Shaken

by Kariss Lynch

  A white board waited against one wall. Frag-O filled the top of the board in messy handwriting. It looked like this mission came straight from the top dogs. A timeline stretched across the board, and Nick’s and Micah’s names each had assignments. As a sniper, Nick was responsible for the first two stages of the mission, route planning on insert, the final foot patrol into the target, and then getting everyone out. It would demand all of his focus.

  Senior Chief Collin “X” Williams bent over a table of maps, writing, erasing, and writing again. He was so named for Professor X from his favorite comic, X-Men. His ability to control a situation, not with angry words but with sheer will, immediately commanded the respect of those who followed him. He had the innate ability to read his men, assess their strengths and weaknesses, and send them into combat prepared. He knew the enemy like the back of his hand. It was almost as if he could read their minds. It kept his team alive. He was a veteran and Nick’s mentor.

  Nick knew this would be big, and he knew his input would be required. This mission would test him to his limit, and he wasn’t sure he was up to the task. His heart remained in Alabama, and his head felt muddled from lack of sleep.

  “Carmichael, Richards. Thanks for showing up, ladies. Now we can get down to business.” The men stilled and gathered around the maps. “Our friends up in Washington have passed on intel that a target by the name ‘Janus’ has resurfaced after a four-year hiatus and is officially making arms deals again. Based on info, the time has come to catch this guy before he sells to our dear friends in the Middle East and they get hold of something that kills a couple hundred of America’s youth. Our job is to gather the last bit of intel—a picture, types of arms, contacts, et cetera. We take him if we can, but we give the bigwigs enough to form a more concrete profile of this guy. Janus is the right-hand man of a much bigger fish. We want to catch both.

  “The destination is Nicaragua, and I don’t need to tell you men that this mission is important. If we don’t catch him in the jungle, we’ll have to catch him in the desert, with tangos much more adept at warfare than these druggie goons down south. Make your plans. Hawk, Bulldog, you’ll coordinate and give me a workable plan with multiple options in twelve hours. We leave in thirty-six.”

  Nick studied the maps as men moved with a quiet urgency. The target position and extraction point meant humping through the jungle and leaving by sea. The target was meeting a little too far from the water for his comfort. That meant they would need to get in, get the intel, capture Janus, and get out before the sun ascended.

  “What do you think, Hawk?”

  “I think we have a lot of work ahead of us. And I desperately need some coffee.”

  Micah slapped him on the shoulder. “Head still back in Alabama?”

  “I hate the way we left things. Too bad I can’t be in two places at once.” He slapped the table, drawing the warning looks of several in the room.

  “Get your head in the game. We need you. I’ll get you some coffee.”

  “Carmichael.” Nick tensed at the demanding tone. He sauntered across the room to X’s locker and immediately faced the full brunt of his senior chief ’s passion for the job. He fought the urge to react and clenched his jaw. Alabama was no longer in his vision. He saw red.

  “Now look here, son. This team needs you, and I need you. Lives are on the line. This is much bigger than that pretty lady of yours. I need to know you can pull it together and take the lead on this target. Lover boys have no place as frogmen. She doesn’t exist on missions. When you enter this room, the only people who exist are your brothers and the guys we live to fight. Got it?”

  “Yes, Senior.” Nick gritted his teeth, now angrier with himself than X.

  X studied him, and Nick met his eyes, refusing to show weakness. The man could read Nick like one of the comic strips he loved so much. X’s look softened. Regardless of his tough exterior, he cared about each man.

  “How is she?”

  “Messed up, sir. But she’s tough. It’s just going to take time.”

  “She’ll have to be tough to date a SEAL. This isn’t for the faint of heart.” X would know. Wife number three waited for him at home.

  Nick nodded and met Micah with his coffee. There was yet another thing he and Kaylan needed to discuss if they wanted this relationship to last. At the moment, he would have to learn the balance. It had been easier on his deployment with Seal Team 5. Kaylan had been a dream, a regret, but nothing concrete. Now, he could still feel her, hear her cries, smell the lavender on her skin when he hugged her. She was real, and she needed him. Yet he had a mission, a pursuit he believed in with his whole heart.

  Sorry, Kaylan. You can’t exist in this room.

  Nick raised his coffee toward Micah. “All right, Bulldog, let’s get this show on the road.”

  The lighthearted smile that had been absent since before Haiti lit Micah’s features, and he raised his mug in reply. “Let’s go get us some bad guys. Save the world. Get you the girl.”

  Nick chuckled. “Just another day in the office. And, man, seriously, we’ve got to find you a girl.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  DECISIONS. THE ONCE overwhelming word now also carried emptiness. Sarah Beth wasn’t here to bounce ideas off of, to cheer her on, to eat ice cream, or to call when the circumstances were too hard to bear alone.

  “She isn’t here,” Kaylan said into the empty room, startling herself with the sound. Nick and Micah had left a week ago and were somewhere halfway around the world. Pap wasn’t feeling well and Gran was taking care of him. Kaylan feared he would have another stroke. Seth was working an off-season high-school football camp at the college and didn’t get home until late. Now into February, David was swamped with tax season and exhausted, absent. Her parents were attending conferences for work. The house was empty, lonely, and far too big.

  Life had continued, and everyone’s schedules with it. Kaylan felt the gaping hole in her heart, as if shrapnel had sliced away uneven chunks, embedding and releasing a bitter poison. She didn’t know who to call and didn’t really want company. Had she truly been alone without someone close by since her return from Haiti? She didn’t think so, but the quiet granted too much time to think, too much time to feel. She could pray about these decisions and knew she should, but if God wouldn’t talk to her, she wouldn’t talk to Him either.

  Crying, aching, longing—nothing changed the reality that her best friend was gone. Anger consumed, but with nowhere to channel it, she had come to a conclusion since Nick had left: she had to do something. She was tired of dwelling on it, of the nightmares, of the questions from family and friends. Maybe if she worked herself to exhaustion, the dreams wouldn’t come, and the sharp pain would recede to a dull ache.

  She spread the paperwork in front of her on the table. Her laptop hummed, and the cursor blinked like an annoying pest on the empty page. She perused the internship applications. It was the first week of February, and they were due in a few days. She was basically guaranteed the spot in California if she applied. Mississippi, Texas, Alabama, and Virginia were also options on her list. She’d completed the essays before leaving for Haiti, but she needed to tailor them for the different programs.

  Kaylan tossed her pen on the table. “What’s the point?”

  She knew the point: if she didn’t complete her internship, her degree essentially meant nothing. But Haiti had changed everything. She had chosen the less traveled of two roads and had wound up the loser. The course of her life had shifted. If only she could go back and change her mind, convince Sarah Beth to stay.

  “But then I wouldn’t have met Abe and Stevenson, and Rhonda, Yanick, and the baby, Kenny and . . . ” She couldn’t finish. Not even those friends were present or could help.

  “Enough!” She shouted into the room. She was tired of thinking about Haiti. Her pen attacked the pages with a fury, and within an hour, the applications were filled out to every school. She could decide which one when and if acceptance
s came back. For now, she simply needed the distraction.

  Clouds played on the lake outside the breakfast nook. Nick and Micah were somewhere on a mission, and she wasn’t allowed to know their location. She was angry they had left, fearful they wouldn’t come back. Would their fate be the same as Sarah Beth’s? Would they too wind up dead in a country that didn’t truly appreciate their sacrifice? The silence became a burden, and she flipped the radio on. The first strains of “My Girl” flooded the room.

  The lyrics started drifting through the speakers of the house, and Kaylan slammed fingers on the machine, changing the station. “My Girl” had been one of Sarah Beth’s favorite songs. Was she destined to be taunted by the memory of the best friend she couldn’t speak to or see anymore?

  “Why do You hate me? She’s dead. And it’s my fault,” Kaylan yelled at the ceiling. She needed to get out of the house, maybe go for a ride. She snatched her shoes from the floor, grabbed a lightweight jacket, and threw open the front door.

  “Mrs. Tucker!” To her surprise, Sarah Beth’s mom stood on the porch, her hand hovering over the doorbell. Every inch the Southern belle, she was poised and put together even in the midst of her grief. Mrs. Tucker’s blonde hair held a few gray streaks, and her eyes resembled Sarah Beth’s so much that Kaylan’s stomach did a small flip-flop.

  Kaylan thrust a hand through her tangled hair, feeling unkempt. Her fingers caught, and she yanked hard, pulling strands loose as she backed into the house.

  “Hi, Kaylan. May I come in?”

  She wanted to yell, “No!” and slam the door, but without a word she ushered Mrs. Tucker into the sprawling family room, gestured to a chair, and sat as far away as possible.

  Mrs. Tucker glanced around, allowing Kaylan a moment to compose herself. “Your mother has done it again, dear. The house is beautiful.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Tucker.”

  Her eyes were devoid of tears. She seemed rested, at peace. How was that possible? She had lost her only daughter. Kaylan was a mess in comparison.

  “Your mom told me how you’re doing.”

  “I’m fine. You didn’t need to come.” She stood quickly. “I have somewhere I need to go.”

  Mrs. Tucker crossed the room, put her arm around Kaylan, and lowered her to the couch again. “Just give me a few minutes. I heard you decided to complete your applications for the dietetics internship. Sarah Beth would be so happy for you.”

  Kaylan avoided her eyes. “I’ll hear back sometime in April. I’m not sure where I’ll end up or if I’ll even go.”

  “Why wouldn’t you, dear?”

  “It seems kind of pointless now.”

  “The things and places the Lord sends us to are never pointless, no matter how they turn out. Sarah Beth loved you, and she would have wanted you to look for God’s hand in all this.”

  Kaylan was on her feet again. “How can you be so calm? Your daughter is gone. My best friend! She can’t come back. Where is the purpose in that?”

  Mrs. Tucker reached for Kaylan’s hand and gently tugged her back down onto the couch, maintaining her contact. “Sarah Beth loved those children. She loved you. She was changing lives and following the Lord. That was her purpose. It was not empty and not unfulfilled. Don’t disrespect her legacy by criticizing what the Lord did. Don’t forget the people of Haiti, Kaylan. They are the reason you went.”

  “I couldn’t help her. I couldn’t do anything. How do you not hate me?”

  “You did something for her that we never could have done. You were present in her darkest night. And at the end of that night, her new day never shone so beautifully. She was with the God who loved you enough to use you in the lives of people who have nothing. She had you.” Mrs. Tucker drew back, tears spilling down her cheeks.

  Kaylan looked away. She knew what Mrs. Tucker wanted to know but didn’t dare ask—about Sarah Beth’s final moments. What she had said. How she had died. But how could Kaylan possibly relive that moment, that horror? Kaylan shook her head, barring the images and the awful scent of dust and blood.

  Mrs. Tucker rose to leave, Kaylan trailing behind her. When they reached the door, Mrs. Tucker placed her hand on Kaylan’s arm, her eyes sad. “We’re planning a trip to Haiti for the first of July. It will have been six months, and we want to help with what Sarah Beth started.” Tears gathered in her blue eyes, and Kaylan again ached to see Sarah Beth in them. “Kaylan, my daughter loved you, and I know she wouldn’t want you hurting yourself over her death. I know it’s not that easy, but will you come with us?”

  Her heart halted before taking off at a gallop. Go back? No way. There was no way.

  “That country killed Sarah Beth. How could you even consider going?”

  Despite her grief, Mrs. Tucker’s eyes held resolution. “Because they need help. Because my daughter loved the kids. And because it will be good for me, help me feel close to her. She wouldn’t have wanted you to hate what she loved.”

  She didn’t know what she was asking. “I’ll think about it.”

  “Pray about it.”

  She offered the hint of a smile. She couldn’t promise that. “Thanks for coming by.” As she closed the door behind Mrs. Tucker, she remembered Sarah Beth’s words. She couldn’t tell them what had happened, but she could give them this.

  Kaylan ripped open the front door and ran after Mrs. Tucker. “Wait. Sarah Beth . . . she wanted me to tell you that she loved you and that we did well. You can be proud of her. People loved her. And in her last moments, she talked about the beautiful sunrise.”

  Mrs. Tucker’s eyes brimmed with tears, and she threw her arms around Kaylan again. “You both did well. God is good, even in this. Don’t forget, Kaylan.”

  She kept hearing that, but how was He good in this? What good had come from the earthquake? Sarah Beth had died; Kaylan was a shattered shell of what she’d been. The people were broken and needed food, water, and homes but couldn’t pay for any of it. No, nothing good had come from the quake.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  NICK’S GREEN FACE paint seemed to sweat on its own. Mud seeped through his uniform from his position on his stomach beneath the hide. The wetlands of Nicaragua were hot and sticky, and so far, this assignment was one huge, wild goose chase. Kaylan would kill him if she knew he was in the epicenter of earthquakes and volcanoes.

  Nick didn’t move. Five hours and counting, and no one had appeared at the rendezvous point. Three weeks scouting the area, pretending to be on vacation, and still nothing. In that time he’d learned the places to eat without acquiring food poisoning. He knew to sit with his back to the wall and never eat with more than two of his buddies at a time. While half the men were on surveillance duty, the other half attempted to blend into the surroundings. Nick itched to surf.

  The hide packed in heat like a sauna. Their CIA friend hadn’t surfaced all week, and Nick was beginning to wonder if Janus knew he’d been made. Granted, the Nicaraguan terrorist organization was pitiful in comparison to its brothers in the desert across the pond, but these guys were in America’s backyard. One well-aimed nuke or missile, and the United States would experience the largest crisis since the twin towers.

  “Hawk, there’s nothing here, man.” The whisper came over Nick’s earpiece after hours of silence. Nick’s trained reflexes prevented his body from responding. Micah was positioned in a tree grove on the other side of the rendezvous point.

  “I’m starting to wonder if this is a setup. We stay put until we know for sure.”

  A click sounded over the earpiece, and silence settled again. Sweat dripped down his face, and the scent of earth and dirt tickled Nick’s nose. He remained as still as a statue. A slew of disgruntled parrots catapulted into the sky, squawking in indignation. Someone approached.

  Caveman materialized out of the jungle, his uniform designed to blend into the foliage. He tapped Nick’s shoulder, then held two fingers to his eyes, signaling tangos. Terrorists. It was time.

  A man sauntered into the
clearing near the bungalow. A long, bulky pack hung over one shoulder, and a straw hat sat cocked to the side on his head. He could have been a farmer, but his eyes shifted around the clearing, and Nick knew he was no friendly. The bundle most likely contained weapons. Over the next few hours three more men arrived at the hut, all dressed like locals, no weapons visible, but all shifty and too intent on the trees and shrubs.

  Come nightfall, four men resided in the small bungalow. No sound issued from inside. A single lamp remained lit in the window. Nick felt a tap on his shoulder. Caveman bent in his line of vision and held a finger up. One more on the way. This was it. This had to be Janus.

  A head bobbed into view, and Nick immediately knew this was their guy. His hands glowed a pale white in the moonlight, and a scarf of some sort shrouded his head. His small frame didn’t appear to carry any weapons. Nick didn’t dare move. The man knocked three times and then knocked another three. Inside the bungalow, the men tensed and stood. Nick knew they had their man. Janus had arrived.

  “Bulldog, you get his face?”

  “Negative. Looking through the window. Why didn’t we get ears for this convo?”

  “Too dangerous.” Nick breathed over the earpieces as he studied the landscape. Eight men hid, but not one moved. “Stick to the mission. We confirm the weapons. Get a good look-see at this dude and then shoot to kill if this thing goes south.” Seven clicks sounded over Nick’s earpiece. He could feel his pulse in the index finger resting on the trigger of his rifle. He slipped on his NVGs and perused the bungalow through the green hue. A commotion came from inside, and in a flutter of motion Janus’s head covering slipped free.