Make Mine a Marine

by Julie Miller

  "Sarah?"

  She yawned and snuggled closer. Hawk risked a smile. He curled his body around hers and closed his eyes, planning to rest and indulge himself in this simple gift of shared trust.

  "Your secret is safe with me, Virgil."

  He wished his heart could be, too.

  Worthless peasants.

  He who walked with the gods hovered at the fringe of their encampment. The two thieving servants who had betrayed their rightful master scurried around the dead body like the tiny worker ants that they were.

  "Luis!" the younger one shouted, turning the body over to face the sky. A burnished hilt glistened in the early morning light, warming to the rays of the sun the way He warmed to the task of retribution. Their words, spoken in a foreign tongue, made little sense to him, but He understood their frantic terror and suspicion of each other. "Ramon was stealing from us! But look, he fell on the knife."

  Satisfied laughter echoed in the dim recesses of his consciousness.

  I am Meczaquatl. King of the great waters and the strong rock and the fertile earth. I walk with the gods. These weak, puny mortals who cover their bodies in strange, white garments are no match for Me. They have no power against My wrath.

  He watched the two peasants inspect the sacrifice. In his memory, He could feel the knife's weight in his hand, remember the power He had once felt in the lives He had claimed with it. He swelled with the renewing power He'd felt when the peasant had used the knife at His bidding. The memories made Him stronger.

  "This was no accident. I heard Ramon cry out. He was speaking to someone. If he was stealing, we never would have heard him." The man with the silver in his hair tapped the lifeless body with his foot, then lifted his shrewd gaze and scanned the trees at the edge of the clearing.

  This silver one might prove a worthy opponent. He recognized the voice of command, the expectation of authority. This one was the leader. This mortal considered himself clever enough and powerful enough to defy His wishes.

  But clever or not, He would conquer him. He could show no mercy on those who had defiled Him. Forgotten Him. Betrayed His love for Prini.

  The silver-haired one would die. Just as the others would. Just as they all must.

  "Antonio." The silver-haired one was speaking again. "Load everything onto one truck and hide it."

  "But Luis," the weaker one pleaded, "that will take two men. We have already lost Manuel Hernandez and Martin. Should we not bury Ramon and get out of here as quickly as we can? There is something unholy about this expedition. Too many have died!"

  "Silencio!" The silver-haired one pointed his weapon at the young peasant, who cowered beside the dead body. "We have made this trip three times without incident. Each time making you a wealthier man than you deserve."

  "But that was Prini's tomb. This time we have disturbed the great Meczaquatl!"

  "You are a superstitious fool." Meczaquatl waited for the silver-haired one's explanation with discerning interest, His thoughts of vengeance gathering like a storm. "Look around you. There has been a struggle. Someone else has been here. We do not know that Martin is dead."

  "But the gunshot? And he did not meet us at the rendezvous."

  "I told him to kill that Indian. The others will not survive without him."

  The weak one rose unsteadily to his feet. "You mean Martin is tracking us? Killing us one by one to take the treasure for himself?"

  He hovered beyond the edges of their perception and let His consciousness slip back to the other mortals he had encountered since awakening. He had sensed four men and a boy in His tomb. The boy had deserted these others. He could detect no other men except these two…and the warrior.

  The warrior had been different. More like Him. The warrior was powerful in ways the weak one could not understand and the silver-haired one would not tolerate.

  The two peasants scuttled back and forth, moving His things, touching His tribute. "The empty truck will travel faster," the silver one said. "We will go back and find him before he finds us."

  "And if it is not Martin?"

  "Then that Indian has survived. And we will kill him."

  The silver-haired one slammed his weapon with his fist.

  A cumbersome weapon, it seemed. Less wieldy than a spear or knife. But He sensed it could be infinitely more powerful. The daring mortal jerked a handle on it so that it made a terrible, deadly, metallic noise.

  A worthy opponent, indeed.

  The one who walked with the gods shrank down into a tiny, watchful presence. The silver-haired one was a warrior as well. But a warrior without honor, a warrior who would be destroyed for his arrogance.

  They would all be destroyed for what they had done to His beloved.

  Static crackled from the radio, as heavy and ominous as the humidity that hung in the midday air and sucked the oxygen from her lungs.

  Sarah watched Andrea and Raul tinker with the pieced-together communication device. Then Hawk picked up the transmitter and sent another SOS message, giving their approximate location. With the sun high in the sky above them, she couldn't even tell which direction was north, but she had no doubt that the latitude and estimated mileage from El Espanto he gave were accurate. Hawk possessed a preternatural ability that went beyond reading auras. She likened him to a mercenary Doctor Doolittle. He seemed to communicate directly with the plants and animals, even the very air surrounding them.

  That special gift made him less like a gentle country psychologist, though, and more like the wild jungle around them. He seemed so at ease here, so full of purpose. His extraordinary competence filled her with hope for their survival—and made her feel useless.

  They'd dumped the last empty water jug that morning. And with the humidity sapping their strength as they hiked, Sarah wondered just how long the eight of them could go before passing out from heatstroke. But then Hawk had told them to stop and rest for fifteen minutes. While they collapsed, he disappeared into the trees, and came back minutes later with an armload of large, flat leaves. He called them traveler's palms, and showed them how to pierce the base of the leaf stalk and suck out its watery sap to ease their thirsts.

  "Shadow Man here. Sending out SOS re this location. Expect to reach El Espanto next A.M. Will need medical attention." Shadow Man? Sarah felt Hawk's gaze slide over to her. She lifted her chin and met the question in his look. She wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand, and pushed aside the sticky curls that clung to her face. She tried to give him a reassuring smile, but wasn't sure her aching muscles had obeyed her wishes. Just as quickly, he turned away. "Repeat. Shadow Man here. Will need medical attention upon arrival."

  She must look a sight. No makeup, no bath, no brush for her hair. They hadn't yet spoken about last night. She wasn't sure she could. She'd opened up her deepest scars to him, shown him all her inadequacies. She'd awakened at dawn, when the heat of the rising sun began to burn off the clinging mist of the night. He’d still held her in his arms. But he removed the cherished protection as soon as he knew she was awake. He tucked the blanket around her and excused himself to wake Raul and gather some breakfast.

  He'd made no mention of their conversation the night before. He hadn't touched her in any way more personal than a chaste kiss on the forehead. His hasty departure left her wondering how big a fool she'd made of herself. Had she imagined the intensity of his reaction to their kissing and talking and holding? Or had she seen what she wanted to see, leaving a kindhearted Hawk with no option but to go along with her wishful thinking?

  By the time Hawk and Raul returned with an assortment of edible fruits for breakfast, she had the girls ready to go, and her emotional armor was as firmly in place as her tattered defenses would allow.

  They'd exchanged several curious, meaningful looks throughout the morning. But Hawk limited his conversation to the business of getting them out of the jungle, and Sarah retreated into cowardly silence.

  While the trio worked with the radio, Sarah opened her
pack and took out some of the chocolate tree fruit Hawk had brought them. She popped one of the black berries into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. Hawk had explained that the plant was related to the persimmon tree of North America. Unfortunately, the chocolate-colored flesh beneath the skin tasted more like the tart persimmon than like its sweeter namesake.

  The memory of Hawk's chocolate-flavored kisses stirred, unbidden in her mind. Despite the gnawing emptiness in her stomach, her hunger vanished. The natives and conquerors who had settled this island and much of the tropical Americas called chocolate "the food of the gods." But the sweet tenderness and gentle urging of Hawk's mouth and hands had been a far more addictive pleasure.

  Walter's erudite kisses had been a perfunctory formality. He would drop a tantalizing tidbit here and there to pique her curiosity, and once he had her full attention, he tried to teach her what she needed to know about the differences between men and women. She had once imagined that by pleasing him, she would find pleasure for herself. But her repeated failures left her wanting as much as Walter did. He took care of his needs elsewhere, while Sarah broke the engagement and embraced her impending spinsterhood with forced relish.

  But Hawk's touch had been a gift, one she dared not ask for again, unless she wanted to risk his refusal. He asked for nothing from her, out of consideration, perhaps. But maybe from compassion. Maybe he had tried to spare her the embarrassment of not being able to give him all he needed.

  Sarah tried to reason away Hawk's kindnesses, to convince herself he might really want her. When Hawk spoke of her hips and breasts, he made her pear-shaped figure sound like a sensuous, irresistible temptation.

  But memories of Walter intruded, drowning out the beautiful compliments Hawk had given her. Let me take you shopping sometime. My treat. There are certain clothes that can camouflage those little imperfections.

  "Can't you do anything to make that static go away?" The shrill question pierced Sarah's downward spiral into self-pity. She glanced up to see Lynnette pacing in tight circles around her pack.

  The young girl rubbed at the back of her neck in a nervous motion as tight and deliberate as her footsteps. Sarah rolled onto her feet and stood, tossing aside the berries left in her hand. "Lynnette, you need to calm down so you don't overheat." Sarah nodded toward the radio, and noticed Hawk and the others focused on Lynnette, as well. "The static means the radio is working."

  "We don't know that." The girl stopped in her tracks, stared wild-eyed daggers at Sarah, then resumed her pacing. "We can't hear anybody else on that thing. Maybe it's not broadcasting at all. Maybe we walked all this way, and the only ones who can hear us are Senor Salazar and all those other men who went off and—” she sobbed a gasp of air, “—left us.”

  "I have a cat at home," she continued on the next sob. "And if I don't get home at the end of the week, Peanut Butter might run away."

  Sarah reached out and wrapped her fingers around Lynnette's wrist. "Calm down. You're not making any sense. Peanut Butter will be at home when you get there, Lynnette. We'll all be home very soon." Although she was taller in stature, the younger girl stopped at the light touch and glared down at her teacher's hand as though she'd been trapped.

  "No, we won't," she argued, her reasoning skewed by heat and stress and fear. "We keep stopping every half hour."

  Hawk stepped forward, then halted in his tracks when Lynnette jerked her hand away from Sarah. In a low, soothing voice tinged with the cool affirmation of authority, he explained their slow, erratic pace. "With this temperature, we need to take frequent breaks to keep up our strength. If one of us passes out, the others will have to carry him or her. And then, yes, we will be delayed. But we'll all get home, I promise you."

  "No, we won't. At this rate we'll never get home. Never!" In a swirl of dark brown hair and high-topped sneakers, Lynnette dashed into the trees, running as hard and fast as her long, coltish legs could carry her.

  Sarah waved Hawk back down to the radio. "You stay here. I'll go get her."

  She cursed herself as she jumped the ravine and ran into the trees after Lynnette. What was she thinking? She should have seen this coming. If she'd been paying more attention to someone besides herself, she would have recognized that Lynnette was about to snap from all the stress. She'd lost sight of her responsibility to these girls, her charges, all because of a man.

  All right, so he might be heroic and handsome. He might be gentle and caring… and strange. She might love him…

  Sarah would have stopped at the admission if she had the time to think about it and talk herself out of it. She loved Hawk. But she couldn't have him. And if he would somehow give her a chance, she knew she'd never be able to keep him. She wasn't the kind of woman a man pledged eternal devotion to. The kind of woman a man made passionate love to, shared silly little secrets with, made babies and grew old together with. She wasn't that kind of woman.

  She was a teacher, a woman who nurtured the minds and spirits of children beyond a parent's love. Right now, she wasn't even doing a very good job of that.

  "Lynnette!" She yelled, losing track of the girl when she veered back toward the road. The heavy air and sudden exertion were evident in the painful wheezing of her lungs. Her steps slowed, and Sarah had flashes of telling Lynnette's mother how she'd lost her daughter in the jungle down on Isla Tenebrosa.

  An unexpected scream curdled the blood in Sarah's veins. She stumbled over her own feet in her hurry to stop, pausing to get her bearings over her own labored breathing. Lynnette screamed again. "Miss Mack!"

  Changing course, Sarah ran out across the road and stopped, almost knocking Lynnette to the ground when she crashed into her. The girl had stopped at the far ditch, glaring down at something hidden there. Sarah hugged her tightly to calm her and then looked down.

  A dead body lay face down in several inches of standing water. Recognizing the white cotton uniform of Salazar's men, Sarah knelt down and turned him over. Lynnette's gasp echoed her own at the man's blue-lipped, bloated features. Sarah could see no other obvious marks on the body. He'd drowned! In six inches of water, the man had drowned!

  "Oh, my God." Sarah murmured her prayer, then stood to turn Lynnette away from the gruesome sight. The girl's overt calm worried Sarah more than her hysterical screaming had. "It'll be okay, hon. Let's go find Hawk. He'll take us home."

  "That is right, senorita." A falsely charming, accented voice stopped her. Sarah bristled, suddenly on guard, and turned to see Luis Salazar walk out of the trees. He cradled a gun like the one she’d shot Martin de Vega with in his hands. "Let us find that Indian friend of yours who has killed all my men."

  "Hawk hasn't killed anyone." Her protest was automatic. She had no trouble imagining Hawk capable of killing a man to protect himself or someone else. He'd been a Marine, after all. But he wasn't the type of man to kill another in cold blood. To track a man down and drown him at the side of the road for no better reason than revenge. Was he?

  Besides, he'd stayed with her all through the night. And she'd followed the broad, steady rhythm of his back all morning. Hawk had never left them long enough to find Antonio and kill him.

  "So what happened to my men, then?" He asked the question in jest, sounding as though there could be no other explanation. "Someone is tracking them down, one by one. Tailing us through the jungle. Is this something you or your little girls can do, senorita?"

  "Hernandez died in an accident."

  Luis laughed out loud. "Senorita, you have quite the imagination." His laughter stopped with the abrupt foreboding of a rattlesnake's silence before it struck. He gestured toward the road with his rifle. "Now go. I want to take care of your friend before he eliminates me as well."

  Ignoring the shock of the dead body and Luis's ridiculous accusation, Sarah resigned herself to his unwelcome company. She needed to think of some way to warn Hawk, some way to alert him to protect himself and get the others to safety. But what could she do that wouldn't get her or Lynnette killed? She th
ought long and hard and fast, coming up with possibilities, then quickly discarding them. In the end, she simply prayed, and hoped that Hawk's uncanny intuition would pick up on the terror coursing through her.

  She wrapped a sheltering arm around Lynnette's shoulders and walked slowly along the mud-packed road, silently obeying the rifle pointed at their backs.

  Chapter Eleven

  "I don't know where they are," Sarah repeated.

  The radio still sat on a rock, crackling with the static of unanswered petitions. Packs and scattered palm fronds littered the flat rise between the rutted ditches. The temporary camp lay ready, like the set and props of a stage, waiting for the actors to walk on and assume their roles.

  Only there were no players in sight.

  "I am in no mood for games, senorita." Salazar's accent sounded thicker, less refined, couched in that menacing whisper. "Call to him."

  Sarah glanced over her shoulder at Luis, using the opportunity to check the perimeter of trees to see if, by some miracle, Hawk had sneaked in behind their captor, poised to attack. But the jungle closed around them like an isolating green curtain, and there were no allies to be found. At least he had gotten the others securely hidden away. Now she had to see to Lynnette's safety. She hugged the frightened girl around the waist, pulling her close to her side and angling her own body between Lynnette and Luis. "Let her go first."

  Luis shook his head. "You are in no position to bargain. Call him."

  She knew little about the design of Luis's weapon, but she understood the universal function of the trigger and was keenly aware of how his right index finger caressed the black metal loop framing it. With her gaze pinned to that finger, she raised her voice and spoke. "Hawk? If you're out there, we need you."

  Luis turned away, on alert, scanning their surroundings for any sign of movement. Sarah seized the sudden opportunity. She spun around and shoved Lynnette ahead of her, forcing her to run for the trees.