Edge of Survival

by Toni Anderson

  Fuck! His men were going to die. Shit, shit, shit.

  Mouth dry, heart squeezed, his finger tightening on the trigger of his MP5. A scream, a woman’s god-awful scream shattered his soul every single time.

  The cameraman lay dead in the rubble with a smile on his face, the camera gripped tightly in his hand. Concrete dust drifted through the air like falling snow. The reporter yelled at him. She had soft brown curls and blood splashed across her chest. He grabbed her arm. She glared at him before she seized the camera from the dead man’s fingers.

  He came back into himself, his breathing heavy and harsh. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real. But it felt bloody real.

  “You all right, man?” the bartender asked.

  Daniel didn’t know how long he’d been sitting frozen, lost in time and madness, but the pretty girl had moved over to the pool table and he was alone. Thank God.

  Shivers overtook his body like jitterbugs. His fingers closed firmly around the beer bottle. He just wanted it to all go away. He raised the bottle and closed his eyes and let the liquid touch his lips.

  He slammed the bottle back down without taking a sip, the beer foaming up and overflowing onto the black lacquer table. Sweat slicked his brow. His stomach felt as though he’d been kicked by a camel.

  He had a problem.

  Not just a small problem. A big effing problem. He ran a palm over his sweat-laden brow. Boy, did he have a problem.

  He had post-traumatic stress disorder.

  He scrubbed his fingers through his short hair. PTSD. He couldn’t believe it had taken him this long to recognize and acknowledge the symptoms. He had all the classic signs—guilt, avoidance, dissociation, combined with flashbacks, nightmares and addiction. They’d studied it between postings back in Credenhill, so he knew all about the theory—he’d just pretended it didn’t apply to him. That he could deal with his problems on his own.

  Drink had kept the monster at bay for a while. So had flying. So had running away from everything and everyone he’d ever loved. Meaningless sex had been another diversion—getting the physical release, the distraction, the exhaustion. But not engaging his mind, not giving a damn about his partners or himself, except getting their rocks off.

  He hadn’t had meaningless sex with Cam.

  He’d tried. Jesus, had he tried. But she’d had other ideas and kept forcing him to look at her when they kissed, making him laugh, compelling him to see the truly wonderful person she was.

  They hadn’t just had sex.

  Whether he liked it or not, he had made love with Cameran Young. And then he’d run away because she mattered to him and he was terrified of what that meant. He’d ditched her. She was the closest he’d had to a friend in years and maybe, just maybe, he should give himself points for giving a damn about someone besides himself.

  That last mission had blasted all his training to smithereens because that reporter, that miserable bitch, had tried to destroy him after he’d killed the man she loved, and he’d half believed she was justified.

  It had been sobering to realize there were some things the SAS could not fix, and the look of doubt in his mother’s eyes after she’d seen that news report was one of those things.

  So he’d bolted. And here he sat in a dive in Nain, a burned-out emotional wreck, running away from the only person who’d pierced his guard in years. Bloody hell.

  He stood up and knew exactly what he had to do. He’d start by making a phone call to Maggie. See if the SAS could recommend a shrink or a certain type of therapy. He winced even at the thought but squared his shoulders. He wasn’t a fucking coward.

  Miracle of miracles, his cell phone had a signal. But it wasn’t Maggie’s number he called first, it was the ship.

  Patrick, the first mate, answered. “Imaviaq.”

  “Hey, Paddy. It’s Daniel. Can I speak to Cam?”

  “No.”

  Daniel rubbed his jaw. “Look, I know I treated her badly this morning, but I just need to explain—”

  “You treated her badly?” Patrick’s tone changed.

  Daniel was confused. “Why won’t you let me speak to her if you didn’t know that?”

  “Because, boyo, she isn’t here.”

  Daniel’s heart raced, which was stupid. Cam was a grown woman. But what if she’d cut and run already? He cleared his throat. “Where is she?”

  Patrick snuffled out a soft laugh. “I do believe this is the first time you’ve ever asked me a question that wasn’t directly related to work.”

  Daniel was strangled with worry and not in the mood for chitchat. “Where is she?” His voice came out fierce. Cam always affected him like this. Had from the moment he met her.

  “I kind of like it, Daniel, I really do.”

  Daniel could hear the smile in the man’s voice while he wanted to snarl. “Where the hell is she?”

  “Aw, come on. I’m just having a bit of fun with you, relax.” Fun? “She went ashore and took an ATV up to the falls—”

  “Alone?”

  “Yes, alone. She’s not a kid, and she didn’t want company. I offered.”

  Daniel felt panic close in on all sides. “Radio her. Make sure she’s okay. I’m coming back to the ship. Send Bobby over to pick me up. I’ll be waiting at the landing pad for him.”

  Patrick sighed. “June said you were smitten.” His wife June was in charge of human resources for the ship and was based down in St. John’s. She’d come north for a few days to see her husband. Daniel had spoken to her that morning over breakfast, and suddenly something Cam said to him earlier made sense. She thought he was moving on because she’d seen him with June. She thought it was another woman that had made him break up with her, rather than his own crippled emotions.

  “I’ll send Bobby over when the cloud ceiling lifts and I’ll radio Cam, but you’re worried ’bout nothing. She’s a grown woman.”

  But trouble found Cam everywhere she went, and Daniel hadn’t forgotten what had happened to Sylvie. A killer was still on the loose, and he’d rather spend his leave watching Cam’s back than pickling his liver. He hung up and lifted his backpack, just about to jerk it onto his shoulder when he noticed the dense silence in the smoky atmosphere.

  “Freeze!”

  Daniel blinked at the RCMP officers approaching him, guns drawn.

  “I said freeze!”

  Oh, shit. Daniel hadn’t realized they were talking to him until the tension ratcheted up another level. The guy in charge of Sylvie’s murder investigation stared straight at him.

  “You make a move toward that gun and I will shoot you,” the officer stated.

  Gun? Daniel raised his hands away from his unloaded shotgun even though it was on the floor, locked up inside its case. “What’s the problem, officer?”

  “Turn around and spread your arms and legs against the wall.”

  Daniel contemplated his options. Because he hadn’t done anything wrong, and because he wanted to get back to Cam ASAP, he did as ordered. But something brittle snapped inside him when the cop slapped handcuffs on his wrists.

  Cam revved the small four-wheel ATV to get up a muddy slope. The weather was cold and grim, the smell of the forest fecund and fusty in the damp air. She wore rain pants, a lightweight polar fleece and had her raincoat tied around her waist. The sky was solid gray, and the pressure of it was unutterably dismal.

  She’d taken her insulin shot and eaten her lunch back on the ship and figured she had four hours to make the round trip. Of course she’d packed enough insulin and food for three days in the bush—just in case.

  Cam paused where the river valley opened up in front of her. To her right were the falls, with the river straight ahead, flowing to her left for about five meandering miles before it hit the sea. She scratched her head under the strap of her helmet. Hoped the former owner employed good personal hygiene.

  The light wasn’t great, but it would be good enough to get some decent pictures if she used the flash. And she’d
brought a tripod to get a steady image. Daniel would have enjoyed this adventure although he would have disapproved of her going alone because he thought she was loaded for trouble. She bit down on her thoughts. Who cared what Daniel thought? She could look after herself. He wasn’t here. He didn’t give a damn about her.

  God, she missed him.

  She felt empty. They’d only known each other a few weeks, but she longed for his companionship, his ready-for-anything approach to life.

  Moving from small islet to small islet, she forged her way, splashing through the shallowest part of the river. A few trees had been cleared on the opposite bank, and the slope was pretty easy to negotiate, though Cam was careful. She didn’t want to get stuck or roll the vehicle and end up having to radio to be rescued. That would be mortifying after all her protestations of independence.

  Her radio crackled and she put on the brakes so she could answer. It was Patrick, the first mate.

  “How you doing, Doc?” he asked. The crew had all adopted Daniel’s nickname for her.

  “I’m good.” Her cheeks were hot from exertion in the cool atmosphere. Or maybe she was glowing because of her boldness. She wasn’t letting herself be limited by fear today. Sure, she’d come all the way to Northern Labrador, but she’d been ferried around by helicopter, cooked for, and slept on a ship full of amenities. She wasn’t exactly roughing it.

  “No bears,” she responded, “which is always good.” She checked over each shoulder. The bear bangers were in her fleece pocket, heavy against her side, but at least she wouldn’t misplace them in a panic. Not that she intended to panic.

  Patrick’s silence seemed to be fraught. He must have heard that Daniel had dumped her.

  “Check in every hour and be back at the beach for pickup by 5:30 p.m. at the latest. Understood?”

  “Roger that.” She mimicked his Newfie accent and grinned. This sort of mothering she could cope with. Watching out for her while still letting her be self-sufficient? It suited her perfectly. Unlike Daniel’s heavy-handed tactics. She huffed out a growl because she couldn’t get him out of her mind. She said goodbye to Patrick and carried on along the trail, spotting moose and caribou tracks in the thick black mud, but nothing that looked remotely wolverine.

  The noise of the ATV probably scared away everything within a five mile radius. Which was good. She got to the top of the falls on the opposite side of the river from where she’d done her tagging and stopped on top of a massive flat boulder. She pulled off her helmet, then climbed off the machine and looked down at the pool where she’d almost died.

  A fish jumped, fighting against the rushing water, trying to make it up the falls, and she smiled, making out an antenna beneath its belly.

  A storm of emotion hit her. Daniel had saved her life here. And even though she knew deep down he’d have done that for anyone, he’d saved her life.

  Death had sat on her shoulder since she was fourteen, an inexorable shadow tempering how she lived every moment. Hovering over her while she did everything possible to beat it back. And Daniel had defeated it for her with boldness and bravery. Snatched her back from the grim reaper. So maybe the fact she’d fallen for him wasn’t that surprising, especially combined with the handsome face, sexy accent and amazing body.

  She’d fallen in love before and it hadn’t lasted. The sadness would leave her. The melancholy would dissipate and she’d be happy again. She knew all this. She might even fall in love again, although trying to imagine loving anyone who wasn’t Daniel made her heart ache.

  A river otter trotted down the brook, pausing when it spied her. It was huge, its coat dark-chocolate brown, but too sleek to have been what she’d seen in the woods yesterday.

  The otter slid into the water and disappeared, and she let out a breath. She checked her watch and marched back to the ATV. She didn’t have time to stand around brooding. She started the engine and turned back onto the trail towards Tooly’s cabin. She had to pass his home to travel to either the hilltop tarn where she and Daniel had swum, or to go to the upper monitoring station where she’d actually seen the animal.

  The clouds were starting to spit, and her spirits sagged. Too much rain would wash away the tracks. Maybe she’d visit Tooly and get out of the weather for half an hour before going back to the beach. She’d tell him what she’d discovered and give the old man some hope of staying in his childhood home. Hope was a vastly underrated commodity.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Guardians of the North 28th Bomber Wing

  Cam put on her rain jacket but the relentless drizzle dripped down the peak of her hood and onto her nose and off her chin. She was mostly dry beneath, but the damp air sank into her bones and froze her from the inside out. She should have turned around, but she could see the smoke from Tooly’s shack now and was determined that today would be the day she achieved at least one of her objectives without help or excuses.

  She opened the throttle and bounced over the rough terrain. The fun had gone out of the adventure about the same time the rain had started to hammer down. She pulled up outside the cabin and turned off the machine. The windowpanes were dirty, veiled with yellowed nets that harked back to pioneer days. There were storm shutters for every window. Imagine how dark and bitter it must get in winter. She ran to the door and knocked, which felt odd in the middle of nowhere but she couldn’t just walk in. She fiddled with her medical alert bracelet, playing with the catch. She tapped her foot and, when no one answered, she tried the door knob. It turned and she opened the door an inch to call out, “Anyone home?”

  She was met with a low growl that made the hair on her nape spring up as if she’d been zapped by lightning. One of Tooly’s dogs was loose in the house, and it wasn’t exuding warm and cuddly. She backed away and slammed the door closed.

  Damn.

  The last time she’d been here the sun had been shining. She huddled beneath the eaves, which dripped in a constant stream just past her nose. She stamped her feet and hugged her arms around herself. Florida was looking like paradise right now, even though it was hurricane season.

  Maybe leaving this place would be good for Tooly, although it wasn’t her decision to make. It would be up to the government, unless she was mistaken about the wolverine.

  A banging sound came from around the back of the building.

  “Tooly?” Cam yelled.

  More dogs started barking. Presumably the dog team she’d seen on her first visit, hopefully safely penned up. She headed off around the back, her hood pulled low because the wind was buffeting rain directly into her face like shower spray. At the back there was another door into the shack, in an attached lean-to that probably housed the kitchen. One window was boarded up. Maybe Tooly couldn’t afford to get it fixed? Perhaps she should mention it to Daniel…

  She whirled at a sound behind her. But it was just the wind rattling the plastic that covered a rain barrel. She opened the door to a shed and stepped inside. Furs hung from the rafters in thick bunches. The room smelled of dried fish and she couldn’t find a light switch. She shuddered at the spooky atmosphere but knew he had to make a living to survive.

  “Tooly?” It was warmer in here, but creepy. She could hear her heart beat in her ears. The light was poor despite the relatively early hour. She had to get moving.

  And then she froze. Because stretched out in front of her was a chocolate-colored pelt with distinctive creamy stripes running down each side. Her feet fused to the floor as though she’d been dipped in concrete.

  The wolverine.

  Distress compressed her lungs into tight little spheres, and she couldn’t catch her breath.

  The door creaked behind her and she turned. And there was Tooly, his eyes flinty, his mouth pressed into a firm line as he brought a shovel down on her head.

  Daniel sat in an interview room staring a hole in the table. The bald cop from St. John’s sat opposite. The skinny girl cop leaned against the wall. He didn’t look at them. Instead, he slouched like a defeate
d man.

  He’d been trained to withstand interrogation by hostile forces and didn’t figure the Canucks went in for removing fingernails or slapping electrodes on genitals. So until he knew what the hell they wanted from him, he was keeping his mouth shut.

  “We checked you out, Danny.”

  Daniel stared at the table.

  “Why’d you kill her?”

  He looked up and held the cop’s warm brown eyes. No way was he going down for something he didn’t do.

  The cop’s eyes held compassion. “I saw what they did to you in the press, son. All those years of service and they crucified you, and for what? For doing what you were trained to do.”

  Daniel looked away to the big round clock on the wall, which ticked loudly. Ten minutes past six. Cam should be back on the ship now. Maybe starting dinner. Dammit, here he was wasting time when he could be explaining everything to her. Groveling for a second chance. He eyed the telephone. “Can I make a call?”

  “In a minute, unless you want a lawyer?” Kershaw asked.

  Daniel took a calming breath and shook his head. Didn’t dare use tactical breathing because the man opposite would recognize it and know he was under pressure. And the cop would assume it was for the wrong reason. He needed to get back to Cam and tell her he was sorry. He’d been wrong. He was a coward. An emotional coward and he was going to do his best to stop messing up.

  Christ, he loved her. That thought made him sweat a hell of a lot more than the cops. Maybe he should plead guilty and go to prison? It might be easier. Safer. What if she wanted him to open up about his nightmares…? Well, he’d work out a way to tell her enough to satisfy her curiosity while he got the help he needed. She’d understand as long as he told her how he felt about her. He wasn’t running away. He just needed time to sort things out.

  It was so quiet inside the interview room that when the cop—Kershaw—turned the pages of his notebook, the noise sounded like a metal rasp against hardwood. “I can understand how that would mess you up. I mean, your regiment should have stood by you. Instead they kicked you out. Let you take the fall for doing your job.” Kershaw leaned back in his chair. “The British military sacrificed one of their own. I’m surprised you didn’t go after that bitch reporter when you got out.”