Chapter 1
"Yeah, you'd better fucking run, before I take my leg off and beat you with it punks!" Sam Mendez yelled after the three kids that had teased him. He was only slightly out of breath after the two miles he’d run. His left leg throbbed where it met up with his prosthetic. “Disrespectful punks,” he muttered, turning to look out over the beach. Even though the morning was still young, he noticed not a few fine young women already sunning themselves on the beach. It was the reason he ran by the beach, instead of in a gym. The sun coming up over the water was the second best thing to look at.
Placing his fingers against his neck, Sam checked his heart rate. He’d lost some momentum but it wasn’t like he had anything better to do with his time. Besides, if he ran fast enough he could outrun his memories.
It took him only a few steps to get back into the rhythm of running with his false leg. The rounded arm of the extension made an odd staccato next to his natural footfall that he didn’t think he’d ever get used to.
Soon the pain where his left leg ended was absorbed into the sweet ache in his good leg and lungs.
His watch alarm went off, letting him know he’d been moving for most of forty-five minutes. Slowing to a walk, he stopped against the half wall separating the beach from the jogging path. The sun shone down on the pink sand of the beach. Crystal blue water lapped against the shoreline. Tanned bodies laid out, soaking up the sun’s rays. Sam enjoyed looking at all the firm flesh on display. Of course there were some not-so-firm bodies out there, but he could turn a blind eye to those. Just like they probably looked away from him as soon as they realized he was a cripple.
Sam pushed the thoughts of his disability away. His therapist had told him not to be so hard on himself, but his therapist hadn't lived through an IED exploding under his ass either. He shook his head to help clear it. Getting in a funk this early in the day wouldn't do him any good. He focused on the beach and tried to distract himself with the crack of dawn and the cracks of the Cindys, Shannons, Jessicas, and all the other vain young woman that came out here before they had to rush off for work. Most of them were well up on the sand, but he noticed one young woman lying where the water met land.
Looking closer at the woman in the surf, he could make out that she was on her side and curled up.
Thinking it was already too late, Sam hopped the short wall, and worked to get through the sand. The pad on the bottom of his false foot wasn’t meant to move on the soft grit, and he started yelling. “Girl, hey girl! Are you alright?”
He didn’t even notice the odd stares he received as he continued moving.
Memories of screaming soldiers—including himself—as he was hauled out of a burning HUMMWV, flitted through his head. For a moment he was back in Afghanistan.
“NO!” he screamed, mentally forcing himself to come back to the present. He wasn’t there anymore. The sand was nothing like the sun baked dirt and rock over there. He was in no danger, but there might be someone else who was.
Reaching the curled up woman, he fell back into his training as a combat medic. He rolled her onto her side and could already tell she wasn’t responding to him. Her chest wasn’t moving. The pulse at her necks was weak.
“Someone call 911,” he yelled without looking up. He didn't need to, some of the bathing beauties had gotten up and approached, he could see their feet out of the corners of his eyes. Sure, leave a girl lying and the beach and nobody cares, but as soon as a Hispanic guy approaches her suddenly it's interesting.
Sam tilted the girl’s head back and brushed her matted light brown hair out of her face. He brought his lips to hers and exhaled. He could feel her chest rise, proving her airway wasn't blocked. Her chest lowered and he heard a slight rattle when he pulled away. Another breath, and then another. His own heart was thundering in his chest as his mind played tricks on him and tried to take him back to the last time he'd done this. He forced the memories away. He'd been in the dark and cold then, a surprise night attack. It was light and warm here. And nobody was shooting at him. At least not yet, when the cops arrived and saw a crippled Mexican on top of a white girl all bets were off.
The girl started coughing, shaking Sam out of his thoughts.
He sat up and let his eyes rove over her body. Bruises dotted her arms, but no blood dotted her thin t-shirt, or jean shorts. Her clothing clung to her frame, accentuating her slight curves. She was thin. Scary thing, he realized. A golden heart locket with the letters C.H. stamped into it hung from her neck.
Water spewed from between her lips, and as she moved her limbs, it looked like nothing was broken.
“That’s it,” he encouraged her. “Cough it all out.” He refrained from patting her on the back, not wanting to make her choke worse. “I think you’re going to be alright,” he told her, when it looked like her coughing was under control.
She looked at him appreciatively, her brown eyes looking worn and weary.
“What happened to you?” He asked. Her clothing wasn’t designed for swimming in the ocean. He looked out across the water and wondered if there was a boat nearby she'd fallen off of.
“I. . . .” she stopped, looking confused for a moment, before placing her forehead in her hand. “I don’t know.” Her voice was soft, but sounded scratchy, as though it had been worn out. Likely the salt water, Sam thought.
“Are you here with someone, or by yourself? What’s your name?” he asked in succession. The sound of sirens could just be heard, and he looked up to see a medical vehicle plowing through the sand.
“I don’t know,” she repeated, shaking her head.
He began worrying about her. She didn’t know what happened, or if she was alone? Carefully, he placed his fingers on her head, but she flinched away from him.
“I just want to check your head for injuries,” he told her soothingly.
“I-I’m fine,” she said, but her eyes stayed locked on his.
The medics arrived, and Sam was shoved out of the way as they began checking her over. She couldn’t answer their questions any better than she had his.
“Is she with you?” one of the medics asked.
“I just found her here,” he said, still looking at the woman. Something about her eyes. . . . "I'm, uh, I gave her CPR. She wasn't breathing and her pulse was weak."
“He’s my friend,” the girl rattled, surprising him. Hadn’t she just flinched away from his touch?
Sam blinked, caught off guard by the girl’s admission, but before he could refute it the medic started giving orders.
“Load her up. Sir, I’ll need you to come with us. We’re going to need some questions answered. You know CPR? Are you trained and licensed?”
"What? Yeah, sorry," Sam saw the paramedic's eyes drop to his leg and then back up to his face. He nodded. "I used to be a medic."
The paramedic reached out and offered his hand to him. "Thank you," he said and then he turned away and helped his partner load the girl onto the stretcher. He motioned for Sam to follow as they took her to the ambulance.
Sam was already getting into the back of the emergency vehicle, before he realized what was happening. He’d become so used to following commands from his time in the Army that he hadn’t even thought to tell the man he had no idea who this girl was.
As they started driving away, he felt her hand grab his wrist. “Thank you,” she mouthed, and then he was shouldered out of the way again as they hooked her up to an IV and other medical equipment. He was tempted for only a moment to tell them that he knew nearly as much as they did about this equipment, but stopped. They were doing their job and had treated him with respect. Maybe some pity too, but it was more than he was used to. More than he expected, at least.
He realized that one of the medics was talking to him, and shook his head.
“What’s her name?” the man asked, obviously a bit annoyed at having to repeat himself.
Sam’s eyes landed on the girl’s locket again, before rising up to meet her eyes.
> “Carly,” he lied, not entirely sure why he did. “Carly Hansen.”
The young girl laid her head back, closing her eyes.
Why had he lied? He wondered immediately. That wasn’t like him.
He still didn’t have an answer by the time they reached the hospital, and they wheeled her back to an examining room. The orderly had taken one look at him, and known he wasn’t family. Not with his black hair, and obviously Hispanic features.
“Do you know where her family is?” he was asked by the other paramedic, this one an older sour looking woman. He shook his head. “Do you know if she has any insurance?” He shook his head again. He could see the wheels begin turning in the lady’s head. “How long have you known her?”
“Look, ma’am,” he started, his voice firm, “I’m no child molester. I was running along the beach, when I saw someone washed up on the beach. That’s all I know.”
The woman gave his left leg an obvious glance and frowned. Yeah, it was a prosthetic leg but it was designed for running, not walking. But most people didn't know the difference. The other paramedic came to his rescue and said, "That's an athletic prosthetic. Like that guy in the Olympics they called Bladerunner?"
"The one who murdered his girlfriend?" she asked.
Sam winced. He glanced at the friendly medic and he sighed. "Okay, I'll stop trying to help."
Sam realized he was the only one who could help himself. Just like after his leg had been cut off, he had to deal with and make himself better. “I don’t even know what I’m doing here,” he said. The way she kept looking at him, made him feel guilty, even though he’d done nothing wrong. Hell, he’d saved that young woman! “Can you call me a cab, so I can get back to my car?”
She sniffed, before holding a clipboard out for him. “Please fill this out, in case there are any questions that need to be answered. I’ll call that cab.”
Sam filled out the personal information, having no doubt that the old hag would likely check with the cab company to verify that he was dropped off at the address he wrote down. He wondered what she’d think when she found out he was going back to the beach.
“Can you at least tell me how she’s doing?” he asked her when he gave the clipboard back.
He didn’t like the way she smiled, as though she were going to enjoy her answer. “I’m sorry, sir, but I can only give that information to family members.”
Bitch, he thought but only nodded, and waited for the cab to arrive.
Devil's Island Page 2