by AJ Rose
Donnie had taken to the Rangers, shadowing them at every opportunity to ask questions and glean whatever information he could from their experience. When they melted into the greenery to take up position, they really did disappear. Donnie had a total hard-on for them. Or, well, their job. They weren’t too hard on the eyes either, not that he would say that out loud.
However fun the ghillie suit was, though, he was hot and irritable, and it kept snagging along his front, making him wish they’d reconsidered them. He supposed they needed the experience, but that didn’t make them any less uncomfortable.
When he surveyed his surroundings after they’d settled, he realized they were really damned effective. He couldn’t see his comrades, and he knew where to look. Their objective was to wait for someone to happen along, listening for sounds of humanity. Keeping still was the hardest part, but when he’d spotted Chris across the trail and up the ridge, he took the opportunity to study him openly, as best he could through the face paint, dyed burlap, and netting of the suit.
Chris didn’t move. He didn’t fidget. He barely blinked, keeping his eyes at half-mast so the whites showed as little as possible. Roger had questioned the point of getting all geared up when they weren’t after hostile marks, but Ness had told him it was an opportunity to get field training in a safe environment while still fulfilling their orders. Even if it was overkill, it was useful. And to suck it up and deal.
Donnie should have known Chris would take to it like a fish to water. The wind made the material of his suit shiver and shush like the surrounding leaves and branches, and Donnie had the brief thought that Chris was a beautiful man. A frustrating one, but very appealing.
His thoughts were interrupted by voices, and he watched the trail for signs of life. Ten minutes later, two figures came into view, hulking and misshapen in the shadows until they got closer, the packs on their backs denoting experienced hikers with provisions enough for days in the mountains. They were armed as well, comfortably carrying rifles. The team stayed put until the pair, two men in jeans and light jackets, good boots, and hats, their facial hair well grown in and a little unkempt, were almost upon them. The smell reached Donnie from feet away. These men had been in the bush a while, if their body odor was anything to go by.
He stepped from his hiding place, making sure they saw he was armed, too, and his gun was bigger than theirs.
“Going somewhere?” he asked as the two men flinched, one of them giving a startled shout.
“You shall not pass,” Chris said from his nine o’clock. The other three remained hidden, providing cover should this deteriorate. Donnie had to suppress a laugh at Chris’s Lord of the Rings reference.
“Just out for a hike,” one of the men tried, clutching his chest. “You scared the hell out of us.”
“A hike, huh?” Donnie said, playing along.
“Yeah, we’re doing Lower Dadd Gulch Trail today,” the second man specified. “We’ve been hitting all the trails in the Roosevelt National Forest this month and then we’re going south to the Arapahoe trails.”
Donnie narrowed his eyes. “How long you been out here?”
“Three weeks?” He looked at his companion for confirmation. “Yeah, a little over three weeks, I think. What day is it?”
“Wednesday,” Chris said sarcastically.
“April 29,” Donnie supplied. “Three weeks plus puts you leaving home at what, April 8 or around there?”
“We left on the sixth. First Monday of April.”
They don’t know, then.
Donnie shared a look with Chris, who stepped forward. “Where are you gentlemen from?”
“Loveland,” they said in unison.
Having studied the state map, and more specifically the mountain region, Donnie knew they were about seventy miles northeast of home. Their story was certainly plausible.
“You been in contact with anyone from home?”
The two men exchanged a glance. “We’re both widowers. We told our grief support group about this trip, but there’s no one at home to talk to other than our counselors. Figured coming out here would help us get some perspective.”
Donnie’s suspicion dissipated. “Is it working?” he asked sympathetically.
The first man sniffed. “Not that it’s any of your business, but it’s always helpful to get in touch with oneself through nature. What’s with the getups?”
Ness chose that moment to step out of her spot, to the left of the men being questioned. Once again, they jumped in surprise.
“Good Lord, how many of you are there?”
“Sirs, we need to ask you to return to your homes,” Ness said, ignoring their question. “There’s been a national emergency, and this area is restricted. All national park trails are closed until further notice. I’m surprised you weren’t informed with each new trail you reached. Parks employees have been instructed to evacuate all trails and campgrounds. How did you not hear the parks were closed?”
The sheepish look that crossed the men’s faces told Donnie everything he needed to know. They’d been skirting the official logs the national parks kept of visitors, where they collected fees and checked permits. These men were off the grid.
“We haven’t exactly checked in,” one of them finally admitted.
“What sort of national emergency?” the other asked, Ness’ words sinking in.
Since the men would find out upon returning to their hometown, Donnie decided to tell them. “There’s been a power grid failure. It’s pretty widespread, and we’re making sure the areas still receiving utilities aren’t overrun with those who are in the blackout. You’re not allowed any farther west than this point, and with the parks being closed, there’s no reason for you to be out here. You need to return to Loveland and contact the nearest military installation there to receive further instructions. There are areas of Colorado still receiving electricity, so you might be some of the lucky ones. You need to turn around and go back.”
“Last I checked, this was a free country,” the shorter of the two men said, jutting his chin defiantly.
“Sir,” Ness said, stepping closer to back them down the trail. “The governor of Colorado has declared a state of emergency, as well as martial law, so while the United States is still free, there are rules to be adhered to. Your presence here is in violation of those rules. If you refuse to do as you’re told, we’ll have no other choice but to take you into custody and send you to Denver, where you will be charged accordingly and court-martialed under the rules of the Uniform Code of Military Justice at Buckley Air Force Base.”
The men exchanged wary, nervous glances. “Are you serious?”
“Gentlemen,” Ness said, backing them farther down the trail. “You have a minute left to make your decision. Return home or find out how serious I am. Sixty, fifty-nine, fifty-eight….”
“Okay, okay,” the first man acquiesced, raising his hands in surrender. “We’re going. We honestly didn’t know.”
Donnie stayed at Ness’ six, backing her up as she walked them down the trail, still counting down. “You might want to provision up somewhere if you can, until you make it back home and contact the military stationed in Loveland. They’ll take you to a shelter where basics are available, but you have a couple days’ walk unless you have a vehicle, and I wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve been siphoned dry, if that’s the case.”
“You’re really not kidding. Are you park employees?”
“Army, First Battalion, 159th Infantry Regiment, San Diego, California,” Donnie rattled off. Normally they wouldn’t specify, but these men appeared clueless, not deceptive, and if they knew they were facing honest-to-god US soldiers, they’d hightail it faster.
“Thirty-three, thirty-two….” Ness counted.
“Okay, we’re going.” They turned and quickly disappeared down the trail.
Ness turned to him after they were sure the men weren’t taking another tack to get around them. Well, if they were, the other trails were being
watched, as was the highway. If those two tried to get west despite their believable story, one of the other patrol teams would snatch them. Ness gestured to Burgess, who radioed the details of the encounter to officer in charge of transmissions for all the border teams from a comm HQ outside Fort Collins. If these guys tried to play clueless again, they’d be arrested and sent to Buckley.
“Too much information, Corporal,” Ness admonished Donnie. “Name, rank, and serial number, numbnuts.”
He rolled his eyes, making sure she was no longer looking so she wouldn’t see his insolence. Despite it being kind of fun jumping out at people, his sour mood still simmered below the surface.
“They weren’t taking us seriously enough.”
“Then next time, raise your gun.”
“These are US citizens,” he protested.
“And you’re a US soldier, Scanlon. Act like it.”
“They weren’t going to drag us off to a POW camp and torture us for information. Hell, they didn’t even know what’s going on. That takes a special kind of clueless.”
She turned back to him. “We don’t know who did this, so anyone we cross paths with could be the responsible party. Maybe they’re pissed they didn’t get the whole country in one fell swoop and are trying to get west in order to finish the job. Playing clueless would be a pretty good story to get out of trouble. You ever think of that?”
He opened his mouth to argue, but shut it again. No, he hadn’t considered that. Shit.
“Point taken.” He backed down. “Won’t happen again, Sergeant.”
“No, it won’t, soldier,” she said smartly, resuming her hiding place.
He returned to his spot along the trail and bumped right into Chris, who gave him a concerned look.
“You okay?”
“What the fuck do you care?” he growled.
“Whoa, what the hell, Donnie?”
He shouldered past, sinking to his knees beside a bush instead of laying on his stomach.
They stayed out all day, but nothing more exciting happened unless they counted the pair of badgers that trundled by, sniffing the air and moving on. The animals gave their area a wide berth, but it was obvious they hadn’t seen the group. Donnie wondered how good badger eyesight was.
Returning to the camp at the bottom of the mountain, Matt, Ness, and Roger cleaned up first and checked in with comm HQ before rustling up some chow, leaving Donnie and Chris alone in the small hiker’s cabin they’d taken over as their shelter. There were two rooms, a main one with furniture circled around a rough-hewn stone fireplace large enough to heat the whole cabin. The second room was full of bunks, ten in all, and one corner was curtained off around a shower and toilet. The cabin had a propane tank so the water was warm, and despite the small size, it was better than they’d expected. Donnie stood in front of the small mirror affixed to the wall beside the curtain, a basin of green-tinted water on the small shelf beneath the mirror. The face paint stuck like a second skin, and he rubbed the towel harder to scrub it off, leaving red marks on his cheeks.
“Missed some,” Chris said, leaning against the wall beside the mirror, pointing to his own ear to indicate where Donnie still had paint.
“I’m not exactly done, am I?” he snapped.
“What is your problem, asshole?” Chris retorted. “You’ve been a dick to me since we left Denver.”
“Takes one to know one.”
“Oh, is that like, ‘I know you are, but what am I?’ Real mature, Donnie.”
“Unless you’re going to tell me why you’ve gone all quiet and mysterious, you can just move along.” He made a waving gesture, and when Chris didn’t respond, he said, “Shoo fly.”
Chris’s jaw ticked, and he crossed his arms. “What are you talking about?”
“Don’t play stupid,” Donnie snapped, leaning forward to get the paint from the crease next to his nose. “You pushed me away first, and I tried to play nice and let you know I was around if you needed to talk. Then you lied to me about the reason you’re upset, so I figure if you’re going to throw out the rules of our friendship, I can, too.”
“I lied to you.” Disbelief colored Chris’s words.
“Yes, you did. You expect me to believe you’re upset about the blackout. I’m not an idiot. You live for shit like this. We’re learning from elite ops, deployed to one of the most beautiful places in the country, and we get to play dress-up and jump out at people to yell ‘boo,’ but you’re still locked up tighter than a nun’s asshole. So,” he shrugged, unsure how to finish.
“Listen to yourself,” Chris snarled, albeit keeping a low tone. “You’re whining because I won’t share my deepest fears with you while we sit around and braid each other’s hair. Want me to ask Ranger Greg if they have any nail polish?”
Donnie glared. “I dare you to say that in front of Sarge. She’ll eat you alive, starting with your balls.”
“What is your fucking problem?”
“You,” Donnie finally said, pushing the button he knew would get Chris to blow. Controlled explosion, he reminded himself.
“Do something about it.” Chris growled, shoving his shoulder.
Leveling Chris with a furious look, Donnie said the one thing he knew would get under Chris’s skin. “Don’t care enough anymore. Not worth it. How about you go sulk somewhere else so I can get this shit off my face, and when you’ve decided you’re done tucking tail and being a scared kid, then you can come talk to me.”
“Calling me a coward?” Chris asked dangerously, eyes flashing.
“They’re just words, Chris,” Donnie said, not answering the question because of course he didn’t think Chris was a coward, and words could be as difficult to face as bullets. But if Donnie let Chris believe he doubted him, then ever closer to the explosion they’d be. “Open your mouth and spit them out, or get out of my face. I’m done guessing.”
Chris swung, catching Donnie on the side of his head and sending him reeling, the hearing in his left ear muffled as he stumbled, falling to his ass on the lower rack. When he regained balance, he charged, lowering his head and crashing into Chris to take him to the floor, careful not to hurt him. They scrabbled, Chris trying to kick and punch, and Donnie trying to restrain and bind. Chris hated nothing more than being in a rage and unable to move. Then, his only option was to talk.
“Fucker,” Chris growled as Donnie pinned one of his wrists above his head. “Use your fists. Now who’s the sissy?”
“You’re gonna hurt yourself,” Donnie gritted out, straddling Chris to lock his legs together, stealing his leverage. He took one more punch, which snapped his chin back, the sound of teeth clacking as loud as a gunshot in his head. He caught Chris’s flailing arm and pinned it. “You done?”
“Not even close, fucker.” Chris bucked up, trying to get free, to bend his knees enough to get a kidney shot, but Donnie was too heavy for him, and he wasn’t afraid to use his greater size as an advantage. Chris was scrappy and strong but no match for Donnie in this situation. Chris could level a man of any size, especially if they didn’t see him coming, but he was smaller, and if Donnie stole his agility, he could win. It was a lesson learned the hard way.
Finally, Chris deflated, breathing hard and glaring at Donnie with so much anger, it took the bigger man aback. At the same moment, they both became aware of Chris’s hard-on pressed against Donnie’s crotch. Chris’s cheeks burned red, and he looked away, shooting daggers at the door, the fireplace, the side of the couch, anywhere but Donnie’s face.
“Get the fuck off me,” he said, voice dead.
Donnie had never heard him sound like that, and frankly, it scared him. Chris wasn’t any closer to talking, and now, Donnie had made him angrier. He slowly released Chris’s hands and sat up but didn’t move off. To prove he was aware it happened to all guys at one time or another, especially in a rush of adrenaline or the friction of a close fight, he leaned forward with his hands on either side of Chris’s head, pressing his hips down so Chris could f
eel his own hardened reaction.
“Whatever you say,” he whispered menacingly. Getting to his feet, he held a hand down to help Chris up but got it slapped away for his trouble. “Fine. Go sulk.” He turned his back on his friend, dumping the pissed off expression the second Chris couldn’t see it anymore, striding into the rack room to finish with his face and hop in the shower.
He didn’t hear when Chris slipped out of the cabin, but when he got out of the shower—dick deflated with a little help—he was alone.
And you still don’t know what’s wrong with him. Genius idea to push him. He hoped whatever the fuck was going on, Chris would either snap out of it or grow a pair and fucking talk to him. But until that happened, he couldn’t do anything about it.
“Just do your job. Follow orders. The rest sorts itself out,” he muttered to no one, yanking on his BDUs and going in search of something to fill his stomach.
15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Day 21
Cuba, Illinois, to Argyle Lake State Park, north of Colchester, Illinois
* * *
If you have an issue with homosexuality, then it comes to your own fear and your own darkness.
—Tori Amos
* * *
“IS IT… THAT GNARLY LOOKING tree over there?” Jason asked Riley, pointing to the tree in question.
“Nope. Truth or dare?” Riley asked with glee.
“Uh, truth,” Jason chose.
“What’s the funnest thing you’ve ever done that could have gotten you arrested?”
“Most fun,” Charlotte corrected with a chuckle.
