Brotherhood Protectors: Soldier's Heart Part One (Kindle Worlds Novella)

by Ilsa J. Bick

  A sudden, raw current of shame washed through her veins and made her eyes spring hot. “I know you wouldn’t, Hank.” She was doing that to herself, and all by her lonesome.

  “I’ll tell you something else, though, Sarah.” Hank slipped into his coat. “There is a ghost in this room, but only one of us is foolish enough to try to hang on to a handful of fog. Oh, and by the way”—turning aside, he headed for the cabin’s front door—“you’re bleeding, honey.”

  And then he left.

  10

  “Gabriel,” Jack said, “is a pretty strange guy.”

  Look who’s talking. Two pots rested on a rack over their fire. One was filled with water that, once heated, she’d pour into hot water bottles then shove into her sleeping bag to keep her toasty during the night. The other was an aluminum cookpot, and now she lifted the lid, releasing a raft of cheese-scented steam. “Feeling okay, Gabriel? Want more mac and cheese?”

  “Mmmm.” Chewing, Gabriel swallowed, used a spoon to scrape up the last few bits of pasta, shoveled those in, and then extended his bowl. “Thanks,” he said when she dumped out the last of the pot onto his plate. “Wait, did you get enough?”

  “I’m good” Putting her empty bowl to one side, she picked up a camp mug and cradled that between her palms. The left felt pleasantly warm; the right was simply there. She felt the pressure of the mug, but that was all. Useful in some ways, of course; the receptors that told the body when something was too hot or cold or that a knife had suddenly sliced down to bone were very superficial, confined to the first two layers of skin. In a way, her problem was no different than any person who’d suffered a really bad burn. For that person, this was nothing healing or a decent skin graft couldn’t cure.

  With her, nothing was simple. Pressure was, apparently, easier to mimic on a neural level. That’s what the doctors said, anyway. Pain, heat, cold...not so much. Still, there was something very simple, almost elemental about a full belly, a good fire, and a mug of hot strong tea to warm your hands, metaphorically and otherwise.

  So—she inhaled jasmine-scented steam—what do you think about his story, Jack?

  A flicker, a blur out of the corner of her left eye. “You know what I think.”

  She did because she thought the same. The first thing that jumped to mind when Gabriel staggered into the clearing was of old photographs of American POWs on that Bataan Death March in World War II. She supposed Gabriel might be testing himself or on walkabout, like her. People took off into the wilderness to clear their head, restore some sense of balance, but most planned to walk out again, too. Not Gabriel, though. If she’d been standing off to one side of the clearing or hidden behind the furrowed brown trunk of a pine, he might easily have passed her by, he’d been that out of it. Gabriel felt like a dead man walking, or she’d eat her hat.

  “If you had a hat to eat.”

  Smart ass. She studied the dance of the fire’s shadows over Gabriel’s face. Not even the flames’ orange glow could mask how gaunt and sick he was. The dark stubble on his cheeks and chin made him seem even paler, and his eyes had fallen back into sockets whose hollows were the color of a bruise. The skull beneath his skin was so sharply defined, those axe-heads of his cheekbones cut deep planes. She thought he looked a little like that actor... the one in Source Code. Gyllenhaal, that was it, only taller and the actor’s eyes were blue. But he had that same intense, hungry look about him. Not unattractive, really.

  “You like him, Kate?”

  Don’t know him well enough. She understood Gabriel, though. Then she registered Jack’s tone. No need to be jealous, Jack. No one can ever be you.

  A bark of a laugh. “Now that’s an understatement. Might not be a bad thing, though, you finding someone who’s not me.”

  Seriously? She flicked a rapid glance, but he’d ducked back, out of sight. Jack, goddamn it. She didn’t need or want anyone else. Why the hell else did he think she stopped taking meds, didn’t utter a peep to the programmers or doctors about what the electrodes and chips and little bots could do?

  “You okay?”

  “What? ” Flustered, she turned back to find Gabriel’s eyes on her. “Oh, I’m good. Just”—she made a whisking motion by her left ear—“thought I heard something. Wolves, maybe. They’ve been following for a couple of days is all.”

  “Really?” Gabriel’s gaze ticked to the woods, now in shadow, and then back. “That doesn’t make you nervous?”

  “Not really. They’re just curious.” She didn’t want to talk about this anymore. “You doing okay there? How about a cup of tea?”

  “Yeah, sure.” Gabriel bobbed his head. “That’d be nice, thanks.”

  “No problem.” As she busied herself with another mug and teabag, Jack moved in again, slotting into the blind spot on her left. What?

  “Nothing. You don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine.” Jack moved close enough again she felt his breath stir her hair—or it might have been a stray finger of the wind. She couldn’t be sure. “So let’s talk about Gabriel. What’s your spidey-sense say about your boy?”

  He’s not mine. Funny, though, she hadn’t focused on parsing Gabriel again, digging a little deeper. On the other hand, there’d been a lot to think about—getting Gabriel back to camp and then, once she was certain he wouldn’t pass out, leaving him to build a fire as she went for more wood. When she’d returned, he’d already started in with a semi-circle of rocks for a reflector wall. There had been that for them to finish, his shelter to rig, and then food to prepare.

  Now, she let her mind still and slide back into that white space. That dank taste of Gabriel’s despair wasn’t as strong, and the black cloud no longer quite so dense. Not gone, though. Well, what had she expected? Macaroni and cheese could work only so many wonders. Curing a soldier of his...well, what would she call it? Depression was too simple, and she didn’t think he had PTSD. When she’d startled him, he’d reached for a weapon, but that was reflex and training. Nothing else seemed to tally, but then again, she was hardly an example of abiding mental health herself.

  “Don’t sell yourself short, Kate.” Jack’s voice feathered her left ear, as softly as a caress. “You’ve gone through your own personal hell.”

  I got you back, though. The fingers of a small shiver skipped down her spine. Only Jack could do this, stroke those feelings to life. Suddenly, she wanted nothing more than to call it a night and duck into her tent.

  “Uhmmm.” A soft slip of Jack’s lips down her neck to the sensitive skin along her collarbone and then back up to lick the curve of an ear. “I could go for that.”

  God. She felt her nipples stiffen and that sharp ache between her legs. Jack, what the hell? First he told her to get a boyfriend and now he… Her breath came out in a rush as he nipped her ear. Ah, Jesus. She was getting wet. Jack’s lips skimmed the back of her neck, and now it was all she could do to hold back the moan...

  “Then don’t stop,” Jack whispered. “Don’t stop yourself, Kate.” And then he was reaching around, his hands brushing along the swell of her breasts before sneaking around to roll her nipples between...

  “Whoa, Mac! Jesus, are you okay?”

  “Huh?” Breathless, she blinked back and saw Gabriel, eyes wide with alarm, staring at her from across the fire. “What?”

  “Your hand.” Gabriel pointed. “You spilled hot water all over it. You didn’t feel that?”

  Shit. She looked down at her right hand still clutched around a mug. She’d been so preoccupied she’d filled the mug to overflowing. Steam curled from her fingers. “I’m fine.” As Jack laughed softly in her left ear, she tipped out enough water so as not to slosh then handed the mug to Gabriel. “Here you go.”

  “Thanks.” A wary look. After a miniscule sip, he winced. “Got to let that cool down.” Setting his mug on a stone, he slid her another puzzled look. “You’re sure you’re okay? That’s hot enough to burn my mouth.”

  “I’m fine. I was just thinking about tomorrow morning.�
��

  “Oh. Yeah?” Gabriel’s gaze seemed to pull back. “What about it? I won’t be any trouble.”

  “I’m not worried about that. What I was wondering is after we break camp, we could walk together for a while. I wouldn’t mind a little company, and it might be good for you to hang with someone until you feel better.”

  “He’s not a stray puppy, Kate.” Jack’s voice had lost its teasing quality. “Do you really want to take this on? You’re not responsible for this guy.”

  He’s in trouble, Jack. Gabriel was a brother, a soldier. They’d shared a meal and, now, a camp. “What do you think? I mean, how far are you going, Gabriel?”

  “I don’t know. Dead Man? Maybe?”

  “Really.” She kept that a careful neutral. “I didn’t realize there was a way in.”

  “There’s always a way in. People just haven’t tried hard enough.”

  Or they wind up really dead. “I’ve heard the trails are pretty unstable, and it’s very easy to get lost. Compass headings go kind of wacky around there.” Actually, what she’d read was compasses couldn’t be trusted. Some kind of odd concentration of iron ore or magnetite in the region. It had been a problem for miners way back, too, when their compasses suddenly reversed polarity. The same happened in her neck of the woods in the rust belt of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, right around the Waucamaw Mountains.

  “I’d still like to try.” Putting his plate aside, he took up the mug again and then stretched his legs along his sleeping bag, which they’d unrolled so it paralleled their jury-rigged reflector wall of stone covered with aluminum foil. The foil would catch some of the fire’s heat and bounce it back and keep him warmer than he’d otherwise be. He settled back against his pack propped against a rock. “But I honestly hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

  “Well...” Gabriel, I don’t think you’ve thought much about any kind of future in months. Instead, she asked, “When are people expecting you back?”

  He let his gaze drop to the crackling fire. “They already have. Expected me back, that is.”

  “Uh-oh.” Jack’s tone had lost its teasing quality. “Honey, I think he’s got way more problems than you know.”

  “I’m confused, Gabriel.” She frowned. “What you mean, they already have?”

  The man sitting across her fire only sipped tea. She itched to press but let the silence spin out, a technique she’d picked up from that pissant, Dowell. For once, even Jack had nothing to say.

  The seconds slid by. A sudden snap as a trapped pocket of liquid came to a boil and burst through wood, releasing a shower of orange sparks, bright as fireflies, that the wind snatched and scattered. Watching them go, she noticed the cold for the first time in a while. That metallic scent of snow was stronger, too. Might be sharing a tent after all. She wouldn’t leave Gabriel out here to freeze and was about to say so when he carefully replaced his mug on its stone and looked her in the eye.

  “What I mean is,” Gabriel said, “I’m AWOL.”

  11

  God, he was so stupid. As soon as the word AWOL dropped, her face settled into a studied neutral. Had she even leaned back a little? Put some distance between them? You idiot. She was nice to you. She helped you. Mac had been kind and strong when Gabriel had needed that. He’d felt more at home in her company than he had with his own family in months. Because she understands. She was a soldier and—just a hunch—he’d bet she was still active, not a reservist and certainly not a deserter like him.

  “What’s going on, Gabriel?” Her green gaze was direct, unwavering. “What do you mean, AWOL?”

  “I mean exactly that. I’m... I told my folks I’d signed up with the National Guard in Washington. That’s where they think I am now.”

  “You didn’t report?” When he shook his head, she said, “Well...then, you’re right. They already know. They’ll have called your folks within the first twenty-four.”

  “I know.” He’d avoided thinking about that but knew his folks must be worried sick. No help for it.

  “Were you trying to walk to Canada? I mean, I guess this is probably a good place to try. There’s no easy way except through the mountains, which isn’t saying much. Is that it? You wanted to leave the country?”

  “No. I wish it were that simple.” He let out a bleak laugh. “I don’t think anything there will be any different than things here.”

  “How bad are they here?” And then she scrubbed air with the flat of a hand. “Forget that. Dumb question. If you’re AWOL, they’re pretty bad. But why join up if you didn’t want to go?”

  “Well, I did, but mainly, it was about the money. They gave me a signing bonus, but that’s all gone.” He looked down at his hands. “Do you know how hard it is to find work? Any kind of work? It’s almost impossible. Everyone’s looking. I worked odd jobs, Lowe’s, a grocery store. Pumped gas. I even walked a couple of dogs. So naïve. I didn’t have a clue, you know, and no one prepares you, not really. They give you a briefing, help you get a CV together, but then what? Being an MP, I thought, cool. I’ll join a police department or become a sheriff’s deputy, but that’s no easier. Even with my experience, most departments want you to go to the academy, and they’re full up. So, you’re stuck. I was stuck. I’m sure I could figure out something else to do. I like forensics. I know guns and munitions and all that. I’m not stupid. But I...I don’t feel like I’m a part of”—he waved a hand at the woods and the world beyond—“all that. Do you know every time someone wants to shake my hand and thank me for my service, I want to punch him in the face? Do they really think letting me go first onto an airplane makes a fucking difference? Shows we’re all in this together, that they understand what any part of being a soldier means? To them, anyone in uniform is a goddamned hero and...” Shut up. You’re ranting. He finished, lamely. “Anyway, I couldn’t stand it anymore, and so I just... I walked away.”

  He waited for her to ask with what idea, what kind of plan. If she’d done so, he’d have been honest. Hell, he couldn’t mess things up any more than he already had, right?

  He watched her thinking, saw those green eyes slip to her left and then back at the fire. Picking up his mug, he sipped then made a face. The tea was now only tepid and tasted sour. Worse, he was getting cold as the chill from the earth leached through the thin fabric of his bedroll. Maybe a good thing if I freeze. He tossed the dregs past the reflector wall and then stared down into his empty mug. No tea leaves to read, ha-ha. Then again, he knew his future. If he went back, they’d court-martial his ass. At the very least, he’d have to pay back that signing bonus. Jesus, who knew twenty thousand would go so fast?

  He heard her pull in a long breath and looked up to meet her frank, direct gaze. “It’s hard to miss what you once were and can’t find your way back to being again,” she said.

  There it was. She did know. “Yes.” The sigh rode on a cloud of his breath. All at once, the tension in his shoulders and neck relaxed. Letting his head fall back, he stared straight up through trees and into a starless night. “I miss it. I miss the goddamned war.” His eyes pooled. He couldn’t look at her. Jesus, he was weak, pathetic, not a man and certainly no kind of soldier. “I don’t miss the fleas or the heat or being a stinking, dirty pig for three weeks out of every four, and I really don’t miss MREs.”

  “Some would call that a sign of health.”

  He laughed. The sound and taste were bitter. “I miss being a part of something bigger than me. The war was never, could never be just about you. When you went beyond the wire, you were part of a group who watched out for each other, would kill to defend each other. They were...you know, they were more than brothers. It was a brotherhood. You come back here and...” He spread his hands, let them fall to his sides. “It’s nothing. Everyone’s disconnected, apart. You’ve got family, maybe. But that’s it. The closest thing is, I guess, if you happen to land a job where you all hate the boss.” He shut his eyes. “Nothing like a little adversity to bring people together.” When she didn’
t say anything after a few beats, he said, “I don’t have PTSD.”

  “No, you’re sad, and you feel empty.” Her voice seemed to float to him from the darkness. “I get that. The hell of it is...you’re fated to live, Gabriel.”

  Eyes still closed: “Not if I decide otherwise.”

  “If you really wanted that, you’d already have eaten your gun back home.”

  Don’t think I didn’t consider it. “I was thinking of the mess.”

  She gave a soft laugh. “If you can joke about it, then things aren’t so dire, Gabriel.”

  Who said I was joking? “I don’t know about that. Remember, I’m an MP. I know what it’s like. Going to a military prison is pretty damned dire.” At least, it wouldn’t be like Gitmo. He’d once endured a lecture from some woman in his parents’ church about how Guantanamo was such a travesty, and the military should be ashamed and blah, blah, blah. It was all he could do not to ram her up against a wall and spit, You sanctimonious bitch, you see how often you like having some guy no country even wants because he’s that dangerous throw shit at you—we’re talking literal shit he just crapped—and then see how much of a travesty you think it is. “Mac, even if they only give me a dishonorable and make me pay back the money, you think any police department in the whole damned country would have me?”

  “Possibly. There are some really out-of-the-way places that would probably like a guy with your training and experience.”

  “Yeah, in Siberia.”

  “Close. I was thinking Alaska or Wyoming, or even here, but...whatever. It would be a job. Your problem right now is you don’t know one way or the other because you’re too freaked to find out.”

  “Hence, my dilemma.” He rolled his head to one side so he could look at her. “I walk out, I find out. If I don’t, I never will, and the only people who will truly be upset will be my parents and my little brother. They’ll get over it.”