Testing Lysander

by L. M. Somerton

  Brock had a rough idea of direction. The trees next to the track were thinner so he kept back in the denser vegetation. It slowed him down but meant that he was better concealed from any pursuers. The gunfire had ceased, replaced by distant shouts. He hoped that his appearance had been so unexpected that the terrorists, guerrillas—whoever the hell they were—were taking time to get organized. He tripped over a root and almost fell but righted himself in time. Creepers and brambles tore at his clothing but he ripped through them, ignoring the damage to his skin. He couldn’t think of anything but getting back to the cool darkness of the cave. The entrance was well hidden and there was a chance that he wouldn’t be followed. If he could get through the first narrow crevice, he doubted anyone would follow him anyway, not without collecting proper gear and finding people who knew what they were doing.

  He reached the escarpment and scrambled for the lower lip of the cave entrance. It was a hell of a lot harder getting back up than it had been climbing down and every stretch sent stabbing shards of agony through his shoulder. He used the thick vegetation to pull himself up and finally, with a shuddering sigh, rolled over the edge and into the cave. He pulled the hanging plants back over the entrance and sagged against the rock wall. As he leaned back, he had to bite back a scream. There was something sticking into his shoulder and he had just driven it deeper. Sweat rolled down his face and his breath came in short gasps. He reached back and probed with his fingers, finding a jagged shard of wood projecting from just beneath his shoulder blade. Clamping his mouth shut, he yanked the wooden dagger from his flesh.

  Brock’s eyes watered at the pain. He drove his teeth into his lower lip to stop himself from crying out. From outside came shouts and swearing in a range of languages. He had to move. He grabbed his helmet from where he’d left it what seemed like a lifetime earlier and rammed it onto his head. He rolled up the waterproof camera bag and stuffed it in his pocket, then turned sideways and edged his body into the narrow crevice that meant escape.

  Each time his clothing caught on the rock or the squeeze became tight, Brock forced himself on, uncaring about the damage to his increasingly ragged clothes and skin. His vision blurred as sweat dripped into his eyes, stinging and making them water more. He couldn’t get a hand anywhere near his face to brush the moisture away. Frantically he dragged himself forward and finally fell from the crevice.

  On his hands and bruised knees, chest heaving from the exertion, and shaking with fear, Brock sobbed with relief. The warm stickiness of blood oozed down his arm but he dismissed it. He had no first-aid kit and no time to worry about a little scratch. It was hardly life threatening.

  “Kyle would say to stop making such a fuss over a splinter,” he muttered, his tone wry. He slowed his breathing and gathered his thoughts. The last few minutes had been spent in utter panic and it came as a shock to him to realize just how scared he was. The possibility of being captured hadn’t become real until those shouts of discovery had reached his ears.

  “What the hell am I doing here? I’m a photographer, not a bloody spy.” He chuckled. “Of course, that’s exactly why I am here. Any idiot can take a few pictures—not everyone has a plausible excuse for being in this part of the world.” He pulled off his helmet and scrubbed a hand through his hair. “That’s why I’m the one running for my life instead of Kyle.” Momentary doubt wheedled its way into Brock’s head but he pushed it away. “He’d be here if he could. I know he would.” The longing to get back to Kyle crashed over him and he fought back tears. “Sitting here crying like a girl is not going to get these pictures where they need to be.” He patted his camera then stood up. He put his helmet back on and adjusted the beam of his head torch. “Time to get going.”

  Every shifting rock and drip of water had Brock listening for the sounds of pursuit, but there was no indication that anyone had followed him into the cave. He doubted that the terrorists would even be aware of its presence. If they had found the concealed entrance, it was unlikely that they would choose to venture through the crevice—not without the proper equipment and preparation, anyway. Two hours of reckless scrambling and crawling brought him back to the cave containing the pool. Brock couldn’t help but grin. A short swim was all that separated him from Kyle. He allowed himself a few moments of rest. He was filthy, exhausted and battered. It felt as if every inch of his body was scratched, scraped or bruised. His shoulder throbbed horribly. He wrapped the camera in its waterproof bag and made sure it was sealed tight. The last thing he wanted to do was ruin the memory card after all the effort it had taken to get the pictures on it. Happy that his precious cargo would be safe in the water, Brock tightened the chinstrap on his helmet and slipped into the pool. The water felt good against his dirty, heated skin. He took a couple of deep breaths and ducked beneath the surface.

  * * * *

  Kyle tapped his fingers on the rock and stared into the darkness. The occasional glance at his watch told him that Brock had been gone almost six hours. That had given Kyle plenty of time to sit and think. Conserving his torch battery meant that there was little else for him to do in the utter blackness. He dozed a little, but concern for Brock’s safety didn’t allow him to sleep. Tuned in to the silence, his ears caught the first sounds of splashing below. Kyle put on his light and got down on his belly to bend over the crack leading to the underground pool. He stared at the water, willing Brock to appear. The surface stirred, then broke. Mud-streaked, water-darkened blond hair appeared, then Kyle was gazing down at Brock’s smiling, upturned face. To Kyle, his lover had never appeared more beautiful.

  Brock started to heave himself out of the water but Kyle could see that he was struggling. Kyle leaned down as far as he was able, stretching out his arms. Brock grabbed hold and Kyle hauled his exhausted body upward. Brock rolled over the lip of the crevice and flopped down, breathing heavily.

  “They saw me… They’ll be coming,” he gasped out the words. “They didn’t follow me into the cave, I don’t even know if they realize the entrance is there, but they definitely spotted me.”

  Kyle frowned. “They’ll know that the scientists’ camp has been in use. There’s not much that happens in the forests that their spies don’t inform them of. The camp is the only other human activity for a hundred miles. They’ll head there first.”

  Brock scrambled to his knees. “The others… They’ll be in danger…”

  “Not for a while.” Kyle reassured him. “There’s no direct route between their area of operation and our camp, remember? It’ll take them a full day at least to get there because they have to drive almost to the airfield before heading back toward our base.”

  “Still, you shouldn’t waste any time.” Brock fumbled for the camera bag with trembling fingers. Kyle took it from him and removed it from the waterproof bag.

  “Take the memory card and go… You’ll need every second,” Brock urged.

  Kyle removed the card and replaced it with another one. He handed the camera back.

  “Just in case. The pictures on that card will back up your story that you have a legitimate reason for being in the forest. I copied some of your stuff onto a spare card back at camp.” He unloaded the contents of his pack. “Here you go—energy bars, chocolate and dried fruit. There’s a bottle of water with glucose in it, too. Tastes like crap, but you’ll need the energy. I want you to eat and rest before you start back. There will be more supplies for you at the cave. I won’t be stopping there for long.” He took Brock’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

  “I wish we could go back together,” Brock said. “I know we can’t—you’ll move much faster than I can at the moment—but I don’t like being apart from you.” He leaned against Kyle.

  “I don’t like it any more than you do, but this is the safest option. I have to get these pictures away securely, then we can focus on ourselves. You just need to make sure you get out of here in one piece, or I won’t be happy.”

  Brock chuckled. “Still bossy. Oh, I have something else
for you.” He groped in his pocket and handed over a small object. Kyle ducked his head to focus his light on it.

  “Holy crap… This is gold! Where did you find it?”

  “In the camp. There were bags and bags of these ingots. I took pictures of them and just brought one away. It has markings on it so I thought it might be useful to have a sample.”

  “I’m sure it will be.” Kyle pocketed the metal bar. He went to his knees and took Brock’s face between his hands. “Take care, love. I have plans for you… For us.”

  “Thinking about that will keep me going.” Brock smiled. “Kiss me and go. I can’t bear long goodbyes.”

  Kyle pulled him in for a long, slow kiss. Brock’s soft lips were cold, and he tasted salty. Kyle wanted to remember that taste. He licked his lips and stood.

  “I’ll see you soon. When you get back to the waterfall, it will be dark, so get some proper rest. Don’t leave there until daylight. I’ll mark the trail as best I can. If you get back to the camp and there’s no one there, find a place to hide and stay there. Don’t reveal yourself unless you’re sure that it’s me or one of the others, okay?”

  Brock nodded. “You be careful too, especially abseiling down that rock face in the dark.”

  “I will, and the ropes will be there for you to use. I have to go.” Kyle took one last look at Brock, smiling bravely in his little pool of light, then turned and jogged away.

  Brock listened until all sound from Kyle’s footsteps had faded into silence. Alone in the darkness, there were no distractions. His senses were heightened. Every cut and bruise made its presence felt with a vengeance. He shifted on the unyielding ground.

  “I swear… Even my ass is bruised, and not in a good way.” Bruises put there by Kyle would have been much more tolerable. Brock worried at his lower lip. Even deep underground, with an arduous journey ahead of him, his head was filled with thoughts of Kyle and what he would like him to be doing to him. “Must be the stress. There’s no way I should be getting turned on in this situation.” He shook his head. “Idiot.” He picked up an energy bar, unwrapped it and tore off a bite. As soon as he started eating, he realized just how hungry he was. He worked his way through the entire stash of food that Kyle had left for him and washed it down with the glucose drink. Kyle was right, it does taste disgusting. He drank it anyway. He would need every ounce of energy the meal could provide for getting back to the camp.

  Brock didn’t rest for long. He was keen to get going. He’d had enough of being underground and craved the open air and warmth. The adrenaline that had kept him going to this point was draining away and he was starting to feel the cold. What had started out as an adventure had turned into a terrifying ordeal. His soaking wet clothes made unpleasant sucking noises as the cloth pulled away from his skin, then immediately clung to him again.

  “Uugh. When did dry clothes and a fire become the ultimate in desirable luxuries?” Brock had no illusions about how difficult his journey was going to be. Pain and cold would slow him down considerably. He made sure to pick up everything remaining from his meager meal, stuffing the wrappings and empty bottle into the small pack Kyle had left for him. He set off as quickly as he could, fixing his mind on the relative safety and comfort of the waterfall cave, tuning out the protests of his body. He prayed that Kyle would make it back safely. He wouldn’t be stopping to rest and had to travel through the night to reach the main camp. Jonesy should have put things in place to make the journey easier—fixed ropes on the cliff, left supplies at strategic points so that Kyle didn’t have to carry anything. Then Milo and Juan would be waiting with transport back to the airfield, which was the nearest place with the computer equipment Kyle would need to send the photos with encryption.

  Scrambling and climbing through the cave system sapped Brock’s strength and tested his endurance in a way he’d never experienced before. He’d been challenged physically many times in the course of his work but there had never been a threat to his life because of what he’d done. Nor had he had someone else to worry about in quite the same way. He feared for Kyle more than he feared for himself. An endless torrent of pictures streamed through his head of Kyle falling, being bitten or stung by some malevolent insect, being caught and shot by ruthless terrorists. It went on and on until tears blinded him. He stopped to rest, leaning forward with his hands on his knees. He took some deep breaths, trying to calm his racing thoughts. You’re being ridiculous. He’s trained for this. Probably does more dangerous things every week. Stop worrying about him and be concerned about yourself, or chances are you’ll do something stupid and end up falling face first down a crevice. Kyle’s face appeared in his mind, dark gray eyes glinting. Cool and calm, there was no way Kyle would be panicking. He would be completely focused on his task. Brock took strength from that thought. He blanked out the pain, ignored the exhaustion and put one tired foot in front of another. Five minutes later he reached the narrow passage to the back of the waterfall cave. He dropped to the floor, wriggled through the tube and after a couple of uncomfortably tight minutes, he was through.

  Straight away Brock could see that Kyle had stopped when he’d reached the waterfall. The fire was banked with plenty of wood. Next to it lay a billycan, a couple of ration packets and a plastic camera film tube containing waterproof matches. There was even a small paper packet of coffee. One sleeping mat was laid out and on it sat the first-aid kit and a large pack. On the floor next to where Brock would sleep, Kyle had arranged a group of pebbles into the shape of a heart.

  Tears welled in Brock’s eyes. “If I didn’t love him before, it’s a done deal now. No going back.” Despite the urgency of his mission, Kyle had spent precious time thinking of Brock’s needs. That, more than anything that Kyle had said or done since they’d left England, convinced Brock that Kyle’s feelings for him were real. “God, I hope he’s okay.” Brock snapped a picture of the stone pattern, then walked around it. He pulled off his helmet and put it down against the cave wall, nestling his camera inside it. Then he stripped out of his filthy, ripped clothing and walked to the falls. He stood beneath the pounding spray for an age, letting the clean, cool water wash away blood, sweat and grime.

  Brock couldn’t help but think back to the last time he’d showered beneath the falls. Everything seemed to remind him of Kyle. His cock made a half-hearted attempt to rise but even memories of the hard fucking Kyle had given him less than twenty-four hours earlier couldn’t beat exhaustion. Brock padded back to the fire. He didn’t bother to dress, just lit the wood and set the billy full of water in the flames to heat. While he waited for it to get to boiling point, he swabbed those wounds he could reach with antiseptic from the first-aid kit.

  “Fuck, that stings!” There were so many minor cuts and grazes that his body was on fire by the time he’d finished. He soaked a cotton pad in the liquid, reached back and pressed it to the wound below his shoulder. For a moment his vision went white as agony burned through his body. The pain dulled to a throb and Brock remembered how to breathe. “It’s probably full of dirt and bits of wood.” Brock sighed. There was nothing he could do about it without help. He checked the wound on his hand and was pleased to see that the stitches had held. The edges of the cut looked a little inflamed but all he could do was change the dressing and hope for the best.

  He made coffee and sipped it while his rations heated. Kyle had left him beef stew and vegetables and the food actually smelled good. “Though I could be cooking stewed snake and think it was gourmet bourguignon, the state I’m in.”

  By the time he’d eaten and cleared up, Brock’s eyelids were drooping. He settled onto the sleeping mat, lying on the side away from his injured shoulder, and dropped immediately into sleep.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Brock slept like a dead man. It was only the nagging ache in his shoulder that dragged him from unconsciousness. He moved and immediately regretted the action. Every muscle, every tendon and ligament protested. His head pounded and his skin felt hot to the touc
h.

  “Fuck. Wound must be infected. A fever’s just what I need.” Brock sighed. The fire had died in the night because in his exhausted state he had neglected to bank it up. He dug around in the first-aid kit and, to his relief, found a packet of generic antibiotics. He swallowed two tablets and a couple of painkillers, then kept still for ten minutes while his various aches receded to a manageable level. Sense told him he should eat, but his stomach rebelled at the thought and he dry–heaved, sending spasms of pain through his already tender abdominal muscles. He forced himself to mix up some oatmeal, using cold water, and choked it down. He needed something to give him energy and the mixture was going to set like cement in his stomach. It would be difficult to throw up again. He sat for a few minutes, taking deep breaths and his meager breakfast stayed put.

  “Well, you can’t stay here, Lysander Brock. Pull yourself together.” He laughed, a little hysterically. “Now I sound like my mother.” That was enough motivation to get his battered body moving. He dragged himself up and emptied the contents of his pack. Fresh clothes made a fractional improvement in the way he was feeling and it was nice to be dry, though he knew that, as soon as he ventured out into the humidity of the cloud forest, that wouldn’t last. He filled a water bottle from the falls and put the minimum number of items in his pack—his camera, of course, glucose tablets, the first-aid kit and his climbing shoes. Everything else he left behind. He needed to travel fast and light.

  Brock spread the fire ash until it had all but disappeared, then piled everything he was leaving behind that might betray his presence inside one of the tunnel entrances at the back of the cave. His last act was to scatter the pebble heart, though he picked up one pretty polished stone and tucked it into his pocket. After a final look around, he strode through the falls and headed into the forest.