by Leslie North
“It doesn’t make sense,” Juliette said softly.
“You’re right. My father wouldn’t have stood for it—and neither will I.”
Silence settled between them, broken only by the snap of twigs underfoot.
“Do you think the company that buys you will have the same priorities?” Juliette’s question ricocheted through him, like an unplanned firework. He creased a brow, looking back at her.
“What?”
Confusion clouded her face. “The company who is interested in buying…I just wonder if they’ll continue to value your humanitarian angle as much.”
“What company?”
Her eyed widened. “Oh God.”
Basri stopped walking, turning to face her. “Juliette, what are you talking about?”
She swallowed hard, her eyes fearful saucers. “I thought you knew.”
“Knew what? Who told you this?”
She pinched her eyes shut, then the words tumbled out. “Your mother said there’s a company sniffing around that wants to buy you. It’s why she hired me—to help you win back the board and save your division from being bought. I thought you knew, I mean, of course you should know—this is important to your future. I just—”
“I didn’t know.” He balled his fists, then stormed ahead. “How could she not tell me?”
“Basri, I’m sorry.” She kept pace with him, her voice worried. “I didn’t mean to tell you like this. I really thought you knew.”
Basri swallowed a wave of anger and slowed, shaking his head. “I’m not mad at you, Juliette.” He slammed a fist into his palm. “What are they even thinking? The board knows I’ll never sell. I own the controlling interest. They’re fucking mad.”
Juliette nodded like a bobble head. “Exactly. So you won’t have a problem.”
“Nobody is taking my company from me,” Basri said, slicing his hand through the air. His steps were fast and furious, matching his mood.
“It’s better that you know,” Juliette said, sounding like she was convincing herself more than him. “Now you can really do something about it.”
He clenched his jaw, thoughts roiling inside his head. Action plans and speeches. Talking points and agendas. A million ways to counteract this heinous breach of trust.
They continued on in relative quiet, their steps creaking and cracking through the late afternoon air. When he spoke, his voice sounded foreign to his own ears. “No way will I let someone destroy my father’s legacy.”
10
Juliette nibbled at her lip as she strapped into the helicopter seat. What a ridiculous cocktail of emotions. First the crushing guilt and then crippling relief once the helicopter arrived, followed by gut-wrenching fear as it lurched into the sky. It had been able to land for the pickup, but maybe the surrounding trees or uneven ground made the flight rougher than she remembered. Or maybe she’d just gotten too used to peace and stillness.
Her insides still quaked as the helicopter swooped into a turn. Basri ran a hand through his hair, bent over a tiny notebook. He’d been gnawing at the inside of his cheek and muttering to himself since she’d mentioned the interested company. Apparently, he intended to plan everything out on approximately two hundred sheets of paper measuring three by two inches.
And if anybody could do it, it was Basri.
She alternated between watching him with fascination—sometimes she felt as if she was watching a creature in the zoo—and overlooking the receding trees of the Caucasus Mountains. Deep inside, buried under the relief, there was sadness. Already a certain brand of nostalgia developed. Basri had taken her on the most exotic and memorable trip of her life. She might never be the same because of it.
So what would happen from here on out?
The question haunted her. She’d wanted to bring it up on the ride back to the airport, but now didn’t seem right. Basri wouldn’t even hear her if she asked—besides, maybe they needed some time to let it settle. Find out where things stood at the office once the erotic influence of the Rioni wore off and they were back to normal: busy, stressed, and juggling the demands of business and dissenting board members.
The chopping of the helicopter faded into a dull roar as she sank into thought. She would help Basri anyway she could to save his company—it was her job, but more than that, she believed in him. If she’d had any doubt about his genius before this weekend, he’d both wiped and kissed it away. Her heart fluttered, allowing a brief moment of breathy recollection—his warm hands gripping her at the hips, the ecstatic sensation of him stretching her, of taking him all the way in, deeper than she’d ever felt before. When he was inside her, she went somewhere else, felt her mind disconnect and her feet leave the ground.
She drew a shaky breath. Basri himself was an adventure. One she’d been desperate for without even realizing.
Juliette watched him while he tugged at his hair, leaving it in messy black peaks near the front of his head. The helicopter jolted and she gripped at the jump seat, glancing out the window. The helicopter soared on, and she tried to relax again, studying the swirls of clouds in the distance. The helicopter shuddered again, making the seatbelt bite into her belly, and she winced, glancing up at the pilot.
“Sorry about that,” he said over the intercom. “Just getting a little turbulence.”
She and Basri shared a look, but it was interrupted by another violent lurch. She gasped, gripping the edge of her seat as the helicopter went eerily silent. The pilot swore through the intercom. “Fasten your emergency harnesses,” he said, voice strained. “I’ve lost power to the chopper.”
She and Basri worked fast to buckle themselves into the emergency harnesses, and she had to try twice to slide the straps over her shaking arms as the helicopter dipped downward. They were coasting now, silent and airborne, through the crisp mountain evening. Through the side window, she caught a sinuous trail of black smoke behind them, staining the blue purity of the sky.
“Basri look.” She pointed toward the tail of the helicopter, fear making stealthy paces across her chest. The helicopter took a nosedive, and they started falling so fast that her heart leapt into her throat. She clutched at the harness at her shoulder, squeezing her eyes shut as the pitch went from normal to horror-grade.
Her chest heaved as she struggled to breathe through the fear. Mind racing, she forced her eyes open when Basri grabbed her knee. His dark eyes were waiting for hers as the helicopter continued its free fall until the crash came, so loud that it invaded Juliette’s head, made everything deaf and bright and black until the rest of the world just faded away to nothingness.
Basri awoke with a start, limbs screaming with discomfort. He pushed himself up, palms prickling with something. He squinted at his surroundings, struggling to piece together anything that made sense. He was in the helicopter still, except not. Part of the helicopter had broken off from the cockpit, which lay a few hundred feet away. It must have fractured with the crash. He looked at his hands—totally scratched and bleeding. He winced, looking over the rest of his body. Other than scratches, everything seemed fine.
He unhooked his harness, stumbling to his feet. The helicopter had crash landed into a thicket of trees. He groaned, hobbling over to Juliette, who sat slumped in her seat, a tree limb in her lap. He inhaled sharply, almost afraid to know more.
“Juliette?”
She didn’t answer, but he saw the soft rise and fall of her chest. He hurried over to her, each step crunching over broken glass and metal, pushing the limb out of the way. He stroked the side of her face.
“Juliette, can you hear me?”
She didn’t respond. He sized her up—everything looked fine, but who knew if something was broken or sprained somewhere. He undid her harness, freeing her from the tightly cinched fabric, and shook her slightly. “Juliette. Wake up.”
Her head lolled slightly to the side, and he swore. He craned his neck to see the cockpit, to spot the pilot. No one—and no sounds—from over there either. He shook her sho
ulders again, fear making a tight knot in his throat.
“Juliette. Come on. Do you hear me? Wake up. I need you to wake up.”
She didn’t respond, and he swore again, unfastening her seatbelt. He gave her the once-over again, checking for blatant bruises or fractures, and then tried to hoist her into his arms. Once she’d slid from the seat, she murmured something.
He gasped. “Juliette. You’re awake. Talk to me.” He tightened his arms around her waist, trying to bring her to standing against him.
She mumbled something, eyes fluttering open.
“Tell me if anything hurts. Come on, honey.” He watched her with wide eyes and a smile on his face, as if it might encourage her to be fine. No injuries. Completely great and ready to hike themselves out of this situation.
“Basri.” Her voice sounded raw, like she hadn’t used it for a millennium. “My ankle.”
He looked down as she shifted her weight to one side. One ankle glowed red and angry. “Let’s take a look at it. Sit back down.”
She slumped back into the seat, and he bent down to examine it. A sprain was his best guess. He poked at a few areas, all of which elicited a whimper from her. He nodded, setting her foot down gently.
“I’ll tape you up,” he said, rummaging for his backpack in the corner. The shell of the helicopter had acted as an excellent buffer for their crash landing, apparently. And they’d been terribly lucky that the fracture didn’t happen closer to them, and had simply divided them from the cockpit.
He dug for his first aid kit, sweat prickling at his temples. Wherever they’d landed felt more humid, maybe lower altitude. Or perhaps his anxiety was just getting the best of him. Once he’d fished out the elastic bandage, he made quick work of wrapping the affected area. He helped her stand again, wincing as she did.
“It’s a little better.” She sounded groggy now, blinking lazily as she clung to his shoulder.
“Could you walk on it?”
“I guess.” She sighed, looking around. “Jesus, what the fuck happened?”
“I don’t know right now. I’m going to check on the pilot, and then we have to figure out where to go from here.” He squeezed her shoulder and ducked out of the fragmented hull of the helicopter, smashing twigs and plastic underfoot as he headed for the demolished cockpit. He poked his head inside, noting the shattered windshield, the abandoned controls. He creased a brow, doing a second sweep of the area. Nothing.
He returned to Juliette, who sat with her leg propped up.
“Couldn’t find him,” he announced, reaching for his pack. He got out the GPS and studied it, trying to figure out where they might have crash landed. “Now let’s find the nearest village.”
Juliette peered at the map with him as they pointed out landmarks and possibilities. Using their compass and a best guess, he put them about five miles from the nearest village.
“That’s not so bad,” he said, smiling at Juliette as he folded the map up. “A walk in the park, comparatively.”
She sighed, looking at her ankle. “Yep.”
“I will carry you on my back if I have to,” he said, squeezing her knee. “We will make it. And we’ll lighten your pack to start.”
Basri retrieved hers from the corner, zipping it open so they could remove the unnecessary things, like her tent and cooking equipment. When it was done, Basri tested it, handing it over to her.
“Much better,” she commented, leaning forward to shrug it on. Once she was ready, he helped her stand. She winced, leaning against him, and then took a tentative step.
“We’ll go at your pace,” Basri said as they emerged from the broken shell of the helicopter. He peered up at the sky, trying to get a handle on what time it might be—and how long until sunset. “Just let me know when you need a break and when I need to toss you over my shoulder.”
She nodded, hobbling along at his side, until she stilled, gasping. She pointed in front of them, where a body lay draped like a rag doll against a tree. She covered her mouth, and Basri rushed forward. It was the pilot, head cracked open, bleeding against the tree trunk. He had probably died on impact. Basri stood and stared for a moment, sending up a silent prayer, and then approached slowly, rifling through his pockets.
“What are you doing?” Juliette sounded like she was crying.
“Looking for a wallet.” Nothing in the front pockets. “So we can report this once we reach the village.” He felt a familiar lump in the back pocket and snatched it up, tucking it away into his backpack. He hurried back to Juliette, leading her by the elbow.
They moved slowly, Basri eyeing the trail vigilantly for potential issues for Juliette’s stride. After some walking, she leaned less heavily on him, but still needed him for support.
“You’re doing great,” Basri said, occasionally checking the compass. In this part of the Caucasus forest, gently worn trails wound through the woods. A sign of civilization, or at least travel of some frequency. Leagues better than what they’d trekked through for the past few days.
After about a half hour of walking, Juliette gripped his wrist, slowing. “I think I need a break.”
He nodded and helped her sit on a nearby log, prompting her to put her foot in his lap. She did and winced, rubbing at her leg above the ankle.
“We’ll rest as long as you need,” he said, rubbing her arm. “If I could have the hurt ankle, I’d take it from you.” He helped slide her backpack off. “And I’ll take from you what I can in the meantime.”
She smiled. “You’re too sweet.”
They rested until Juliette decided she could walk again, but this time the going was slower. She clutched him tighter, needing more frequent pauses to rest her ankle, and after the first two hours it was obvious that her ankle was almost useless, even without the burden of her backpack.
“Basri,” she whimpered during another break. “It’s killing me.”
He rubbed at the part above her ankle, and rewrapped the bandage a bit tighter, then fished out some of the ibuprofen from his first aid kit. She gulped it down, and he held her hands as they rested. “I wish we had ice. Or a brace.”
“Or a functioning helicopter,” she added dryly.
Basri scanned the woods again, like maybe the village lay nearby and they simply hadn’t noticed. “It should just be a bit further.” The paths had grown more trodden, which inspired hope. They needed hope and luck at this point. The sun sank slowly to the horizon, casting a vibrant orange glow over the forest. It wouldn’t be long before that light died out altogether.
“I don’t know how much farther I can make it,” she said, drawing deep breaths.
“Then I will carry you when you can’t go any further. But we’ve got to move just a little bit more.” He ran a hand through his hair, scanning the horizon again. “Once the sun sets, we’re screwed. And once you stop moving, you won’t get up again.”
She nodded, gripping his wrist. “Okay. Okay. Let’s do it.”
He hauled her to standing and they paused there while she rallied. When they started walking she almost immediately faltered, groaning.
“You’ve got this,” he whispered to her as they took step after painful step. “Just a little bit farther.”
They followed the trail north until the orange hues of dusk threatened dark. As the light grew dim, Basri thought he caught a glimpse of the outskirts of a village on the horizon. Excitement tremored through him, but he kept it inside, sealed tight. He wouldn’t get her hopes up if it was just an illusion, some sort of whimsy from hiking too long in a forest after a nearly-fatal crash. As they shuffled closer, he saw a wall, maybe made of brick. Some sort of structure.
“Juliette.” He spoke quietly, trying to curtail his elation. “I think I see the village.”
Her head shot up, and she squinted into the waning light. “Oh, my God. I think you’re right.”
She huffed and heaved alongside of him, his arm aching from the effort of propping her up for five long miles. But it was worth it—would all
be worth it—if this village turned out to be the savior they needed.
Basri’s own legs were weak and wobbly from the hike, a combination of carrying her pack and holding her up, on top of their long hike to begin the day. His energy waned quickly, seemingly with the daylight.
Twigs and leaves shuffled underfoot, each step inspiring him onward. Within ten minutes they’d reached what looked like a makeshift village entryway—something similar to an archway, crafted from a combination of branches and metal scraps, leading onto a well-worn path with structures clustered around.
Juliette cried out and pitched forward. Basri tried to grab her, but she slipped out of his hands. She landed with a thud on the ground, rolling onto her back. She blinked lazily up at him, until her eyes drifted shut and stayed shut.
“Just a rest,” she whispered and then passed out.
11
Juliette woke up in a bed, her body a cacophony of conflicting signals. She blinked into the dim lighting of the room, struggling to piece things together. Where am I? Her eyes darted around, taking in the smooth stone walls, the occasional moss looking more decorative than real. She stuck a hand out, smoothing her fingertips over the nearest bit of moss. All real.
She pushed herself up and groaned. There it was. The shooting pain that she’d hoped had only been a nightmare. Her ankle throbbed angrily, reminding her of the walk the day before. Which meant…the helicopter crash had been real. The five-mile hike on a sprained ankle: also real.
Which meant she was not in her own bed in Beirut, waking up from an exceptionally strange dream after a very normal trip through the Caucasus mountains.
Panic sliced through her, and she clutched at the flimsy covers. Her foot slipped out from underneath and she spotted a compress of sorts—certainly not what Basri had crafted for her. Large leaves soaked in—she sniffed—stench.
