Butterfly Ops

by Jen Doyle

  “You know this for a fact,” Frank stated flatly. “And you know what was in her bag.”

  Ian nodded, not at all happy with how quick they were to decide it was something Lyndsey had actively done.

  “How, exactly?” Derek prodded.

  Is it really any of your business? was what Ian wanted to say. He couldn’t, though, since it actually was. It was their job to find out why the bear had attacked and that question was directly related.

  Oh, damn it to hell. Just get it over with. “I was looking for a toothbrush.”

  “Why?” Frank asked, an even bigger smirk on his face.

  Uh, no. That one was entirely unnecessary. The guy was just being a dick. “Pretty much just wanted to brush my teeth.”

  Frank glared at Ian, clearly not liking way he had responded. “Don’t you have a toothbrush of your own?”

  Asshole. No need for this to get out of hand. “I think it’s pretty obvious I was here with Lyndsey. If I had seen a bear around, I never would have left, and I can pretty much guarantee there wasn’t a piece of gum or food of any kind in her bag. Does that about cover it?”

  Looking at Frank, Derek said, “Maybe someone else already took whatever it was out?”

  Suspiciously, Frank turned to Ian.

  Ian didn’t buy it, but even if it were the case, it seemed like that was pretty simple. “So far I’ve seen both of you either pick up the bag or be within arm’s reach. And anyone could have been here in the last half hour.”

  “Who would have been here?” Frank challenged. “You’re in the middle of the wilderness, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Ian said, exasperated. “You guys manage to keep popping up. Who knows how many more of you are lurking in the woods.”

  Frank stared at Ian icily before turning to Derek. “I’ve seen all I need to.” He nodded curtly to Ian and Joe. “We’ll be in touch.”

  I’m sure, Ian thought, although he resisted saying it. He’d gone too far with the lurking comment. This day couldn’t be over soon enough. He watched the men disappear into the woods, then turned to Joe.

  “You were here,” he said. “What do you think?”

  Joe seemed surprised to even be asked. He looked at Ian appraisingly and then looked away, stalling for time before taking a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, taking one out, and then lighting it up. He finally shrugged and said, “I think the bear was trying to pick a fight.”

  If Matt hadn’t laughed at the sheer ridiculousness of that statement, Ian would have. All Ian could do, though, was ask, “Why?” in a kind of bewildered way.

  There was another one of those protracted silences, this time allowing for Joe to take a small tin case out of his pocket, flick in the dead ash, then put the cigarette back in his mouth as he put the tin away. He shrugged again, this time in a kind of why-are-you-asking-me way?

  “Why would a bear attack Lyndsey?” Ian asked. “She was taking a bath, for Christ’s sake.”

  This time Ian decided not to give in to the silence; he’d had enough practice with Matt after all. He knew how to sit and wait.

  It took the rest of that cigarette and well into another one before Joe finally answered, “Nanabozho.”

  Huh? “Namaboz…?”

  “Nanabozho,” Joe corrected.

  “He’s a trickster,” Zachary explained over the comm. “Like a leprechaun. Except if a leprechaun were a god and/or shapeshifter.”

  Well, alrighty then.

  Sending a mental thanks to Zachary, Ian waved his hand toward the destruction. “This is the kind of thing your gods do? Send a bear to attack someone? Pretend to answer a call for a medical evac?”

  Joe’s eyes narrowed. “Some things just happen. You see things as good or evil. I don’t.” Then he threw it right back. “Do your gods feel a need to provide you with explanations?”

  Ian wasn’t sure how the God he knew worked, but, yeah, explanations weren’t exactly an expectation. Still… “Lyndsey could have died.” If she were anyone else, she would have.

  Without bothering to respond to that statement, Joe shrugged. “Or it could have been the Maymaygwayshi.”

  “Working on it…” Catalano muttered into the comm.

  Good. Because Ian’s head was spinning. There were other avenues he could pursue, however. “The princess? Where does she fit in?”

  Joe turned his attention back to the ground.

  “Not interested in talking about it?” Ian asked, even though the answer was obvious. No big deal. Matt would find out more soon enough.

  There was a smile on Joe’s face. “Are you interested in talking about how Lyndsey killed the bear?”

  Ian pulled his head back; he hadn’t quite expected Joe to come back with that. Touché. Ian smiled. “She has a strong survival instinct.”

  Nah, Ian thought, looking at Joe’s face. He wouldn’t have believed that lame-ass explanation either. No need to dwell on it though. He looked at the nine-hundred-pound mass lying on the ground in front of him. With more than a little bit of dread, he asked, “What exactly do you do with a dead bear?”

  “That’s it?” Zachary asked with irritation. “How about pumping him for information?” Coldly, he added, “Since now we all know what he wasn’t mentioning earlier.”

  Gee, Zachary. Thanks for the reminder. Into the comm Ian said to Matt, “Define ‘all.’”

  Matt laughed. “We’re down to Zachary, TomCat, Brooks, Malek, and me, as per procedure.”

  Procedure: Once the patient’s medical status is no longer considered urgent and the other squads have responded as needed, communications revert to immediate team and Command until the situation has been fully resolved.

  Thank God for procedure. Ian’s brain had just about stopped working. “How about no pumping for the moment?”

  “Yeah,” Malek said, laughter spilling over as he spoke, “I think you’ve done enough of that for today.”

  See? Walked right into that one. “Malek, I may be past all rational thought, but the words ‘five hundred push-ups’ seem to be coming pretty easily.”

  It was hard to be too angry, though. First, because the teasing was certainly deserved, and if Malek was actually making cracks like that, then he and Brooks were pretty sure the worst had passed. Second, because even if everything else about it had sucked, that part of the day was definitely worth smiling about.

  And third, because anything that made Zachary grumpy was a plus in Ian’s book.

  Matt said, “Let’s give it a rest for now. Brooks, how is Lyndsey doing?”

  “Pulse is still strong and steady; breathing and BP are good. She’s as responsive as I need her to be for now. I’d be happy if we could get a little more in the way of supplies, though.”

  “It’s on its way,” Matt replied. “Brady’s team will be with you by nightfall. They’ve got enough in their packs to get you through. And before anyone asks, I’ve had Brady check in every five minutes so it’s really truly on its way. Zachary? I’m guessing you’re planning on staying with us until she’s awake?”

  After Zachary’s curt, “Damn, right, I am,” Matt continued, “Ian?”

  “We’re good for now.” When he was done with Matt, Ian looked at Joe.

  “Am I off the hook?” the guide asked with laughter in his eyes.

  Ian nodded. For the moment at least. He repeated the question he’d asked earlier. “So what do we do with the bear?”

  “We bury it,” Joe said in the most matter-of-fact tone.

  Yep. That was the answer Ian thought he’d get. Looking around at the solid rock they were standing on, he said, “Where?”

  Joe nodded his head at the trees. “We’ll need to find a place back there.”

  “I think we have some shovels…” Ian’s voice trailed off as he saw Joe’s face. “Please don’t shake your head. Please don’t tell me we need to use our hands.”

  With a smile, Joe turned toward the trees.

  Great. Just what I
an needed to make the day complete. “Matt, keep me—”

  Ian stopped, suddenly needing to focus every effort on remaining standing as he flashed back to the day—eight and a half years ago to be precise—that he’d spent sitting on his office floor, his head in his hands as he listened to the reports from the helicopter crash site coming in over the comm; minute-by-minute reports he’d demanded when he left the Sit Room, unable to watch any more images appear on the monitors.

  Keep me posted. God, how he’d regretted uttering those words as a detached voice said into his ear, ‘Sorry, Sir,’ before moving on to the next body; a faceless voice that had haunted him nearly every night for two years afterwards. A voice he still dreamed about on more occasions than he cared to admit.

  Keep me posted. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t said those words a million times—on almost every mission, on almost every day—since she’d died without ever having that reaction. And it certainly wasn’t as though he hadn’t grieved for Abby in the past eight years. But he hadn’t felt her so close; hadn’t felt it quite so…physically. Not in a long time at least.

  Then again, it wasn’t as though he’d had as much at stake at any point since. It didn’t matter that today’s outcome promised to be much more favorable. It still struck him in his core—what had happened to Abby; what could still happen to Lyndsey.

  He opened his eyes—hadn’t even realized they’d been closed—to find Joe standing right in front of him, concern on his face, seemingly repeating something he’d already said: “Are you okay?”

  It took a minute for Ian to find his voice. “Yeah.”

  “Ian,” Matt said. “What just happened?”

  Matt’s voice was too calm, too quiet. The way he sounded when he was really worried. Ian tried to shrug it off. “Nothing. It’s all good.”

  “That’s total bullshit,” Matt replied. “You just blacked out, didn’t you?”

  Sometimes it sucked to have your best friend monitoring everything you did. “Who else—?”

  “No one,” Matt snapped. “No one else is on the line right now. You really think I’d be involving anyone else in this conversation?”

  “What exactly is this conversation?” Ian wasn’t at all sure he wanted to hear this. He knew he should be grateful rather than irritated that Matt was concerned. And yet…

  “Strike three, Fox,” Matt said. “By my count, you’ve almost lost it at least three times this morning—and I’m being generous. You haven’t been this…” Matt stopped suddenly, trying to decide whether or not to finish the thought. When he finally did, the words spilled out. “You haven’t been like this since Abby died.” Matt’s voice showed strain as he continued softly, “You couldn’t have saved her, Ian. There was nothing you could do, nothing anyone could do.”

  Yeah, Ian thought. Matt probably felt it, too. In his own way, maybe more so, being the only survivor of the crash. There was plenty of guilt going around. “Matt…”

  “Honestly?” Matt said, cutting Ian off. “I have no idea how you held it together as much as you did this morning. But you’re on the edge; you need a break.” A smile became evident in his voice. “I think a little physical labor should do the trick.”

  So much for the warm and fuzzy, Ian thought. “You’re ordering me to bury the bear?”

  “Nah,” Matt said. “You would have done that anyway. I’m ordering you not to come back until you’re done. Not to visit Lyndsey every hour and be all hang dog; not to over analyze every minute detail Brooks mentions on the comm. Bury the bear; pay your respects; and don’t come back until you’re ready to play.”

  About to protest, Ian was silenced by Matt’s, “Don’t worry. I’ll give you reports on the half-hour and if anything—I stress, anything—changes, I’ll let you know ASAP. Understood?”

  Ian’s inclination was to be pissed off. As soon as he opened his mouth, however, he knew he wasn’t going to fight it. “Yeah. Understood.” No, make that he couldn’t fight it. He was just too drained. “Matt, tell Brooks—”

  Matt didn’t let him finish. “She’ll be there when you get back. Be strong for her then. I’m out.”

  Damn it. Ian hated it when Matt did things like that.

  Hated it more when Matt was right.

  Ian looked down at the bear and then back up at Joe. “I don’t have to chant, do I?”

  “That’s a stereotype,” Joe said, smiling as he headed towards the trees.

  After a last look at the scene, Ian followed.

  22

  Ian walked slowly, taking his time on the unfamiliar trail, glad the moon was bright enough to light the way. He had refused Joe’s offer to guide him back; he knew Joe preferred to spend his nights elsewhere. Where ‘elsewhere’ was Ian had no idea other than that it was in the opposite direction of camp. And it was actually kind of nice to have a few minutes alone, to at least try to process this taxing day.

  To say the last eight hours had been unusual would be an understatement—an out-of-this-world daydream turning into an out-of-control nightmare before settling into an odd and trippy sleepwalk of a day. Handfuls of dirt had punctuated a series of images, a slow motion slideshow taking place in his brain: black and blue and white and red. A bone poking through where it shouldn’t appear; a shoulder not there when it should be.

  Dig hard enough to force back the grief. Deep enough to bury the guilt.

  A bruise on a face branded by metal; a gash across a breast, courtesy of a bear.

  Dig a little harder; dig a little deeper.

  The gentle lapping of a hand skimming through the water’s surface.

  Dig harder.

  A harsh set of words and the slamming of a door.

  Dig deeper.

  Lyndsey’s eyes, full of trust and on fire.

  Harder.

  Abby’s eyes, vacant, unseeing.

  Deeper.

  Lyndsey erupting out of a fully unconscious state. Abby, just lying there despite every ounce of Ian’s being willing her to get up and walk away.

  Harder.

  He should have been there for Abby the way he’d been there for Lyndsey. Abby shouldn’t have died alone.

  Deeper.

  He should never have let things come to that point; he should never have let her walk away.

  Ian’s foot hit an exposed root, and he put his hand out to stop himself from falling.

  ‘Let.’ That was a good word. As if he could have stopped either of them from walking away; neither was the kind of woman to allow someone else to choose a course of action for her; they certainly had that in common. It was one of the few similarities, in fact, probably one of the things that had attracted him to each of them: the way their eyes would gleam, smirks would form every time either of them granted him the illusion of control.

  Yeah. Let. Not quite.

  Ian pushed off the tree and resumed his way along the path.

  Muscles groaning every inch of the way, he brought his hand up and switched on his comm. Knowing full well Matt was aware the comm was live again, Ian was surprised at his friend’s restraint when it was ten full seconds before he heard: “Welcome back. You doing okay?”

  In his best Boot Camp voice, Ian barked, “Ready to play again, Sir!”

  There were a few moments of silence before Matt responded, “So it didn’t make much of a difference, huh?”

  He never had been very good at fooling Matt. The shrug was evident in Ian’s voice. “The bear’s buried.”

  “That’s good at least,” Matt said. “Did you really have to use your hands?”

  “A little bit hands; mostly MacGyver-type shovels made out of branches and rocks.”

  There was another pause. Matt clearly wasn’t too impressed by Ian’s answers. “How’s that whole blacking out thing going?”

  Ian wouldn’t have minded more questions about how they went about burying a humongous bear with rocks and branches, although—to be totally honest—he probably wouldn’t have been able to answer since everything was
all blended together. His mental state was not something he was prepared to discuss, however, especially given the aforementioned blur of a day thing. Which, incidentally, when added to completely losing all sense of time might in some peoples’ minds—Matt’s, for example—constitute ‘blacking out’ on an even bigger scale than before. Ian was therefore making the executive decision of attributing it to the drudgery of physical labor. “That seems to have resolved itself. How—?”

  “She’s fine,” Matt answered without needing to hear the rest of the question. “Nothing’s changed since my last update.”

  That statement brought about an unexpected rush of relief, one that was particularly surprising since Ian had spent the day listening to Matt’s reports that Lyndsey was improving steadily. And yet he felt like he could breathe for the first time all day, halting his trek as the air hit him full force and the fog in his head lifted.

  “You still there?” Matt asked when Ian didn’t respond.

  “Still here.” Newly energized, Ian had to stop himself from running, overcome with a need to see Lyndsey. “I’ll be back in ten minutes.”

  Matt’s smile was carried over the airwaves. “I’ll tell them to have dinner waiting.”

  Not really that hungry, Ian thought when the campsite finally came into view. Ian barely registered Malek or the rest of Brady’s squad sitting around a campfire a little further down the beach; he was focused instead on the tent that sheltered Lyndsey and the three men sitting next to it—Brooks, Brady, and someone with his back turned towards Ian. Someone who looked a lot like—yep, damn it—Dominic.

  Ian was not at all happy with how close Dominic was sitting to Lyndsey—his hand alongside her, indicating far more familiarity than Ian thought was appropriate. Granted, Dominic had been protective of her in a weird sort of way all along; in a way—to be specific—that irritated the hell out of Ian, but only seemed to amuse Lyndsey. Which in turn, of course, only annoyed Ian more. It certainly wasn’t helping now.

  As soon as Brooks and Brady noticed Ian approaching, they stood up and wordlessly moved back, clearing a path to Lyndsey. Dominic wasn’t nearly as accommodating—though he stood once he realized Ian was there, he seemed to have no intention of moving away from the tent.