Forged in Fire (Delos Series Book 3)
Page 16
They moved quickly until the copse of trees began to thin. As it did, Dara tried not to make harsh sounds while breathing, but she couldn’t help it. Her knees were sore from the crash in the van. The muddy soil combined with slippery, wet pine needles gradually became a bare, rocky surface. Downed limbs from trees now surrounded them on the slope.
They were climbing steadily and Matt kept weaving through high brush and anything else he could to keep them from being spotted by the enemy. Dara saw the clouds darkening above them, the wind whipping more strongly across the rugged slope. Then she tripped, nearly falling, but Matt turned, catching her before her knees slammed into the rocks.
He crouched, bringing her against him. “Let’s rest a second,” he rasped.
Dara nodded, bowing her head, mouth open, gasping for air. “It’s so high here,” she managed.
“Yeah, about eight thousand feet.” Matt put down his rifle and pulled his CamelBak hose from his shoulder attachment. “Here, suck on this. It’s fresh water. I have to keep you hydrated,” he said, and offered it to her.
She realized she’d lost one of her thin leather gloves; the back of her trembling hand was scratched and bloodied from brush. Dara took the hose, nodding her thanks. The water was cold, and Dara sucked hard, making a small sound of relief as it flowed down her aching throat. It tasted so good! She watched Matt scanning the area, his head cocked as if listening for something. He’d pulled his hair back into a ponytail and wore his dark green baseball cap. He, too, like her, wore civilian clothes, jeans, boots, and a heavy black winter parka that was perfect for this day and kind of weather. He also wore a green and ocher shemagh around his neck and shoulders, keeping the heat in his body from escaping through the neck area.
Worried about him, Dara offered him the tube. “Aren’t you thirsty?”
He nodded, taking it from her and drinking from it as he continued on watch.
Dara slowly sat down, crossing her legs, her elbows on her thighs, grateful for the momentary rest. Her hair had come undone in the firefight and she needed to get it captured and tamed into a ponytail.
“Here,” Matt offered. “Let me.” He gathered up her hair and took out a rubber band from one of his pockets, quickly fashioning a ponytail out of it. He picked up the dark green scarf from around her shoulders. “I need you to wear this like a headdress,” he explained. “Your blond hair will stand out in this country, and a sharp-eyed tracker will spot you in a split second.”
“Okay,” Dara said, handing the scarf to him. In a matter of moments, Matt had created a headdress like something she imagined a sheik would wear around her head, completely covering her hair up. “Camouflage. Right?”
He nodded. “Yes.” He knelt on one knee, intently staring at her. “How are you holding up, Dara?”
“Okay,” she lied, remembering her resolution to be more like Callie. She rubbed her knees. “When the van wrecked, it threw me over the seat. My knees hit first.”
“Any injury? Or are they just bruised?” he asked, watching her slender hand move across her right knee.
“Bruised.” Dara looked around and then back at him. “How much trouble are we in?” She knew he wasn’t telling her everything because she’d worry, but she had to know. “Matt? Don’t lie to me. I want the truth.”
He smiled briefly and caressed her cheek. “I’ll never lie to you, Dara. It’s not in my DNA.” Dragging in a breath, he drank more water and then snapped the mouthpiece shut on the water tube. His gaze was restless, and his hearing was keyed for the smallest sound that was abnormal for this area. Animals always listened for what was out of place. He followed the same instinct.
“We need to keep on the move. Once the Taliban doesn’t find us by searching that grove of trees, they’re going to pull out their trackers and start looking for our footprints. We were in mud back there,” he told her, holding her gaze. “There was no way for me to erase them. They’re going to track us. The good news is, once we hit this rocky slope it’ll be a lot tougher for them to pick up our trail. No one can track on rocks, so we’re buying ourselves time. There’s a pass at nine thousand feet up there.” He pointed toward the rugged peaks above them. “We’re going to get through that pass and down on the other side of it. I’ve worked this area a lot in the past and I know it well. There are thousands of caves up at the higher elevations. What I want to do is find a place to hide, one with an egress point in case we’re compromised by the enemy.”
She nodded, digesting all of it. “What about Bagram and being picked up?”
“Right now my radio isn’t working. I have to get higher for a clear, unimpeded channel between us and Bagram. That means once we hit the pass, I can call them, and hopefully, they’ll hear me. But it’s not guaranteed. That’s why I’m relying on Beau to make that call to the base. He’s in small hills with no mountains in the way of a radio signal.”
Her brows fell. “Then … we’re on our own?”
“Yes,” he murmured. “Dara, you have me. I’ll get us out of this. I know you’re scared. Anyone would be. But trust me.”
“I do,” she whispered, choking on sudden emotion, the adrenaline beginning to leave her system. Dara knew she’d crash soon and become a shaky, emotional mess. “I worry about Callie.”
“Beau is in his element. He’ll get Callie into those low hills and disappear in them with her. He’ll have good radio contact with Bagram.” He caressed her cheek. “If anything, once they dodge the Taliban contingent, they’ll easily get picked up by our people long before we do.”
“Thank God,” she whispered, pressing her hand against her heart.
“We need to go,” Matt urged her gently. “Are you ready? We’ve got another one thousand feet to climb. I’m going to take us into this wadi nearby. It’s a thousand-foot-long ravine, and it will shield us from Taliban eyes better than hiding in brush out on this slope.”
“Okay,” she said. Her knees and hips were cranky and protested. Dara slowly stood up, with Matt holding her elbow to steady her. She gazed up at him. “You don’t look winded or tired like me.” She saw his lips curve a little ruefully.
“Sweetheart, this is what I’ve been doing for a living since I was eighteen. That’s nine years.” And then his voice grew warm and thick. “And I think last night you saw what good athletic condition my body’s in. Right?”
Dara’s fear receded over his teasing. The warmth in Matt’s lion-gold eyes moved through her, melting the coldness inside her. “There is no doubt that you have a beautiful, hard male body, Matt Culver.”
His smile simmered as he leaned down, kissing her brow. “Think of me as a mountain goat. Your mountain goat.”
She laughed a little. “No way. In my eyes and heart you’re a fierce male guardian lion.” She remembered his middle name meant “lion” in Turkish and realized how well he fit that role. Dara knew Matt would do everything he could to keep her safe. She saw the warrior now, felt his palpable protection surrounding her, making her feel safe even when they were anything but.
“My mother named me well,” Matt said, picking up his M4 and snapping it to his chest harness. He rearranged the heavy straps of his ruck over his shoulders. “I need to ask her someday if she had a vision about me before I was born. Did she see a lion and then decide to name me Aslan?”
“She must be psychic,” Dara agreed, sliding her fingers around his web belt.
“We’ll get a chance to ask her that,” he told her, meaning it.
Her fear retreated as she felt Matt’s confidence that they’d get through this. It was as if he was feeding it invisibly to her, and Dara was grateful. She’d never been in such a place or predicament like this in her life. It was an alien landscape to her. And it was deadly. She didn’t want to die.
Her heart cringed as she thought of Callie dying, or Matt or Beau. This overwhelming possibility was now settling around her, and Dara was grateful for Matt’s ability to lift her spirits, even though they were running for their lives.
“We’re going to get either rain, sleet, or snow,” Matt warned her as he turned his head in her direction. “Keep your one glove on. And pull your parka hood up. Is your jacket rainproof?”
Dara nodded, quickly doing as he instructed.
Matt craned his neck, looking behind them, gazing down the steep slope below. His gaze shifted to her. “Actually, this weather is good. It’s in our favor. Any tracks we’ve made will be washed out if the Taliban is anywhere near us. Ready?”
Dara nodded, gripping his belt. She wasn’t close to being in the physical condition Matt was. Her legs felt weak as the adrenaline began leaving her system. “I’m crashing from the adrenaline, Matt. You need to know that.”
She hated admitting weakness, but this was no time to minimize what was going on with her less-than-willing body.
He studied her and then looked above. “Okay, let’s make it to the wadi. We’ll get you something to eat, hydrate you more, and then try to rest for thirty minutes. That should help you stabilize and get back your strength.”
Just as they moved into the thick underbrush, the clouds above them burst open, sending rain pummeling down upon them. Matt felt Dara stumble as she tried to keep up, and he slowed his gait even more. Thank God the cloudburst would wipe out their tracks. He gripped Dara’s gloved hand, removing it from his belt.
Ahead, Matt spotted a small gouged-out area halfway up one side of the wadi. It would give them shelter from this storm. The only other thing he had to watch for was a wall of water from above if the rain continued too long. Wadis were created by these torrential mountain storms, which hit without warning. He searched for an escape route in case the water should start rising. There were plenty of roots and smaller trees growing on the wall of the wadi to use to haul themselves out of it before they drowned.
Dara’s breathing was getting harsher. They were now at eight thousand feet, and her Virginia sea-level-dwelling body wasn’t prepared for this kind of rugged, continuous exertion. Matt was breathing lightly, his body having acclimated years ago to these altitudinal changes. Gripping her fingers, he pulled her up beside him. Her cheeks were a bright red, sweat gleaming across her skin, strands of blond hair stuck against her reddened cheeks.
He looked at her, his expression coaxing her to keep going. “Up there,” he said, pointing. “Just a little ways farther.”
She nodded, gulping, her breath noisy.
Matt would never tell Dara that she was a liability, but she was. Taliban had sharp hearing, and the rain was their friend, in this case. The drops were large and heavy, striking at his face, rivulets of water running down his neck, soaking into the upper part of his shemagh, which kept him dry inside his parka.
His M4 rifle could handle this, but he’d need to clean and oil it later. Right now, Matt could feel how weak Dara’s knees were becoming. She was struggling, but she never complained as she slipped and slid along the wet rocks. She was a fighter, never giving up. Matt didn’t know many other women who would be this courageous under these brutally challenging conditions.
It was a testament to Dara’s hidden strength. He knew that to become a doctor, one had to be tough. Well, now he was seeing her toughness in spades. His fierce love for her threaded through him, but he couldn’t go there. The Taliban could be anywhere, and now they carried cell phones and radios and could communicate with each other.
Matt knew this area crawled with different bands of enemy troops. They were usually the hunted, but he wasn’t about to mention that to Dara. Her eyes silently reflected her sheer terror, closely followed by exhaustion. To her credit, she stuffed the terror, remained alert and focused, and wasn’t distracted. Matt was so damned proud of her.
He grabbed a slender tree and brought her up, boosting her inside the large cavelike space. It wasn’t really a cave, just an area where a lot of loose rock and soil had been washed away by repeated flooding over the years. Still, to Matt, it looked roomy and deep enough to sit in without hitting their heads on the ceiling. Best of all, it was dry. The gray soil was powdery and fluffed up into the air as Dara wearily dragged herself on her hands and knees toward the rear.
Matt moved lightly, leaping to the lip and pushing himself in her direction. He saw Dara pull up her knees, allowing her head to rest against them. Her dark green parka was slick with rain, gleaming in the low light. Outside, he heard another rumble of thunder. He quickly moved to her side, leaning the M4 against the wall, within easy reach if he needed it.
“Talk to me. How are you doing?” In the rear the ceiling rose higher and Matt had enough head room to kneel, resting his rear on his boot heels.
Lifting her chin, Dara said, “I’m just feeling weak, Matt. I’m sorry …”
“Adrenaline crash,” he reassured her quietly. “Come on, drink all the water you can.” He handed her the tube. “You’ll feel better in a little bit.”
Wearily, Dara reached for it and began to dutifully suck water out of the tube.
While she drank, Matt shrugged out of his ruck and laid it open, grabbing two protein bars. When she finished drinking, he traded the tube for a bar. Her fingers were chilled as they grazed his, and silently he assessed her condition as she tore open the bar. Her damp hair peeked out from her scarf and her cheeks were a burning red, telling him she was having altitude issues. Her eyes were clear, and that was important.
They ate in silence, the rain a gray pall outside the gouge. Matt watched the water begin to trickle down the wadi, hoping it wouldn’t rise high enough to drive them out of their dry little cave. He tried his radio, which had been protected from the rain, and got nothing but static. They were going to have to reach the highest point in that pass above them to get a connection, if they could get one at all.
But he couldn’t even think in terms of “if.”
More than anything, Matt wondered how Beau and Callie were doing. Beau had one less year in Delta than he did. Being from West Virginia and a hill boy, he knew how to fade into the surrounding area and disappear. And Callie? Matt wasn’t sure she had any more physical stamina than Dara did, but both women were belly dancers, and that took a lot of physical strength.
He glanced out of the corner of his eye at Dara. She had eaten the bar and was leaning back against the wall, legs spread out in front of her, hands in her lap, her eyes shut.
Radio communication in Afghanistan was always questionable, especially in the mountains. Matt felt fairly confident that Beau would evade the Taliban with Callie and get a Black Hawk called in soon enough to pick them up.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t going to be that easy for him and Dara. On top of that, the last thousand feet were going to be brutal for Dara, and they couldn’t afford to rest here for more than thirty minutes. The water was slowly rising; it was nowhere near their cave, but it could drive them to a higher elevation at any time. If they got out of this—and Matt was counting on that—he was sure Dara would never return to this country again. Not after these two experiences, and Matt couldn’t blame her.
The trick was to get out of this alive. In his hyperalert state, he could feel Taliban nearby, hunting and searching for them. They were like dogs on a scent, and just as skilled at finding their prey.
Thunder rolled again. Storms at this time of year were common in the mountains, but not on the desert floor. What Matt worried about was snow up on the pass, which could be a bitch and was not something he wanted to deal with. And if it was tough for him, how would Dara make it? Or would she?
CHAPTER 12
Dara bit her lip as she grabbed Matt’s hand, struggling to make her way out of the gouge. He’d allowed her to rest for half an hour, but the water in the wadi was rising swiftly now, the rain still falling heavily in the area, and he wanted to leave because of potential flash-flood conditions. Gripping a thick root sticking out of
the slick, muddy bank, Matt placed his arm around her waist, steadying her.
Her boots slipped on the muddy, gravelly ground, and Dara banged her knees hard against the wall. Groaning, she held back a cry of pain as she scrambled, grabbing for other roots above her, hauling herself upward. It was six feet to the rim of the wadi, and the rain was drumming down upon them, slashing into her face, blurring her vision as she jammed the toe of her boot into the wall to gain purchase.
Matt pushed her from behind, and with his help and strength, she hauled herself up and over the rim, panting for breath. Looking around, Dara saw nothing but a gray veil of rain surrounding them. Breathing in spurts, she crawled on her hands and knees. Matt didn’t want her to move fast because a tracker would see movement, so she very slowly rose to a crouch and then straightened to her full height. There was a nearby tree and Dara shrank back up against it, trying to hide fully behind it.
Matt slipped silently over the rim, his face expressionless, the rain making his skin gleam in the low morning light. Getting to his feet, he moved beside Dara, using the width of the pine tree to protect them from prying enemy eyes. He clipped the rifle to his chest harness and tightened his protective wool shemagh around his neck and shoulders. He turned to Dara after scouting the area with his gaze and asked, “Okay?”
She nodded. “Okay.” Dara felt fierce protectiveness in his question as he stood close to her, concern etched on his face. She asked, “Do we follow the wadi up to the pass?”
“No,” he said in a low voice, “they’ll expect that. I’m taking us in a zigzag pattern away from this place. It’s going to take them time to find us, and that’s good.” He peered through the trees at the jagged top of the mountain a thousand feet above them. “And by the way, this rain isn’t from a thunderstorm. It’s a cold front coming through. Just what we need to continue to help hide us.”