Dark Escape (DARC Ops Book 10)

by Jamie Garrett

  “That’s exactly it. Water, supplies, and some way to get back at them. If I’m lucky, I’ll find some food or some way to contact the team.”

  “Contact,” she said, “we need contact over food. I’d rather starve waiting for them than not get the chance at all.”

  “We’ll get the chance. A lot of chances. Just hold tight.”

  “But what do I do? While you’re gone, what should I do?”

  “Think back,” he said, “try to remember everything that happened at that dinner.”

  The dinner felt like a whole lifetime ago. The conversations even longer. Even she herself had been a different person.

  He had been watching her the whole time, finally saying, “Or maybe just stay here and stay quiet while I rustle up some supplies.”

  Her mind filled with images of the party, of Sajad’s advances, and then of blurry confusion and hands pulling her into the van. Shivers ran through her. “I don’t want to think back ever again.”

  16

  Declan

  The sun was shining directly overhead, and as Declan crept his way back around the base of the mountain toward the abandoned mine buildings, he had to talk himself into the fact that it had been twenty-four hours since their nightmare had begun. He almost didn’t even want that sun to rise.

  Senses alert, eyes constantly skimming the landscape, he stayed as low to the ground as he could, running doubled over so far he felt the strain in his back when he found no suitable cover to proceed otherwise. This plan of his was risky but necessary. They couldn’t continue into the desert without supplies. They needed food and water, and at least one weapon. More importantly, some way to make contact with one of the advance units that might be in the area.

  Then he thought of how good it would be to come back to Sophia, and to see that same light shining on her face. That was enough motivation for him. He hoped by then he would have gotten what he needed. He also hoped the shine would be even brighter than the sun’s reflection.

  By the time the sun had risen completely, hanging like a giant yellowish-orange ball in the eastern sky, he flattened himself to the ground and peered over the ridgeline, down to the scattered structures below. The recent memory of his beating there got his heart pumping, left him filled with bloodlust, but he tamped it down. He was here to help, not get them both killed. Not to die and leave Sophia out there alone.

  But now he had to focus on what the sun also lit up, how it shone brightly across the clearing, and the men walking around with automatic weapons. Declan could tell by their patterns that it was a route patrol. Perimeter checks. He knew also that these wouldn’t be the men who were looking for him and Sophia. He shuddered to think where they were.

  He belly-crawled down the side of the mountain, taking as much advantage as he could of the low-lying ground shrubs. There wasn’t much, but it would have to do. He forced himself not to move too quickly, though his heart pounded, and he fought the urge to hurry. Movement attracted the eye, especially with the early morning shadows dancing along the hillsides. The dirt beneath him felt warm and would grow even warmer as the sun rose higher.

  As he got closer, he could spot more men, not searching the mine shafts but loading gear into a van. When the van began to pull away, Declan had to lie flat on the ground behind a cluster of rocks. His face against the warm sand, he closed his lips tightly to keep the grit out. He tried not to inhale the dust of the Afghan desert, tried not to taste how dry and hot and miserable a place it was. He could taste bitter disappointment for not acting sooner, for being caught in between. Disappointed that Sophia was now vulnerable.

  Disappointment turned to fear as he saw the van speed away past him, barely a hundred yards away, climbing slightly uphill and following the base of the mountain. It was a much quicker drive than his careful walk, and they were already driving up the slope toward the mine openings, the white van bouncing and swerving its way up a narrow cart path. Like so many high-stress situations during his combat career, the action slowed down considerably. The van slowed in his mind to a crawl, matching his thought process for a moment. The mild twinges of panic he had to bat away with the knowledge that they wouldn’t know about the air shaft. They wouldn’t know where Sophia really was—as long as she was quiet and still as he’d suggested. What could she have possibly gotten up to aside from thinking about the dinner that had started this whole nightmare?

  He watched, careful to keep his body still as the van stopped at one of the openings, the men pulling out boxes of what he now could see were explosives. He knew instantly what they planned. They would set explosives inside, trigger cave-ins, trap them inside. The nightmare would get even worse.

  Though he also imagined the opportunity this had created: a unit with fewer men. If any men at all. A chance to make his way to the buildings below and slip inside undetected. He moved, still carefully, but at a more hurried pace, crawling his way toward the buildings, constantly aware of his surroundings, watching for signs of life. Even the man who’d been patrolling was gone. For how long, he didn’t know, but he had to risk it.

  He lay still for several moments near the edge of the shrubs. An open dirt space between him and the shadows of the first building, maybe fifteen, twenty feet across. It might as well have been a hundred. No cover. His heart pounding, he swallowed as he glanced behind him and up the slope. The men from the van stood clustered around one of the mine shafts. No one looked his way.

  He took a breath, held it, then quickly stood, half hunched over, and dashed toward the cover of the building, half expecting the sharp burst of automatic gunfire, the impact of a bullet in his back. He made it. He dropped low and scrambled around the corner of the building, out of sight of the mountain for now. He paused under an opening that in the past might have held glass and listened for any sign of movement inside.

  Nothing. He crept to the door and slipped inside.

  Inside, trying to quiet his panting, Declan quickly found and rummaged through a messy tool box. An old, rusty knife would have to do for now. Yes, it would do just fine. A jagged slice through someone’s neck wouldn’t be very pretty, but it would do the job. Then he sought food. It was his lucky day. There in the corner, he saw a small pile of American MRE packs and several small bottles of water. An old military-style flashlight with a hooded red lens.

  He filled his cargo pant pockets while holding his breath, taking another good listen for any surprise visitors. The whole place had been so quiet, even the wind had died down. It was just him, alone, breathing quietly, hungry and thirsty and needing to see Sophia.

  There was an odd set of wires leading out of the room, in the opposite direction whence he came. Before leaving, he would have to know where they went and why. Then suddenly he had an image flash through his mind of a blinding white flash of a detonated mining charge.

  Had they rigged up a trap for him to walk into?

  He could feel the sweat already beading at his hairline as he sped around the corner to find what had been set in place. The wires were an unusual find, and he had a definite bad feeling about it.

  Once he turned the corner, there was something worse to worry about. A man sitting at a desk, back still turned but then saying something that Declan couldn’t understand. It sounded like a question. For a second, the idea of responding something in Farsi crossed his mind. But running in the opposite direction without explanation seemed like a better option.

  “Wait,” the man said.

  Declan brought his hand to his waistband, to where the knife was waiting, his fingers slowly gripping the handle when he watched the man turn.

  It was their interrogator, Sajad, pointing now to an old, dusty backpack lying on the ground. Declan knew it as an American radio unit, a Comm 3. And the way Sajad had pointed at it had given him some hope. Sajad’s other hand went to his face, an index finger shushing his lips.

  Sure, Declan would be quiet for now. But later, there would be much to talk about, and doing it over the air back to
his own base.

  He nodded to Sajad, removed his hand from his knife, and moved toward the back to inspect it. The thing was pretty beat up, but checking inside, Declan saw that the actual radio unit was in decent shape. He clicked on and heard the relief of a fuzz signal. He nodded again to Sajad, not knowing why he’d been so charitable, but he could figure that out later, too. Right now, he had someone more important waiting for him.

  17

  Sophia

  By now, she’d memorized what his footsteps sounded like, especially his hurried pace. They’d done so much running together that Sophia had found it helpful to focus on these small details. It was a little way of escaping her reality for a while. It was either that or let her fear overwhelm her. Declan had taught her that trick, to make up simple mind games, and to lose yourself in them while your body did all the stressful work.

  She had needed none of these mental games while her body did another kind of work with Declan. Nothing about that was stressful.

  But the waiting that came after, being alone again . . . That was an entirely different story. And she had to take it up again while listening to his footsteps, matching them in her head so her heart could settle. And it did settle.

  When he came into view, Declan was wearing a backpack, his cargo pant pockets bulging.

  “What is it?” She stood from her hiding place, taking a few steps toward him, looking up, and wanting to wrap her arms around the back of his neck. She wasn’t sure how to greet him, but at least with a smile. Her hunter, the provider, coming home with some goods.

  Before she could get close enough, he swung around and got the backpack off his shoulders, sliding it in front of him, unzipping it. Three small bottles of water emerged, the water clunking around in the plastic and immediately driving Sophia’s thirst over the edge. She’d been sitting there the whole time, praying with parched lips for any type of moisture. How typical of Declan to answer her prayers.

  He uncapped one and handed it to her. She grabbed it, too hard, almost squeezing some of the water out as she moved too hurriedly, too desperately for its contents. She tipped her head back, closed her eyes, and let the water course down. Something instinctual in her brain told her to start chugging as fast as she could, but Declan grabbed her arm.

  “Slow down,” he said. “We might have to make it last.”

  She reluctantly tipped the bottle away from her mouth. “Alright,” she said, capping the bottle with even more reluctance. Suddenly she found herself breathing heavily.

  “I’ve got some more good news,” Declan said, fishing two food rations packs from his pockets. “Ever try these?”

  “No,” she said, assuming they tasted horribly, but not even caring. She was about to start eating tiny bits of mud from the cave walls at this point. How bad could centuries-old dehydrated space food taste?

  “It says here,” Declan said, inspecting the package carefully, rubbing away some dust and then saying, “Spaghetti and meatballs? And . . .” He checked the other.

  Sophia said, “I don’t even care at this point. What else did you get from there?”

  “An interesting exchange with Sajad.”

  “What?” Her heart leapt into her throat. She stared at him, eyes wide, her mouth open, moving with no sound. Sajad? “What—”

  “I still don’t trust him, but so far, it seems he’s trying to help us.” Declan shook his head with a disgusted look on his face. “I don’t know what he’s up to, but so long as he didn’t report me, or kill me, I’ll take what I can get.”

  “How do you know he didn’t use you to track back to me?”

  “No,” Declan said firmly. “I didn’t get any tails.”

  “What? How do you know?”

  “I just know. That, and how much I want you to never come back to Afghanistan. With or without me.”

  “I won’t,” she said, not even giving it a second thought.

  “Definitely not with me,” he said again with a chuckle, “or with me at any war-torn country.”

  “How about the US?”

  Declan looked at the backpack again, nodding quietly. “How about some place nice and quiet?” he said. “Where no one has to keep getting rescued.”

  “I’d like that. Maybe we could just go out for dinner or something.”

  “Or stay in,” he said. “Less chance of danger that way.”

  “Sounds like more chance of danger to you.” She walked close to him, slinging an arm around his and holding on. “I’ll make you sorry.”

  “I should be careful what I’m asking for?” He reached around her. She could feel his hand moving over her ass, giving her a little squeeze before leaving her to check the backpack again.

  He was good to her. She needed these brief little moments, and he’d always help her with them, despite the ticking timer in his head and all the strategic necessity of moving on and acting quickly. He would throw all that aside every now and then and give her just a look.

  Declan gave her a look of hope now, turning back from the backpack and saying, “It’s a little beat up, but it might still work.”

  “Should we make a call to someone?”

  “Yes, but not now. I need to get back to it when I have more time, and when I have some kind of a plan. I’d hate to screw something up and announce our position over the airwaves.”

  “So, what do you say we do now? Get the hell out of this cave?”

  “Exactly,” Declan said. “We’ll have to head back down the slope.”

  “Okay,” she said, studying his face. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

  “No,” he said, and then laughed. “Come on.”

  They made their way out of the cave and into the fresh air. It was much hotter in the sun, which had begun its course to the horizon. In the air and the heat and danger, she remembered how unforgiving Afghanistan was, as was her whole situation. They again headed northwest, away from the mountain, away from their pursuers. It was deserted out here, like it must have been hundreds of years ago, only nomads passing through occasionally. No wonder. No water, no food sources, little shelter. Like usual, Declan had tried to get her to speed up. She picked up the tension in his voice, thinking that he was probably feeling the heat, too.

  She felt it ease somewhat after they finally reached some cover near the base of the mountain where it flattened out into an open valley dotted with knee-high shrubs and rocks; some as big as a car, others smaller than a breadbox. Declan pointed the way toward an old, abandoned dump truck, sun-rotted and half buried in the sand. She eyed it dubiously, wondering where it came from and what it was doing way out here in the middle of nowhere. But there wasn’t much time to rest. The sound and then shock wave of an explosion rumbled through Sophia’s body. With a gasp, she fell to her knees, and in her scramble to catch her balance, she twisted her ankle. She cried out in pain as she heard a distinct pop, even over the sound of the muffled explosion behind them, perhaps a couple of miles away, its rumble echoing over the landscape.

  Grimacing in pain, she twisted to look behind her, from the direction they came, eyes wide as she watched a huge whitish-gray cloud rise high into the sky. What the hell?

  “Declan? What the hell was that?”

  His mouth set in a firm line, but he didn’t so much as glance backward. “You okay? We have to make for that next group of hills . . . they’ll be watching—”

  “What was it?” she cried, trying to stand, but her ankle wouldn’t take her weight. She sagged to the ground, fighting back tears of frustration. “I can’t . . . my ankle . . .”

  Now she clung to the rock, hearing Declan’s footsteps not too far behind. Only it didn’t sound like his steps at all, him running downhill through sand in a frantic hurry to get to her.

  Declan said nothing as he slid his hands beneath her and scooped her up, cradling Sophia against his chest as he hurried down the slope toward the abandoned dump truck. He carried her to the shadowed side and lowered her to the hot sand, it oozin
g through the thin layer of her increasingly shredded pajama bottoms. He didn’t even ask if she was hurt. He must have just assumed.

  Then he swore about something instead, picked her up again, and headed for the hills, moving as fast as he could without spilling them both to the ground.

  “There’s a ravine over there . . . about a hundred yards away . . . we’ve gotta make it over there, and fast.” He shifted her then, flipped her up and over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. She didn’t even have a chance to gasp as he took off running.

  She didn’t have to ask who or what that meant, just feeling his speed pick up, Sophia trying to get her vision to focus on the bobbing horizon to see what it was that made him run so fast. Her head and shoulders dangled, every step forcing the air from her chest. She tried to lift her head, to brace herself against his waist, but realized she was making it harder for him. She forced herself to grow limp. She heard his breath grow heavy, and it worried her. This was the first time—well, second time—that she’d heard him so out of breath. The first time had been for much better reasons.

  She looked out again and saw that they had bottomed out on the flat plain and were now entering a dried riverbed of crushed stone, Declan’s feet crunching over top. Then she heard the roar of truck engines, and Declan’s cursing—the latter likely the result of the former.

  Sophia lifted her head again, and could see, barely, a line of trucks winding along the base of the hill. Long trails of dust rising into the air.

  Declan spoke. “Here,” he said, and stopped, reaching down and placing her in the dirt behind a row of dried-up shrubs at the edge of the riverbed. He took off the backpack, hiding it quickly in the shrubs, and then returned to Sophia, digging with his hands in the sand nearby. She joined him without question, no idea what he was doing, but the speed and ferocity of his digging swept her hands away several times, enough eventually for Sophia to figure out her help wasn’t needed. So what else could she do?