Alex (In the Company of Snipers)

by Winters, Irish

  He blew out a deep sigh. “I’m taking a few days off, Murph. Soon as I talk with the Air Force, I’m heading west to do a little fishing.”

  Two

  Alex

  Alex took one last glance at his pickup, parked, locked, and left behind at the Gas-N-Go, a combined service station and food mart. He had made arrangements with the owner years ago. The moment Dan Fletcher saw the truck, he would know Alex was in town. He might never see Alex, but Dan would keep an eye out for his friend’s truck. That was one of the benefits of soldiering. Friends showed up in the darnedest places.

  Calling his dogs, Whisper and Smoke to his side, he walked briskly into the trees, his mind already eight miles deep in the forest and sitting relaxed on his cabin steps with a cup of coffee in his hand. That’s all he wanted, time to not have to keep up with all the balls he had set in motion. The drive across country had already restored some of his peace of mind. The solitude of this particular place ought to do the rest.

  It might not make sense to others that he kept a cabin so far from where he lived, but it worked for him. Twenty-seven hundred miles between work and play made a decent buffer zone. Besides, this tract of twenty acres was the only thing his old man had ever given him. A son doesn’t walk away from an inheritance like that.

  He didn’t know how his father came to own the land, and he didn’t care. It was a decent chunk of property, so Alex had developed it with a cabin that was nothing more than two rooms and an indoor bathroom closet under a cedar shake roof. To keep things civil, he installed a septic tank and minimal indoor plumbing a couple years back. He had added a few amenities over the years—some dried food storage to supplement a successful day of fishing or hunting, and an outdoor shower that relied on gravity when he was ambitious enough to lug water.

  Eight miles south of the two-lane highway, the tract of remote wilderness butted up against Forest Service land on the southwest side, and private property on the rest. The Forest Service kept easement rights to an old dirt road through his land, but Alex had never seen so much as another hunter, much less a ranger in all the times he had been there. The road came in handy to haul building supplies by ATV back then. The remote cabin was perfect for the remote man he had become. At least his old man got that one thing right.

  He drew in a deep breath of the forest decay rising up from the ground, the sweet perfume of a much-needed retreat from the world. This was what he had driven across country for, the absolute surety he wouldn’t have to see or talk to another human being for a while. He set a quick pace for himself and his canine companions.

  Tossing a small branch into the thicket, he watched their fluffy backsides disappear. He wouldn’t have them but for the mistake of listening a minute too long to his good friend, Max Randle, a top-notch Army canine handler. It turned out to be one of those good mistakes though. Before Alex knew it, Max passed away from cancer. Because of that one night’s conversation, he left the dogs to Alex. They needed a good home. Max knew Alex would take good care of them. Somehow, Max must have known they would also take care of Alex.

  Both were trained military dogs. Smoke was the shorter dog, a stubby version of a German shepherd called a Belgian Malinois, and by far the more obedient of the two. Whisper was another case all together. A pure black German shepherd, the dog was obedient enough, but he did a disappearing act sometimes, taking off by himself and showing up hours later. It had nothing to do with chasing female dogs; he had been neutered years ago. He seemed to be looking for something, like he was born restless. Alex chalked it up to the trauma of war. It was no big deal. After all, he was doing a disappearing act of his own.

  With nothing but his compass to follow, the world slipped off his shoulders with every step. This trip he had packed light with only a few bottles of drinking water, fewer clothes and a small solar generator. He was tired of cold showers. He carried a thirty-aught-six rifle over his shoulder and his SIG P229 pistol in his pack. It never hurt to be prepared.

  The dogs ran ahead, chasing squirrels and chipmunks as they explored deer trails and gopher holes. This was as much a vacation for them as him. Alex smiled when he caught up with them. Both dogs sat at attention beneath a low hanging pine bough. A black squirrel hung by his back legs, swaying back and forth as he let the dogs have a piece of his mind. It was a comical sight—sass and hope within a foot of each other.

  Sunlight had faded by the time the cabin came into view. Hidden in the dark shade of Douglas Firs, its roof was covered in the accompanying moss that overtook everything in deep woods. Both dogs trotted off, but Alex paused to take in the welcome view. Ah, home sweet home. Maybe, rain willing, he would work on that rickety porch or patch the roof. Work as simple and mundane as that sounded like R&R.

  Suddenly, his sniper’s sixth sense pinged. Something wasn’t right. But what? A bear? A cougar? He heard nothing, and the dogs hadn’t raised any alarm. Caution tightened his stride. There sat Smoke, still as stone, his ears pitched forward at something on the porch. He glanced up at Alex, and then right back to whatever—or whoever—was on the porch.

  Someone’s in my cabin. He pulled his pistol free of its thigh holster. People have a lot of nerve these days.

  “What’s up, Smokey?” He kept his voice low, approaching along the side of the log structure with caution. Glancing sideways and around, nothing revealed the source of his anxiety. The weathered porch creaked under his cautious step. He froze.

  What the—?

  There stood Whisper on the porch with his lips pulled back, his canines bared, and standing protectively over the splayed legs of—a what? A department store mannequin? A dead body? He couldn’t believe what he saw. Those outstretched legs belonged to a young woman sprawled against his cabin door, her head bowed to her chest, her hands limp at her side, palms up. Covered with blackened patches of blood and bruises, she looked dead.

  Whisper growled, for an instant threatening both master and canine companion.

  “Knock it off.” Alex brushed the dog out of his way, annoyed the mutt thought he could get away with that kind of behavior. There was no contest. This was no fresh kill, and Whisper wouldn’t have won if it were. The dog whined once and backed away, relinquishing the porch to Alex, his tail tucked between his back legs.

  Alex knelt beside the woman, feeling her neck for a pulse. It took a few seconds to locate, but a weak beat stuttered beneath his fingertips. Lifting the tangled mass of hair away from her face, he ducked closer to get a better look. Her eyes popped open.

  “Don’t hurt me,” she moaned, shielding her face with her arm. “Please—”

  “Who are you?” Instantly, he was angry she would say something like that, but she didn’t answer. Her head lolled to her shoulder. He knelt closer, peering into her bloodied face. Did she just die?

  “No,” he ground out between clenched teeth. “You started this. You’d better not die on me now.”

  Whisper whined, crowding Alex while he eased the woman to her back. “Back off.” He elbowed the dog. “Get out of here.”

  Whisper only stepped back two feet, turned a full circle, and came right back.

  Alex pressed his ear to the woman’s chest, holding his breath while he listened for a heartbeat. It was there and fairly steady considering how bad she looked-and smelled. Sweat and dirt was not the welcome he had expected at his cabin. Neither was she. A ragged groan sounded deep in her throat. Okay. That was a good sign. Maybe she heard him. Maybe she actually listened and decided not to die.

  He sat back on his legs and blew out a deep breath, his heart pounding at this abrupt about-face to what had been a relaxing afternoon walk. Glancing at the immediate forest around his cabin, he searched for a reason this mess of a woman would be here on his porch. There was nothing. No one. Just her.

  He ruffled Whisper’s thick black mane. “Sorry, tough guy, but you’ve got to give me some room to work, okay?”

  Still trying to calm down, he checked her pulse again and smoothed his hands ove
r her shoulders, down her arms, hips and thighs. It didn’t look like she had anything major wrong with her, no broken legs or arms, but there was plenty of what looked like road-rash across her extremities and dried blood in her hair. As bad as she looked, he was afraid of a gunshot, but he found nothing. A concussion was a possibility, but it’s not like he was a doctor. He had had some medical training in the Corps. A man didn’t survive warfare without knowing how to tourniquet a bloody limb or plug a sucking chest wound, but this was different. This was a woman.

  Damn. What do I do now?

  Whisper nestled his big black snout over Alex’s shoulder like he was offering free advice with his whine.

  “I know.” Alex scratched the dog’s nose. “You found her. Now what do we do with her? You got any bright ideas?”

  Whisper slapped the porch once with his moose-sized paw.

  “No. You can’t keep her. She’s not a toy,” Alex muttered as he came to grips with this new development. Talking to his dog helped him normalize the shock he had just received, but he also found Whisper’s reaction odd. Smoke had taken up residence at the bottom of the porch steps, but Whisper acted like he knew this woman. Dogs. Go figure. They’re as hard to figure out as women.

  “Well, let’s get you off the porch and out of the weather, shall we?” Alex said to the woman. There weren’t a lot of choices. The option to hike back to the road for help had expired with the fading afternoon sun. Besides, he wasn’t convinced she was stable. She might die while he went for help. His cell phone wasn’t any good either. No bars out this far in the sticks, not like it mattered until now. Like it or not, she was all his.

  It took a minute to unlock the cabin door, and another to scoop her up and off the porch. She didn’t resist, her head limp and her arms dangling while he angled her through the door and set her on the cot inside. She was barely an armful, light as a feather and cold to the touch. Grabbing a blanket from the back room where he stored his supplies, Alex covered her gently. She was a pitiful sight, her cheek bruised, one eye swollen and bloodied. Even now a bloody tear trailed over her cheek. He patted her cheek in an attempt to rouse her.

  “Hey there. Can you hear me? Can you talk? How long have you been sitting here?”

  Groaning, she rolled away.

  “Guess not.” He combed his fingers through his hair. Talking to an unconscious woman didn’t make a lot of sense now that he thought about it. Still, it seemed the right thing to do. “Okay then. You stay here and rest. I’ll bring some firewood in, see if we can get you warmed up.”

  Hurriedly, he lit the kerosene lamps, filled the small water tank from the nearby spring and put a kettle of water on to boil. He rummaged through what few supplies he had brought. If nothing else, they needed something to eat and drink. Lastly, he hauled in a few armfuls of firewood and cleared the chimney before he stoked the cast iron stove. In no time at all, a decent fire glowed inside the stove’s belly. He bumped the stove door closed with his boot, turning back to his uninvited guest.

  She hadn’t moved. Alex took stock of his options, like there were any. Whoever she was, she looked to be in her mid to late twenties, maybe a hundred pounds soaking wet. Dark brown hair straggled down her back in a tangled mass that looked like it hadn’t been washed in days. She was dirty, beat up, and the last thing he needed. Hell, she might die right there on his cot. In his cabin. During his vacation.

  He stood with his arms crossed, watching her. Whoever she was, she was going to need help that required a lot of physical contact. This wasn’t just changing a tire for some gal on the freeway, not just a thank-you-so-much-kind-sir type of assistance to a damsel in automotive distress. No, this would be personal and messy. He would have to be a nurse, and he just did not want to deal with her.

  His training kicked in. At last, he decided. Wake her up. Get her moving, clean her up, feed her, and get her out of there. Maybe she’ll snap out of it and be glad to be on her way. Yeah, well, maybe I’m stupid, too. Who am I trying to kid? She’s not going anywhere tonight.

  He snagged one of the few water bottles left in his pack and crouched beside her. “Come on. Here’s some water. Wake up.”

  She groaned, slowly rolled to her back, and opened her one good eye. He waited, hoping she could at least sit up to drink. Not going to happen. She blinked rapidly like she couldn’t focus. Begrudgingly, he knelt one knee to the floor and circled his hand beneath her neck just enough to lift her head to drink. The first few swallows ran down her neck, but this woman was thirsty. She grabbed his hand and all but sucked the bottle dry, leaning back with a sigh when finished. Her lips moved like she meant to say something, but the way she laid there panting and licking her lips told him plenty. He needed to break out his water purification system.

  I should have thought of that sooner. Of course, she would be thirsty.

  After a couple more groans, she pulled herself onto one elbow, glancing around the cabin like she was getting her bearings and having a hard time of it. Squinting up at Alex, her teeth chattered. “Th-th-anks.”

  He waved her gratitude off. “What are you doing out here? You’re eight miles in the middle of nowhere.”

  “H-hurt my head. My head hurts.” This was an encouraging development. She might not have answered his question, but at least she was talking.

  He tried to sound concerned. “Looks like you fell. What happened?”

  “Had to r-run.” She rolled over and placed both feet flat on the floor, leaning forward like she intended to stand. Shaking so much the blanket slipped to the floor, a single tear squeezed out of her blackened eye when she bent to retrieve it.

  “S-sorry. I sh-should g-go.” She clutched her head in her hands, shaking it side to side.

  “Hey, hold on. Hold on.” Alex came to his senses. Guilt stabbed his dumb ass. “You’re not going anywhere. ‘Least not tonight.”

  Draping the blanket back around her shoulders, his hand covered hers. Cold and clammy, it was a sure indicator of how bad off she was. And how small. Her hand fit perfectly within his like it might have belonged there. He jerked away from her inadvertent touch, surprised at that stupid thought. It strengthened his resolve to get her on her way, but it also forced him to take better stock of the situation. Obviously she didn’t want to be here either. She was in no condition to leave, and he wouldn’t let her.

  “Just sit there for a minute. Can you at least do that?” His words came out impatient and sharp. Even he noticed.

  Of course, she did, too. Pulling the blanket under her chin, she leaned forward again. “N-no. I’m gonna g-go.”

  “No! I mean, no. You’re not going anywhere tonight. It’s late and it’s cold, and … you’re not going anywhere.” Again he wished he could find his gentle voice. Everything out of his mouth sounded just plain mean. “Can you at least tell me your name?”

  She buried her face in her hands. “K-Kelsey. I think it’s Kelsey.”

  The tremble in her voice told Alex plenty. It was bad enough he had a strange woman to deal with. He didn’t need her hysterical on top of everything else.

  “Well, I’m Alex Stewart. This is my cabin.” The tone of challenge out of his mouth surprised even him. He didn’t mean to sound territorial like, “What the hell are you doing in my cabin?” He gritted his teeth as he accepted what he had to do.

  “Let’s get you washed and fed. You want something more to drink before we get started?” He blinked at his own words. Even when he thought he was being nice, they came out annoyed.

  “N-no.” She stared at the floor, frail, sick, and needy, the blanket clutched in one shaky hand, the metal bed rail in the other.

  He retrieved a plastic washtub from his kitchen cupboard, filled it with warm water, and brought some supplies to the cot. A couple of old wooden crates served as end tables and footrests. He nudged one close to the cot with his foot and placed the washtub there, wishing she could do this next part by herself. As shaky as she was, he doubted it. The last thing he needed was to be p
icking her up again.

  “Put your arm in this tub,” he ordered brusquely.

  She obeyed. Tears trickled down both cheeks now. Usually a woman in tears melted him, and this one was plainly frightened, but he was too annoyed to worry about it now. It was going to be a long night. He was hungry and tired and—This is not how I planned my vacation.

  Smoke settled against the door with a disinterested thud. Whisper, on the other hand, sat close by, watching his new best friend with bright eyes.

  Alex brushed the big dog aside with his knee. “Move it,” he growled. “Go lay down.”

  The dog circled the cabin, but came right back to where he had been before, watching while Alex scooped a cup of the warm, soapy water and poured it down her arm. Instantly he regretted his words. Whisper didn’t deserve the bad treatment he had just dished out any more than she did.

  She shivered.

  “Let me know if I’m hurting you.” Right now, he just wanted to get this unpleasant task behind him and food on the table.

  As he wrung the washcloth and commenced wiping the grime away, he saw imbedded gravel and dirt in the crusted-over patches on her hand and arm. This gentle cleaning had to cause some level of pain, but she didn’t flinch or cry. Not so much as a whimper. He had to give her credit for not pitching a fuss even when he took hold of her arm, twisting it gently to make sure he cleaned it entirely. She trembled, but he ignored that response. Anyone in her condition would be shaking. It’s adrenaline, that’s all.

  At last the softened scabs released most of the surface dirt and debris. By the time one arm and hand was clean and dried, Alex knew she needed real medical help. Unfortunately, he was it.

  He tried small talk. “What did you do, fall off a motorcycle or something?”

  “I don’t think so,” she said timidly, staring into the water.

  Alex let it go at that. The problem was that one patch of bloody scabs only led to another, and they all needed to be cleaned and treated. His mind automatically catalogued every bruise, scrape, and cut as he worked. The damage was mostly confined to her hands, arms, shoulders, legs, and back. Apparently she had tucked her face into her chest when she fell. In doing so, she must have also taken a hard knock to the back of her head. As more of her skin came into view, he detected other marks as well, little round scars, like chicken-pox maybe. Maybe not.