THE EDGE OF TRUST (TEAM EDGE)

by KT Bryan

  The concussion of the blast knocked me back, sent me flying through the air. It must have hurt when I landed, but I don’t remember pain. I seemed to have a faint realization that my momentum had stopped suddenly and that something awful had just happened but I couldn’t quite grasp what.

  My vision was obscured by smoke and debris. I could smell the caustic scent of burning rubber, gas, smoke and flesh. These were smells I knew from my tours in the middle east, and it came to me then, that a bomb had gone off and people were dead.

  I lifted my head, blinking the smoke from my eyes. The car was gone. Nothing left but a ball of burning metal. When the worst of the smoke started to move and clear, I saw bits and pieces of the chaos around me. People were running, ducking, arms flailing, mouths moving in screams I couldn’t hear.

  The world that had been so bright before was now a dull, dim gray.

  That is what I remember of the morning Adoña and Dreena died.

  I had not done my job to the best of my ability.

  Sanchez went a little insane that day, blamed me as much as I blamed myself. I knew then, that no matter what else happened, I was a dead man. If I had stayed, even one day longer, I would not be alive to write this journal.

  I grabbed what I needed and left that night. I did manage to blow the escape tunnel, but I did not dance or feel smug satisfaction. I didn’t feel anything.

  Rafe, however, did.

  And never in a million years had I expected the kind of retribution Sanchez had planned. ~~ D.C.

  <><><>

  He’d finally done it. Dillon had become the monster he hated.

  Sara was right and Dillon felt…sick. His eyes squeezed shut as pressure built in his chest. It swirled, pressed, lashed into his conscience. Because after all, hadn’t what he, her husband, done to her last night been the very same as her father?

  The ground was muddy and saturated from the rain, and with every step they took, the mud sucked at their boots, making the simple act of walking an athletic trial. The jungle was miserable, they didn’t have much time left before they met up with Sanchez, and even though his self disgust was eating at him, Dillon still had one question Sara hadn’t answered yet.

  “You never did explain your disappearing act.”

  “Why don’t you explain how you can be such a cruel bastard?”

  Sara was right. And she was wrong. He made a strangled sound. Then he stopped dead in his tracks and whirled on her, spitting fire. His hands clenched into fists and he said, “I’m cruel? What the hell do you think you are? You kept my child from me! One I may never get to see or hold! And to beat a dead horse one last time, why in the hell didn’t you let me know you were alive twelve months ago!”

  “Because it was better that way!”

  Face tight, he looked at her like she was insane. “God Almighty, Sara, better for who?”

  “For you! Because Craig was right. You would’ve found me. Sanchez would have found you. We’d all be dead. Do you think it was better, or in any way easy, for me to go from place to place always looking over my shoulder, always wondering when the hammer would drop? Do you think that was easy?”

  He turned, feeling defeated, and kept walking. Trudging. “Yeah, well, we’re even then, because I’m the one who put flowers on your grave.”

  “I thought Craig had told you. For a whole year, I thought you knew I was still alive. I kept waiting to hear from you, hoping you’d make contact. But I never heard a single word. And every day and every night I mourned you. Finally I gave up. Finally I believed you meant it when you said you were sorry you married me. Finally I knew those weren’t just rash words said in the heat of an argument. I didn’t know until a week ago that Craig had never told you.”

  He stopped short, turned. “Then I apologize. Sincerely.” He looked over her head, into the distance, remembered what lay ahead, what lay behind, and his anger vanished. Sara would never understand the sorrow he felt. The loss before the loss. The loss after.

  He turned around and headed off again, leaving her to follow.

  “Sorry for things like resentment, hate, revenge, murder?”

  For the first time since they’d started out, he actually stumbled. “Let it go, Sara.”

  “Why? Why should I? This is my life too!”

  “Let. It. Fucking. Go.”

  “Fine. Whatever. Kid yourself all you want.”

  His back went stiff. “Maybe I am. Maybe I’m not. Either way, it doesn’t matter. Not anymore.”

  “Because you blame me for Sanchez having our baby?”

  His shoulders slumped in defeat. “Because you were right. I should have somehow told you the danger involved. What you might someday be up against. Maybe if I had, none of this would have happened. Maybe we’d have our baby--”

  “I shouldn’t have followed you.”

  He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter now. There’s still my job. Or, if not, then prison. There’s still Sanchez.”

  “There’s still us,” she said, and he couldn’t tell if that was hope or despair in her voice.

  “Let’s just worry about finding Sanchez for now.”

  As they continued to trek forward, the terrain changed slightly; they were in more of a jungle now than a forest, the undergrowth was becoming thicker and denser, which meant they eventually had to slow their pace.

  Armies of mosquitoes went literally for blood, going for every spot that wasn’t covered by T-shirts and fatigues. Gnats and flies stung, and they were both drenched in sweat.

  Dillon dropped his duffel bag and turned to check on Sara. She looked like she’d taken a left turn into exhaustion and was about to keel over. Even though he was in decent physical shape and had been trained to handle pretty much any kind of terrain, slogging through the mud and vegetation wasn’t easy for him, and by all rights should be nearly impossible for her.

  He was already starting to worry that she was going to get heatstroke, or worse, and they hadn’t even gone more than a few miles yet. The heat was a bitch.

  “Here, drink some water. You’re starting to look a little...mushy.” Handing Sara a canteen of water, he thought mushy described her to a tee.

  “Mushy? I look mushy and you’re handing me water? How about a towel and some air conditioning?” She pushed her soggy hair out of her face, straightened her shoulders and probably would’ve glared if she’d had the energy.

  “Sorry, fresh out. Now, drink the water or you’ll get dehydrated.” Hoping to lighten the tension and put their anger on hold--anything to keep from arguing--he decided a little teasing might help. “You’ll start puking, maybe even hallucinate, probably get all whiny too, just like a woman. And then, just so I won’t have to listen to you grumble, I’ll have to stuff your dried up body into this duffel bag which is already heavy enough, thank you very much, so drink.”

  She swallowed down at least a pint of water before handing the canteen back to him then turned her attention to the machete he was busy pulling out of his duffel bag. The blade was wide, probably a good two feet long, and sharp enough to split coconuts.

  “Holy crap, what other stuff do you have in there?”

  “Enough to stay alive, I hope.”

  Dillon cleared the way through the tangle of vines and tree limbs with quick, clean slices. “Think you can go another couple of miles before lunch?”

  Sara stumbled, catching her foot in a tangled tree root. His hand snaked out and caught her before she fell face first into the green slime. “You okay?”

  She nodded and gave him a tired look, and he watched mutely as her shoulders drooped. “You look miserable.”

  She shrugged and he figured she could probably use a nap, a cold shower, and a decent meal. And then another nap for good measure. Her energy reserves looked nil.

  She faked a small smile. “A few more miles? Sure. You bet.”

  He wiped the sweat off his face with his sleeve and actually felt himself smile back at her. “You’re doing great. Really.”
<
br />   Slivers of sunlight broke through the umbrella of branches overhead and danced off the feathers of parrots and macaws. Spider monkeys swung from branches and vines, all chattering nonstop and Dillon wondered just how much further they had to go.

  <><><>

  Lunch came and went. Morning became afternoon and after walking nonstop for several more hours, Sara just kept putting one foot mindlessly in front of the other. Any moment now she knew she was going to fall face first into the mud and get swallowed up whole by the gook.

  Everything blurred together, it all looked like the same jumble of green and it didn’t seem like they’d made any progress at all. In fact, the more she looked around, the more she was sure she’d passed the same tree and stepped over the same roots a thousand times.

  With a shake of her head, she blinked, and then stared accusingly at Dillon’s back. He, of course, seemed to be as tireless as a waterfall and moved like a well-oiled machine, obviously immune to fatigue and the burden of his surroundings.

  He must have heard her struggling to catch her breath behind him, because he finally stopped to give her a once-over. She knew her hair was matted with sweat, her face had streaks of mud all over it, her clothes were sticking to her, and she felt completely empty inside. If he poked her in the shoulder, she’d topple over like a hollow tree.

  Just as she was about to suggest sitting down to take five, he stiffened. His head cocked sideways, listening to something she didn’t hear, and his gaze locked on some distant spot in the treetops.

  Her skin prickled in alarm. “What? Do you hear something? Are we being followed? Is someone out there?”

  He opened his mouth to say something, glanced at her face and shrugged a little too nonchalantly. “Probably just monkeys.”

  Sara stuck her hands on her hips and whispered, “I’m not two anymore. If someone is out there, you need to tell me.”

  “If somebody’s out there, they’re not close. Later, if I have a chance, I’ll take a look. Until then,” he transferred his attention to his watch and frowned. “Damn.”

  “What now?”

  “Four hours until showtime.”

  Only four hours left to find Sanchez? “Are we close?”

  “Yes, we’re close.”

  “Then, let’s go.”

  Hot and tired, they picked up their pace.

  <><><>

  Dillon saw how miserable Sara looked and thought maybe he could take her mind off the sweltering botanical prison they were in. And take his mind off the men he knew were following them. “Okay,” he said, “here’s a story for you.”

  “When I was new to the SEALs, we were in the Middle East, and six of us were hightailing it out of the city toward a waiting chopper when my foot stepped down onto a landmine. Not an IED, but a relic from the second world war. At first I thought it was a Bouncing Betty or maybe a claymore and, man, I thought we were dead for sure.” Shaking his head at the memory, he continued. “I’d been running flat out, I was loaded down with gear, and I didn’t think I could stop my forward momentum. Somehow, I did. And since I was in the lead, the other five guys behind me all stopped dead in their tracks thinking I’d lost my bloody mind. Our pickup chopper was about fifty yards ahead, and enemy guns weren’t far behind. The guys just couldn’t figure out why in the hell I’d stopped cold in the middle of an escape, with freedom just yards away and waiting.”

  He sliced through another vine, hoping Sara was somewhat distracted. It was getting hotter, and he hated to push her, but time was running out.

  “Anyway, my body was stretched to its limit with my foot never leaving the pressure mechanism. I was off balance, so I dug my rifle into the sand and levered myself up straight. I gotta say, I was sweating more than a cold glass in summer. The instant I let my foot up, I knew all six of us would be history.

  “I started yelling for the rest of the men to run for the chopper. Then this old wise-ass Master Chief walks up to me, eyeballs me up and down and looks at my foot. He circles me twice, taking his sweet time about it, even though there’s a boatload of tangos bearing down on us. Then his eyes narrowed as he stared at me. After a minute of contemplation he says, ‘Boy, what in damnation are you waitin’ for? The bomb squad? Get your ass on that chopper!’ Never mind that I was the ranking officer in charge. When he saw that I wasn’t budging, he raised his boot and shoved me in the ass. My foot came off the mine and I knew we’d all bought it. Except nothing happened. The mine was dead.”

  “What if it hadn’t been? Good grief, lots of mines from back in the day are still active.” Sara sounded indignant on his behalf and he grinned.

  “True. And the Chief was taking a major chance. Thing is though, it was a fifty-fifty shot. If the mine were live, we’d have been killed. If I hadn’t moved, the guys coming behind us would’ve slaughtered us. The Chief gambled. We won.”

  “And that’s normal for you?”

  “Pretty much, yeah.”

  “Okay. I can live with that.”

  She had lived with that, she just hadn’t known it. Now though, she was at least voicing her choice. It made Dillon think.

  “The guys give you grief?”

  “For weeks. Jake replaced my nine-millimeter with a cap gun. Aaron booby-trapped the toilet seat, which by the way, caused the entire base to be without water for two days. I got firecrackers tossed at me in the shower, Lito brought in a blow up doll named Betty and--” Dillon figured he’d better stop while he was ahead. Sara didn’t need to hear the rest of that particular story, especially since it wound up involving a very embarrassed Captain, a video camera and the Shore Patrol. “Typical SEALs.”

  Dillon didn’t think Sara had enough energy to laugh, but a giggle rippled up and out of her like champagne bubbles. Her laugh was contagious and he smiled. That was another thing he loved about her. When she was happy, everyone around her was happy, too. Especially him.

  “Okay, so we’ll chalk that up to one of your not-so-great days, but what was your finest day, the best day of your life, a day that you’ll never forget?”

  Dillon missed the vine he was aiming for and hacked into a small tree trunk. Pulling the machete out of the tree, he swung again and thought, the day I married you and pretty much every day since--except for the last year. Considering the fact that he was trying to get her out of his life, he couldn’t very well say the words. Instead, he gave her an answer he knew would go nowhere. “I'm still working on it.”

  Dillon whacked another vine, and then stopped abruptly, turning to shove Sara against a tree. “Hold still,” he told her, his voice low. His eyes narrowed as he cocked his head, “Listen.”

  “What? I don’t hear--”

  “Shhh!” He covered her mouth with his hand.

  Within seconds they heard the faint vibration grow louder. A whoop, whoop, whoop, coming from directly overhead.

  Looking up, all Sara saw was a green canopy of leaves with small patches of blue sky showing through. But every instinct inside her screamed danger before Dillon uttered the single word that confirmed it.

  “Sanchez.”

  <><><>

  Dillon pointed to a small rock formation butted up against a thick tangle of trees. “There. Go!” He pushed Sara forward.

  She ran.

  He was right behind her.

  Bullets were right behind him.

  Finally reaching the rocks, she ducked behind them and he was beside her in an instant.

  “Don’t move. Stay absolutely still.” The chopper steadied on its heading, coming straight at them. Bullets ricocheted off the rocks as the chopper passed directly overhead.

  “We can’t even see them! If we can’t see them, how can they see us? How do they know where we are?”

  “Motion detectors. Probably seismic. Maybe infrared. Either we’re close to Sanchez’s fortress or he’s extremely paranoid.”

  If Dillon fired at the chopper with the rifle he had in his duffel bag, he’d be shooting blind, plus it would immediately give aw
ay their position. Not only that, but there was no doubt in his mind that they were definitely out-gunned. He knew better than to underestimate Rafael Sanchez. Besides the chopper, the bastard probably had an entire band of guerillas out searching for them right now.

  One thing he knew, whoever was following them on foot was still out there and not too terribly far away now.

  The sound of the chopper grew louder once again as it made another pass. Sara’s eyes dilated with angry fear.

  “It’s okay. We’re fairly safe as long as we stay put. Right now they’re just trying to smoke us out.”

  The distinctive whir of helicopter blades sounded behind them, drawing closer.

  He tipped Sara’s chin up so that her gaze met his. “We’re too close to one of Sanchez’s sensors. We need to move. There’s a river due west of here. Maybe half a mile. And a waterfall.” He knew they were close. The waterfall had to be the one near Sanchez’s hideout.

  He unstrapped his gun and holster and packed them into his duffel bag, damn glad both bags were waterproof. Where they were headed, they’d need to be. He didn’t tell Sara what lay ahead of them or what they were going to do. Not knowing how she’d react, he refused to give her a chance to show him until it was too late.

  When the chopper veered off, he said, “Let’s go,” and headed out, this time at a much faster clip.

  <><><>

  Sara followed right on his heels. She didn’t know how she managed, her legs were still wobbly from fear and fatigue, but follow she did.

  Actually, she did know. She did not like bullets, especially aimed at her or Dillon.

  They ran and stumbled their way through the deep green growth before coming to an abrupt break in the trees. The sound they’d heard for the last few hundred yards suddenly became a colossal roar that stopped them both, and had them unexpectedly teetering on the brink of a sheer cliff. To their left, a huge waterfall poured off the earth, splashing down over two hundred feet below. An enormous rainbow floated in the thick mist rising from the falls.