiviral.”
Though he hadn’t stopped coughing, he grabbed her blouse at the front and jerked her up. Then he pulled her off the tailgate and she cried out at the pain in her ankle. He didn’t pause as he drug her limping toward the front of the truck. He ducked his head and stared at his reflection in one of the side mirrors.
“Conjunctivitis,” she said, holding onto his wrist again. “It’s one of the last signs.”
One finger went to his lower lid and he tugged it down. The rim of it and the eye itself were a bright red.
“Conjunctivitis,” she said. “It’s not good.”
He stood up to his full height, pulled her forward and spun her until her lower back hit the side of the truck bed. She hissed at the pain.
“What’s conjunc…conjunction…”
He was starting to get worried. In reality, conjunctivitis was just pink eye and it was no worse a flu symptom than a scratchy throat. But it looked bad. And it sounded bad.
“Conjunctivitis,” she said. “The flu has gone so far it’s infected your eyes. You could go blind.”
He stared hard at her and shoved her back over the truck bed as her back arched.
“And why would you help me?” he croaked.
His hand went to her bare midriff and he rubbed it upward under her blouse and over her breast as another button popped open.
“Because I’m a doctor,” Jules said. “Because I have to.”
&n
bsp; Frank’s heavy breathing made him cough again and he withdrew his hand. Then he allowed her to stand up straight. The fit of coughing was so bad he nearly had to double over. Dehydrated. He probably hadn’t had any liquids since the hunt for her and Logan had started. Frank ought to be feeling awful.
“In my doctor’s bag at the shelter,” she said quickly.
He shook his head. When he finished coughing, he spat phlegm onto the ground.
“What about all those drugs in the plane?”
She froze. So they’d seen the cooler. Don’t lie.
“Those are vaccines,” she said. “Those won’t help you. You’re already infected and contagious. You need the antiviral.”
His eyes shifted to the plane and then over to the shelter.
“You’re already sick,” she said. “The vaccine only helps people who haven’t had it.”
He jerked her forward and then toward the lean-to.
Oh my god. This might work.
As he dragged her, she limped and hopped to keep up, trying to ignore the pain in her ankle but starting to feel nauseous from it. At the entrance to the lean-to, Frank threw her to the ground. Completely unprepared for the move, she barely had time to get her hands up as she landed on the wool and thermal blankets.
Although her arms shook, she crawled on hands and knees to the bag. Please let it be in there. It wasn’t something she’d ever used on a trip but she had it for emergencies.
She pulled the bag to her, still open from when Logan had used it, and looked inside. Frank stood just outside the lean-to, wheezing, and watching her.
Where is it?
She dumped the bag.
The little glass bottle, where is it?
There!
She picked it up, checked the label, and quickly found a disposable syringe. As she knelt, she wasted no time filling the needle to capacity. Then she turned to Frank.
“You’ll need to sit down and roll up your sleeve,” she said, feeling a little more confident with the doctor patter.
He did as he was told, slipping easily into patient mode.
This is going to work.
When he’d finished rolling up his sleeve, though, he grabbed the bottle just as she set it down. He peered at it.
“Nembutal,” he said slowly, sounding it out.
Jules froze. If he knew what Nembutal actually was, the game was over.
He set it back down.
“You’ll feel a little stick,” she said.
He grunted and rolled his eyes.
She immediately stretched the flesh of his upper arm between her index finger and thumb and gave him the injection–all of it. But before she could even cap the syringe, he was on her.
Sitting in the lean-to had been a mistake. He quickly turned to her, took her by the throat, and forced her onto her back. Though her hands flew to his forearms, he straddled her thighs with his enormous weight. It was pointless to fight. What she needed to do was stall for time, at least a couple minutes.
“It doesn’t have to be like this,” she choked.
With all the will power she could summon, she let go of his arms. The squeezing on her throat immediately slackened and then his hands went to the buttons of her blouse. She looked him in the eye, forced herself to smile, and slowly moved her hands to his chest.
“Why don’t you let me do this nicely?” she said, trying to pitch her voice low.
Suddenly, he grabbed both her wrists, forced them to her sides, and jammed them under her, behind her back.
“Because I don’t like nice,” he said smirking.
But then he coughed–another horrendous and a long fit of coughing she wished would go on forever. But eventually, it stopped and his eyes went to her breasts. The last few buttons of the blouse came undone.
Panic suddenly flared deep in her chest. What if the Nembutal doesn’t take effect in time? A sedative injected intramuscularly takes longer than an intravenous shot.
Frank ran his rough hand over her chest, swishing back and forth. And then he squeezed her right breast so hard she had to cry out.
He chuckled and coughed but the coughing didn’t last. He squeezed the other breast as well and now she couldn’t help but fight. She squirmed under his weight and tried to pull her arms free but she couldn’t budge. Her elbows felt as though they might break but she didn’t give up. She writhed her torso, trying to keep his hands from gaining a hold.
“That’s it,” he growled. “That’s how I like it.”
But the last few words were slurred.
Her eyes snapped to his face. He looked confused. She tried to buck him off but the movement of her hips gave him a different idea. He tugged at her bra as she bucked again and this time he wobbled. The Nembutal was starting to take effect.
Hurry.
Suddenly his bearded face loomed large over hers.
“You’re pretty,” he said, definitely slurring now.
She felt the weight of his chest collide with hers and then his face planted itself in the blanket next to her head. Scrambling, she frantically rolled enough to free one arm and pushed him off her. His slack body was even heavier than when he was conscious. Eventually though, she managed to slide sideways and clear of him.
Breathing hard, she sat up, buttoned her blouse and looked down at him.
“Never say die,” she breathed.
• • • • •
Logan crashed through the undergrowth. Noise was not the issue. Visibility was not the issue. He wanted to be tracked. At this moment, distance was the issue. Up ahead was the best choke point he’d seen but he had to be quick.
He leaped over small boulders and roots and flew past the cedars and hemlocks as his vision narrowed on what he was seeing.
Yes.
Up ahead was a rock outcropping to the left, a tightly grouped stand of trees to the right, and the terrain sloping down toward the gap between the two. He barreled through and came to a skidding stop in the loose leaves and slick ground cover.
Perfect.
Except he needed some foliage–branches a couple feet in length that had plenty of leaves. He dashed to the nearest shrub as he withdrew the axe and unlocked the plastic shield around its head. After several swings into the center of it, he’d detached three good branches. Back at the choke point, he pivoted to see the way he’d come and knelt. This had to be quick and it had to be right. He’d only have one chance. With short sideways chops, he dug into the earth. It didn’t have to be deep but the deeper the better. He glanced back up slope. No sign of the man with the handgun but Logan knew he’d be coming. First, Logan had dropped the dollar bill and then he’d hacked some fabric from the side of his pants and thrust it onto a bush as he’d run by. The man probably thought he was actually tracking someone. If it hadn’t been for the ravine and the two pursuers having split up, Logan and Jules might have evaded them.
As the dirt flew, Jules’ face flashed into his mind yet again. He pictured her as she’d been in his arms, lit by firelight. He’d see that face again.
As he chopped, he angled inward and down. All four sides of the pitfall had to be sloped. No matter where the man’s foot landed, it had to be forced to the bottom. Logan chopped at a furious rate. It wouldn’t be long now. He glanced up to check the trees. Still nothing.
This depth was going to have to do. Though deeper would have made a broken ankle more likely, he had to move on. Now to make room for the handle. As the blade cut into the moist black ground, Logan judged the length of the short trough he cut in the center of the pit, chopping back toward himself, between his knees. He didn’t need it to be wide–just the thickness of the handle.
Good enough.
Quickly, he reversed the blade as though he’d use it for a hammer and swung with all his might at the center of the pit. The axe head buried itself a couple inches in the chopped soil, the blade protruding upward, slightly angled away from him.
Logan frantically shoved dirt over the handle. The yellow, rubber grip
of it was going to be a liability. He heard something and looked up, holding his breath. Though there was no sign of the man, he heard the footfalls, heavy and plodding in the silence.
Time is up.
Using the branches, he brushed away all the excess dirt and then laid them carefully over the pit. The footfalls were getting louder. As he got up, he snatched the axe cover from the ground, reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew his sunglasses. He tossed them to the ground, a few feet beyond the pit and ran to the cover of the trees. Though his heart hammered in his chest, Logan slowed his breathing. It was time to be quiet.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The rifle was gone.
“Damn,” Frank muttered. “Damn.”
Seth was going to kill him.
He lurched to the truck.
Whatever the doctor had injected him with, it wasn’t wearing off fast enough. His mouth felt cottony dry, his head felt like he had a hangover, and he was getting more and more angry by the second. He crashed into the side of the truck and yanked open the lid of the aluminum storage box.
He pulled out the shotgun. Six bright, red shells were clipped to its side.
Plenty.
It’d only take one to cut that bitch in half.
• • • • •
Logan’s pursuer was close–so close he could hear him breathing. He was huffing and puffing with each lumbering step. Though Logan couldn’t see him, the location of the trap was clearly in view. The sunglasses glinted on the ground just to the right of it.
Are they too obvious?
Maybe the man with the pistol had finally figured out that Logan had been leaving clues. Logan would know soon enough. He pressed his back into the tree and got ready. Even if the man’s foot was impaled on the axe, he’d still be able to aim and fire a gun. Logan would only have seconds to capitalize on the shock and pain. As he peered at the pitfall, he heard the footsteps get louder.
Almost here.
He could hear the man gulping air.