Beyond The Limit

by Lindsay McKenna

  Cali wondered why he hadn’t unsaddled them. But then she realized that, if they were discovered, the Taliban could quickly slip on the bridles and ride hell-bent-for-leather and escape. Cali felt sorry for the horses. Having a saddle on for long periods didn’t do their backs any good.

  Stomach growling, she watched as Zalmai walked back over to the fire. He brought her a wooden bowl and a cup of coffee. Her mouth watered in anticipation.

  “May I have some water? Please?” she asked him in Pashto as he set the food down beside her.

  Glowering, he nodded and spun away.

  Cali looked longingly at the bowl of food. There was rice, vegetables and bits of lamb in the curry sauce over them. Despite her situation, she was starving. And she realized that if she was going to stay strong, she had to eat.

  Zalmai brought back a flask of water. He then took the knife from the sheath at his side, leaned down and sliced through the thick bonds around her wrists.

  Groaning, Cali felt sharp pains pulse up her arms as they fell away. The ropes had cut deeply. She sat there feeling the blood begin to flow back into her numbed hands. Flexing her fingers was an agony.

  “Eat,” the boy commanded, sheathing his knife. “And do not try to escape or he will shoot you.” He pointed to the guard who stood scowling at her across the way.

  “I won’t escape,” Cali said, reaching for the water. “Thank you.”

  Zalmai sneered at her and turned away. His tasks done, he could now sit with the men around the fire.

  Cali ate ravenously with her fingers. There were no utensils. All the while, she kept glancing about furtively, checking out the cave as the light grew brighter. Eventually, as the sun rose higher, she realized that the cave faced east. And west was where the plant site lay, somewhere far, far below them.

  Despite the constant pounding in her head, Cali tried to compute the miles they’d traveled. From the time when she’d been knocked unconscious to their arrival around dawn, their trek would have taken twelve to fourteen hours. At no time did she think the party had trotted or galloped, for the slopes they’d climbed were slippery and far too dangerous for any kind of speed. A horse could walk roughly three to five miles in an hour, depending upon the terrain. That meant they might be anywhere from thirty-six to fifty-six miles away from the power plant.

  Cali’s legs slowly strengthened and her wrists began to burn in earnest as the blood flow returned. She’d rather feel pain and know there was no permanent circulation damage to her hands from the tight bonds she’d worn. She glanced at the horses, which were voraciously eating. Perhaps she would be able to steal a mount. The Arabian would have to run far enough, fast enough, to outdistance her captors. But, she didn’t know the trails and she’d be lost. Damn. Finishing off the flask of water, she sat back, sated.

  The murmuring of the men around the campfire continued. The soft snorting of the horses, the smell of the sweet hay all conspired against Cali. She slid downward, tucked her hands beneath her head and closed her eyes. There was nothing she could do right now. The horses were exhausted and so was she. No, she’d have to try and make her escape later.

  Right now, Cali just wanted to sleep. Sleep and dream of all Pete Trayhern had meant in her life.

  “COME, PETE, THIS WAY,” Hesam urged the engineer, jabbing his heels into the flanks of his black Arabian stallion as they climbed the steep, narrow trail.

  Pete urged his gray gelding up the slippery slope. They were forty miles into the Kush, following a sparse, sometimes nonexistent trail. Ahead of Hesam were his best trackers—two older men who had hunted snow leopards, wild goats and deer throughout the region. Amazingly, despite their age and gray beards the men walked most of the time, the reins of their horses in their hands, as they hunted for signs that the Taliban had passed this way.

  Pete rode up beside Hesam. The sun was low in the west, and at eight thousand feet on this spring day, the air was cool. Pete was glad he had on his camouflage jacket to stave off the chill. Behind them, he heard the scrambling of ten other horsemen, for the sheik had come with his best men, all heavily armed, to find Cali.

  “These two men,” Hesam told him, pride in his tone, “can find spore where no one else can. Trust me, my friend, they not only know the shape of each horse’s hoofprints, they can follow them anywhere.”

  Pete looked down at the barren gray rock. It was impossible to find prints on this. Yet these trackers had. “I don’t know how….” he murmured. He felt a small trickle of hope. His heart wrenched in his chest every time he thought of Cali missing—kidnapped by their enemy. Tears pricked the back of his eyes time and again, and he kept gulping to keep them from showing.

  He knew the warlord could have chosen not to get involved in the hunt for Cali. Personal pride, Hesam had told him, would not allow him just to send his soldiers to look for her. Cali was a friend, and friends did not abandon one another in a time of need. Pete was grateful that the sheik was riding with them.

  “You see the shrubs here and there?” Hesam said. “Those long tuffs of grass? If a horse walks by, there are changes. Blades get broken. A bush may snag strands of a horse’s tail.” Hesam grinned confidently and looked around. He kept his AK-47 handy, the butt resting on his left thigh. “I know of several deep, large caves up there.” He pointed toward the craggy rocks that loomed far above them. “I believe the Taliban use those caves. My trackers have often found horse dung, cold campfires and bits of hay in them. So we know they are occupied. And there’s a good chance that is where they hide out.”

  “But would they still be there? Wouldn’t they move on?” Pete asked. He felt his throat close up again with emotion. Oh God, he couldn’t control his feelings no matter how hard he tried. This had never happened before. After he realized Cali was gone, a new, shocking revelation had occurred to Pete: he cared deeply for her. Because he’d never experienced such complex emotions with another woman, he didn’t know what to call them. Whatever they were, they made his soul ache.

  When and how had this happened? Pete had fought attraction to Cali for a year now. This connection to her must have grown silently in the small moments they’d shared. As he remembered those times, so few and far between, Pete felt his whole being contract with feeling. One moment he was filled with hope, the next, despair that she could be dead. Gone. And he’d never see her smile again. Never hear her husky, rich voice, which always soothed his fractious moods. Never experience that unexpected, soft touch of her fingers grazing his flesh. Oh God, it’s too much to bear….

  Pete struggled to get out of this maelstrom. The sky was an intense lapis blue, streaked with thin, fine cirrus clouds like strands of a woman’s hair. Below, he saw the valley where the plant sat. It seemed so far away. Another world. And his heart was an open wound, bleeding constantly each time he thought of Cali, pictured her face or those beautiful, warm green eyes of hers.

  The sheik’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “They might still be there, who knows? They traveled all night, that we do know. After fifty miles of trekking, most horses, even Arabians, must rest several hours before they get their strength back. No, I’m sure they reached those caves. The question now is whether they’re still there or have moved on.”

  Grimly, Pete pulled his cap a little lower to shade his eyes from the sun as they turned up the trail. Hesam felt the Taliban had taken her to make a statement about women being in charge, and that it would not be tolerated. Whatever the truth, Pete was helpless in his panic. Gripping the barrel of the horse with his long legs, he pulled behind the sheik as the path narrowed once more. So far, no one had called him to demand money. In his gut, Pete knew they were going to kill Cali.

  Please let her still be alive. Let us find her in time….

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CALI QUIETLY BUT INTENTLY worked her wrists against the cotton bonds that had been placed around them after the meal. Sunlight was just leaving the cave now, and she estimated that it was midafternoon. The sky was a cobalt bl
ue and cloudless. The dry heat that rose from the desert plain below made the cave stifling, even though she was sure they were over ten thousand feet in altitude.

  Fifteen of the twenty Taliban had left an hour ago. She’d overheard them saying that Sheik Hesam was following some miles below. They’d ridden off to create a false trail in another direction, so their cave would remain undiscovered and secure.

  Zalmai, the teenager who’d been left to watch her, was busy unsaddling the other horses. He’d been given orders by Arsallah to rub them down, brush them and dress any scrapes or nicks they’d gotten on the journey. Only two horses were near Cali. And two sentries guarded the entrance to the cave, rifles across their laps as they watched the trail.

  Her ears picked up an odd noise. Cali looked out of the cave and heard a helicopter. Her heart began to thud as she wondered if Pete was responsible. Could it be a U.S. Army Apache? Cali knew that with the heat and infrared sensing equipment on board, it would have the ability to ferret out humans and animals. The noise grew in volume, indicating there was more than one helicopter. The guards rose and quickly moved back inside the cave. They pressed themselves against the rough stone walls to remain hidden from prying eyes, rifles ready to fire.

  The whapping sounds intensified. The helos were very close to the cave! Licking her dry, cracked lips, Cali frantically tugged at her bonds, but Zalmai had tied them tightly. The guards at the entrance exchanged worried glances. She heard the teen speak softly to the horses, which moved restlessly.

  The whole cave began to shake and shudder as the helicopters slowly flew past the entrance. Sure enough, two desert-camouflaged U.S. Army Apache helicopters appeared. Jerking frantically at her bonds, Cali finally felt them give. Within seconds, her hands were free! No one was watching her; they were watching the Apaches fly by. Could the pilots see anyone inside the cave? Cali didn’t know.

  Suddenly, a horse reared at the end of the line. By accident, it kicked over the metal pail holding the brushes and comb that Zalmai had used earlier. The accompanying sound was like an explosion echoing through the cave. The horses lunged forward in terror, their eyes rolling wildly. The picket line snapped.

  Cali saw her chance. A small bay gelding, the one nearest her, realized he was free. The whites of his eyes showed the depth of his fear as he lunged forward. Cali shot to her feet. The Arabian careened drunkenly by her, his halter lead rope flying in the wind. She made a grab for the saddle horn.

  In seconds, she had swung aboard the horse. Leaning low, she kicked him repeatedly in the flanks with the heels of her boots. Alarmed, the guards tore their attention from the Apaches, back to her. Cali kept low, hand outstretched to retrieve the loose, flapping halter lead. She caught it! Swinging the bay to the right, she lashed out with her boot as one guard stepped out from the cave wall and tried to stop her. Her heel slammed into his chest. He let out a groan, knocked off his feet.

  Shots were fired behind her. As she yelled at the Arabian, Cali yanked on its lead so that the careening animal turned down the rocky trail they’d come up earlier. Wind screamed past her while she hunkered over his neck. The black mane whipped her face repeatedly, stinging her skin. More shots whined around her. Cali heard them echoing off the barren mountains.

  Eyes watering, barely able to see from the horse hair slapping in her face, Cali coaxed the Arabian to full speed. They crossed the ridge and dived down a narrow gravel trail. Cali knew the guards would follow her. She gasped for breath and slowed the horse a little. At least they couldn’t fire at her here. The trail constricted suddenly, to less than one foot in width. On one side, harsh black-and-white rocks rose steeply upward, on the other was that thousand-foot drop. One slip by the frightened Arabian, and Cali knew she could die. She didn’t want to. She’d come too far. No way!

  By urging the Arabian to a ground-eating trot, Cali was taking a terrible chance, she knew. There were so many stones on the path that if the sure-footed horse mistepped, it would be the end for both of them. Cali held her breath as terror zigzagged through her.

  In the background, she heard the Apache helicopters. They seemed to be flying away from where the cave was located. How could that be that they hadn’t seen her? Her frustration mounted.

  She sensed that Pete was around here somewhere. Who else in this province had the authority to call in Apaches? No one but Pete. Her hopes rose. He’d come after her and was trying to save her. Could he sense her need of him?

  The steep trail suddenly widened as they reached a flat gravel stretch. Relief, sharp and clean, raced through her, and she hauled the horse to a skidding stop. The trail split in two just in front of her. Which branch to take, Cali wasn’t sure. Her head pounded with fiery pain and her vision blurred, then sharpened. She had to fight the effects of her injury because if she didn’t get the hell out of here, she would have no life at all to worry about.

  Clamping her legs around the horse’s heaving, sweaty sides, Cali jerked the halter lead and coaxed the Arabian onto the upper trail. The other path led downward, and there were too many places where the Taliban could halt their horses, get her in the bead of a rifle sight and kill her. No, she was going to take the trail that climbed upward. At the very least, she’d be safer from gunfire.

  The sun was hot and Cali perspired heavily as the Arabian scrambled up a slope of loose stones and damp soil. At the top, she twisted around in the saddle. Her pursuers would try to find her, but she couldn’t see them. Perhaps the riders who had left earlier were in the cut down below her, on the other trail. Cali just didn’t know, and was afraid of running into them, especially since she had no way of defending herself.

  Standing up in the stirrups on her restive and uncooperative horse, Cali anxiously searched the rocky, unforgiving terrain. She must be over ten thousand feet in altitude, for nothing was growing on the bluish granite that surrounded them. Snow covered the mountains, no matter which direction she looked.

  The Arabian snorted in fear, his ears nervously flicking back and forth. For safety reasons, Cali wished she had a bridle on the animal and a bit in its mouth. Still, the horse seemed to do pretty well on just a halter and lead.

  Her gut told her to follow the path across the granite escarpment in front of them. Knowing that the power plant site was to the east, Cali hoped she could find another trail leading in that direction. She clapped her heels to the horse and the Arabian lurched forward once more, its hoofbeats sounding hollowly on the gray stone.

  “DID YOU HEAR THAT?” Hesam skidded his foam-flecked stallion to a halt.

  Pete cocked his head, and everyone on the trail stopped. “That was rifle fire!”

  “Yes, gunshots,” the sheik muttered, pointing upward. “Your pilots have seen nothing?”

  Pete held his radio and kept contact with the two Apache helicopter crews. They had been looking nonstop since arriving on the scene. “No, nothing….”

  “Can they pick up on noise?”

  “No. Just body heat.”

  Hesam studied the trail in front of them. It forked, one going up and the other continuing down the sloping incline. Pulling his black stallion around, he called sharply to his twenty men, “Follow me!” His horse leaped forward, gravel and stones spraying from beneath his hooves as he clambered up the steep trail.

  Pete followed, leaning forward and racing up the narrow path. Gunshots. A horrible vision flashed before him, of Cali pushed to her knees, blindfolded, hands behind her back and a rifle held to her temple by the Taliban. No matter how many times he gulped, he couldn’t stop the burning sensation in his heart or his wild, untrammeled grief. The wind tore around him, the tears drying on his cheeks as his horse topped the ridge.

  Ahead, the sheik galloped at high speed, the mane and tail of his black Arabian flying like flags in the wind. As he urged his own mount forward, Pete tucked the radio away in his belt. He saw Hesam pull out his AK-47 and get it ready. Ready for what? Without another thought, Pete yanked the M16 strapped across his back and got it ready
for use. He was trained for this, but God help him, the stakes had never been so high. He had to save Cali, if she was still alive.

  Soon, Pete was surrounded by Hesam’s fleet horsemen. They were on a smooth, granite escarpment that sloped gently upward.

  More gunshots! Closer! Pete urged his gelding up alongside the sheik’s black stallion. “This direction!” he yelled, pointing to the east.

  “Yes!” Hesam responded, and dug his heels into his Arabian.

  As they crested the slope, Pete’s eyes bulged with disbelief. There, on the lower escarpment, Cali was riding a bay horse for all it was worth. Right behind her were three men on horseback, firing at her.

  “Taliban!” Hesam roared. Twisting, he gestured sharply to his men. “Try and take prisoners! Save Ms. Roland!” He whirled his stallion around and careened recklessly down the trail to intersect the oncoming Taliban soldiers.

  Pete veered his Arabian to the left. As he made a beeline for Cali, he began to see her weakened state. And yet she was riding hell-bent-for-leather. The horse didn’t even have a bridle, just a halter and lead rope. Shots filled the air once more. She leaned low, hugging the neck of her horse and guided it ever upward toward him.

  Pete’s horse slipped and skidded awkwardly on the slick granite. After a moment of panic, Pete steadied the gelding. Cali was less than a mile away. For one second he glanced at the approaching Taliban soldiers, who weren’t prepared as Hesam and his men who swept like eagles down upon them. Startled, the Taliban pulled their mounts to a halt and lifted their weapons toward the attacking group. A hail of bullets peppered the air in return. Pete was glad to be wearing a flak vest but his chief concern was putting himself between Cali and the Taliban.

  He aimed his thundering horse straight toward her and saw her surprise when she finally noticed him. His heart lurched into this throat. She was so close, yet so far away. A bullet could find her any second now…Her relief was evident, and Cali guided her fleeing Arabian directly toward him. Pete wove through thick brush, the gelding leaping a fallen timber, and then he was right where he wanted to be: a protective barrier between Cali and her pursuers. If any bullets were fired, they would hit him or his horse now. Not her.