by Ronie Kendig
Snow and rocks seemed to roll and swell.
Crap! He hated being right.
He dropped to a knee. Sighted down his M4 at the big cat. Really, God? A snow leopard?
They were rare. Few had seen them beyond the zoos and wildlife preserves. Incredible, amazing cats. Beautiful. Fierce. The cats couldn’t roar. They growled—the sound he’d heard on the wind—and chuffed, like tigers.
Despite a healthy respect and admiration for the large cats, Brian had more important assets to protect.
When the big cat crouched, its shoulders rippling as it hunched to pounce, Brian took aim, certain nobody hunkered behind the cat should the bullet go clean through. Steadied his breathing. And just as the cat’s muscles ripped for a lunge, he fired.
Fekiria’s scream echoed through the small valley.
Brian broke into a run—would’ve been a sprint if it hadn’t been for the monkey-girl attached to his back—straight for them. “Everyone okay?”
On her feet, Fekiria stared down at the cat. Her wide, glossy eyes seemed wider and brighter than he’d ever seen them.
“Fekiria. You okay?” He cut off her view of the now-dead snow leopard and touched her shoulder.
She flinched. Looked at him. Shuddered. And wilted against him.
Surprise exploded through him as he let his arm wrap around her shoulder. This chick had never shown that she was even capable of affection. And especially not fear. Until she met me.
Right.
“C’mon.” Taking her by the shoulder, he gathered up the other two, whose cheeks were pinked by the cold and hot tears. “Let’s move quickly. I found a cave. We need to get them out of the elements.”
He tethered up and led them across the open area, keeping eyes out in case the big cat had a mate or sibling bent on revenge. They made it over the clearing and up the rocky, snow-swirled incline as the wind once more raged. Snow came in sheets. Brian tucked his shoulder against the drifts, staying attuned to the others. To Fekiria, especially. Though it was a brutal climb, she didn’t falter, whine, or complain. She struggled up the mountain, slipping more than once, but she never quit.
They were tired. Too tired. And frozen. Frostbite was a real concern. He’d check them once inside the cave to make sure they had full use of their digits and toes, though he wasn’t sure at this point what he could do if there was frostbite. Out here in the elements, with no help in sight, options were limited at best.
“Here,” he said, as he pointed to the hairpin area.
One by one, starting with the teen, they wound their way into the cave. Brian edged in right after Fekiria, the progress slowing as they dropped into the cavernous part. The teen sat against the back wall, completely wrecked. The other woman—Mitra?—held her side as she lowered herself next to the teen.
Brian trailed backward into the cave, swiping away their tracks as he went deeper. It’d be insane for someone to find them up this high, but the freaks chasing them were very determined. That was okay. I’m more determined. Nobody was dying. Not this time.
“Here.” Fekiria indicated to Brian’s pack. With her help, the little girl came free and scooted over to Mitra.
On a knee, he dug the thermal blanket from his ruck and handed it to Fekiria, who draped it over the younger girls, the two miraculously finding something to giggle about.
Shivering violently, Fekiria watched them, smiling.
“Hey,” Brian said as he dug out his med kit and nodded to the blanket. “Get warm.”
“N–no. I’m–m okay.”
“Bull. Get under there with them.” Why did she have to be so stubborn?
She gritted her teeth and opened her mouth.
See? He knew her mean side would come back. “No arguing.” He gave her the look. “Now. You can be brave and strong in ten minutes. Right now, I have to tend to your friend. She’ll need the blanket when I’m done, and then I won’t argue with you. Deal?”
Her lips tightened. What would she do if he kissed those lips? Knock a tooth loose, most likely. Better steer her toward something less him oriented. He pointed to the smallest girl. “Quit thinking about yourself for once. Your body heat will help warm up the little one faster.”
Eyes flashed at him. “Her name is Aadela.”
There. That’s what he needed to see: her fight. “Well, Aadela needs you to think about her for ten minutes.”
Relenting, Fekiria joined Aadela and Sheevah under the blanket as Brian knelt beside the woman. “I need to check your wound.”
Fekiria translated, her teeth chattering over the words.
Mitra nodded.
When Brian leaned toward her, the lamp beam hit her. A sheen of sweat coated her face. She wasn’t as pretty as Fekiria, but she had a prettiness all her own, and right now, it was coated in a pale gray. He laid out his tarp, which wasn’t sterile but would protect her against the wet ground, and motioned her to lie down.
Gingerly, she obeyed.
Being a soldier, he’d been through emergency field training. He knew how to dress a wound, splint a break, and apply a tourniquet. All the jazz necessary to save a life.
There was just one problem: he hated bodily fluids.
They were great. Necessary. On the inside. That’s where they belonged.
Teeth clamped, he cut away the fabric around her injury, knowing he’d have to bandage her up pretty tight when he was done. The bullet tore through her coat, tunic, and the waistline of her pants. It wasn’t good. Not the holes in the clothes nor the one in her side. He wasn’t a doctor, but he had a bad feeling about this injury. With no exit wound, it meant the bullet was still in there, digging around, agitating organs and tissue. Infecting. If they were out here too long and she didn’t get medical attention, she’d go septic.
So much for Fekiria’s promise that it was a graze. He’d have a word with her later. This should’ve been addressed earlier. Warm blood gushing over his hands gave his brain mixed signals—grateful for the heat, but knowing that heat shouldn’t be happening. His stomach roiled as he cleansed the injury, applied the stasis foam to the bleeding, and wrapped her up tight.
“She should keep still for a while,” Brian said to Fekiria, meeting her green eyes evenly. “Have them lie next to her with that thermal blanket. I need to check toes and fingers.” Fekiria wrapped the blanket over them and tucked in the supplies then brushed back the hair of the little one.
A soft whimpering started from one of the girls as Brian cleaned up the medical supplies, and Fekiria urged Aadela and Sheevah toward the woman. They cuddled next to her, barricading themselves at the back of the cave, but the whimpering only grew worse. They were getting warm, which would mean if they had frostbite, they’d probably feel a prickly sensation if not outright pain in their digits as circulation returned.
Brian squatted beside those huddled beneath the thermal blanket and smiled at them, taking the teen’s hands. She snapped her gaze down. He glanced at Fekiria. “Tell her what I’m doing.”
As Pashto flew between the two, Brian checked her fingers, the tip of her nose—he’d avoid her ears since she wore a hijab—then her toes. Pinkish but not gray. He pinched her skin and she hissed.
“Good.” He moved to the little one and smiled at her as Fekiria moved in behind her, softly explaining what he was doing.
His gut tightened as he held her fingers. A grayish tinge had already crept into them and the tips of her ears. “She’s showing signs of frostbite,” he said as he lifted her leg. “Talk to her. This might hurt.” He tucked her foot beneath his arm.
Wide eyed, Aadela stilled. But then he saw the shift to pain. Her face screwed up. She cried out. Tried to wrench her foot free, but Brian held her firm.
“It’ll pass,” Brian reassured. She needed more protection against the elements. He’d have to go back and get the pelt from that snow leopard. He didn’t relish the thought of skinning it, but he had no idea how long it’d take them to reach civilization. Or if they’d be confronted again by th
e terrorists.
Fekiria wrapped her arms around Aadela as the girl’s cries softened, shhing her and rocking.
“Keep massaging her toes.” Brian lifted Fekiria’s booted foot and started unlacing it.
23 February—2313 Hours
Startled at the intimate touch, Fekiria yanked her foot back and snapped her gaze to Sergeant Brian, her heart thumping.
Hands up, he cocked his head a little. “I need to make sure you don’t have frostbite.”
“I don’t.” She swallowed as something in her stirred at the thought of him touching her feet.
He held her foot again. “Pardon me if I don’t believe you. Wouldn’t be the first time you’ve lied to me.”
“I’ve never lied to you.” Her own admission shocked her. It was true. She hadn’t deliberately lied to him about anything.
“True,” he said, unlacing the boot. “But you’ve omitted a lot. And I wouldn’t put it past you to omit that you can’t feel your toes right now.” She froze as her boot slid off.
Sergeant Brian cupped the back of her foot with one hand and peeled back her sock. A rush of heat shot through Fekiria. Embarrassment. And shame. Feet were considered dirty by Muslims. But no, that’s not what filled her cheeks right now. It was…his touch.
His hands were strong and callused as they squeezed and rubbed her foot. “A bit pink for you, but—” When he looked up at her, he stilled, his gaze roaming her face.
She yanked back her foot. Tugged up her sock. “I told you I was not lying.”
“So you weren’t.” He handed her the boot, something unreadable in his expression.
She snatched it and stuffed her foot in. Even as she secured the laces, she could feel him watching her and refused to acknowledge him.
“What about your other foot?”
She flicked a mean glare his way, her heart about to jump out of her chest if he touched her again. “I’m fine.”
“Ten toes, but each one counts.” He shrugged as he squatted before her. “Not sure you’d forgive me if you lost one because I didn’t check it.”
“That will not happen.” Neither him checking it nor her losing one. Because her toes were fine. She was fine. When she finally looked up, she felt a squirt of heat through her stomach. She pulled her gaze back down but couldn’t ignore what she felt. What she saw—though she wasn’t sure, she thought she saw a hint of a smile.
Still crouched, he wheeled around. Grabbed a couple of items. “I’ll be back. Stay here.” When he shifted, he handed her the weapon again. “Use it if someone comes without giving you the password.”
Fekiria blinked as she took the gun. “What password? Wait—where are you going?”
“Out. Need to take care of that cat before someone sees it.”
Oh. Yeah. That made sense. “What’s the password?”
“Pink toes.”
“You are laughing at me.” Stunned, she shoved her attention to the ground, squished the hurt she felt.
“Only a little.” He touched her chin and nudged it up. “Hey, it was cute. I didn’t mean—”
“Just go.” She hated that she’d had such a visceral reaction to his touch.
Her words vanquished Sergeant Brian’s lightheartedness. He considered her for a moment then turned and left. Grateful she could once again breathe, Fekiria tugged Aadela a little closer. Almost as if the six-year-old could protect her.
From what? Yourself?
“He is a good man,” Mitra whispered.
“He’s American.” Throwing that out there did nothing to lessen the cracks in her resolve or the searing memory of his touch. Of his gentleness even with those large hands. Of his commitment to helping and protecting them—despite being American.
He’d held her without comment or retort after he killed the snow leopard. Shock had stripped her of common sense, falling into a man’s arms like that. She could even still smell him.
“You are a dear, sweet friend.” Mitra pulled in a hard breath and stiffened for a minute. Slowly, she relaxed, her eyes fixing again on Fekiria. “But you are being childish and foolish.”
“You said the same thing to me when I would not listen to your proselytizing,” Fekiria shot back.
Mitra smiled. “I confess I was zealous then.” Her expression grew serious. “You are a smart woman. Don’t let rash thoughts and quick judgments smother your future.”
“Future?” Fekiria laughed and came around her friend’s side, tucking her in a little better beneath the thermal blanket. “I think you are more ill than you realize.”
“I hope not,” Mitra said with a grimace. “Because I feel terrible and I do not want Hadassah to grow up an orphan.”
Sobered by the words, the plight of her friend, Fekiria focused her attention on the situation. On their desperate need to get back down the mountain. Not on Sergeant Brian.
“Where did he go?” Sheevah asked, curled on her side next to Mitra.
“To get the skin from the leopard.” Fekiria stared at the opening, half expecting him to be there or to come through it. But it was dark and empty. What if he took off? He’d be quicker and faster without them.
“Did he leave us?” Aadela asked, tears pooling in her eyes.
“No,” Fekiria answered quickly. Decisively. “He wouldn’t do that.” And somehow, she knew it was true. Knew he was a good man, just as Mitra said. “He takes care of us and will make sure we are safe again before he leaves.”
The thought seared her heart. He would leave, wouldn’t he? As an American soldier, his loyalty was to his country. Not Afghanistan. Not her.
Stupid. Why was she even thinking like this?
Fekiria pushed to her feet, remembering how he had to duck to walk in the cave, and made her way to the opening. Cold air pulsed against her. Surely it didn’t take that long.
A thumbnail between her teeth, she eased into the narrow passage that switched back. She scooted along until she could see out. Threat of danger kept her from stepping into the open. But she couldn’t see anything. The way the snow fell in blankets felt as if she were facing an opaque wall.
She shimmied back into the cave, frustrated. Afraid. Rubbing her arms, she tried to ward off the chill seeping into her bones. Into her very soul.
“His binoculars.”
Fekiria turned to her friend. “I’m sorry?”
“Use the binoculars. He’s been gone…too long.” Eyelids drooping, Mitra looked toward Sergeant Brian’s ruck.
So it wasn’t just her. She hurried to his large camo pack and retrieved the binoculars. She returned to the opening and strained—even with the long-range vision—to see anything. After scanning the hills, the open area between this incline and the jutting mountain opposite, she searched for the spot where he’d killed the snow leopard. Where he’d saved her life.
Tightening up the contrast, Fekiria froze at what came into focus.
Two men. Attacking Sergeant Brian.
CHAPTER 34
23 February—2330 Hours
Pain exploded across the back of Brian’s skull. His knees buckled. He shoved his hands out to break his fall and landed on all fours. Head dangling, he groaned, his only thought the women in the cave depending on him. Fekiria. She could die if he didn’t—
A boot came into view.
Brian swiped it. Caught the back of the slick heel and flipped the guy.
Thud!
Snow puffed up as the man hit the ground. Brian pounced. Slammed his fist into the face. Heard the crack. Felt the spurt of hot liquid. The attacker went still. Brian leapt up, reaching for his weapon…that wasn’t there.
Scrambling, he came to his feet, hunting for the other two. They’d come out of nowhere when he was knee deep in the leopard blood. He’d been there, shielded against the worst of the wind and snow, when he noticed them come over the rise. He snatched up his modified Glock, but he hadn’t been aware of the third Talib—right behind him.
Burning awareness rushed through him. He was badly outnu
mbered. Women were depending on him. And he didn’t have a prayer.
Actually—he did have that. Or could. God, help me!
An invisible fist punched him. Knocked him backward. Brian grunted—he’d been shot. Though he could see, he couldn’t breathe. Felt like a rocket had slammed into his chest. The ballistic inserts of his tactical vest prevented penetration but didn’t prevent the impact. He blinked. Breathe! But there was no air. The edges of his vision started ghosting.
No! He couldn’t die. Fekiria. The women. He had to get them to safety. If he died and these Taliban found them…
Snow crunched to his left.
Another assailant coming closer.
Brian grabbed a tendril of air. Choked. Coughed. Coiled onto his side, his vision returning.
A boot dropped on his face.
Cringing against the pain that spirited down his neck and shoulders, Brian grabbed both ends of the ankle. Twisted. Upended the guy. Brian rolled to the side. Something hard and cold hit his hand. He knew that feeling! His frozen fingers coiled around the rifle. He glanced, identifying it as a Kalashnikov. Brian shoved to his feet, lifting the rifle. Then struggled to stand, bringing the weapon to bear.
Brian aimed it at the attacker. Fired.
Something wrapped round his neck.
Brian grabbed at it. Felt the rope. Focused on the attacker. Dropped his full weight down. Dragging the guy with him. The man fell forward. Brian drove his elbow into his face.
He stumbled back, freeing Brian.
Twisting around, Brian sighted the attacker.
Blood dribbling down his chin, the man sneered, the fight still burning in his heart as much as in Brian’s. This duel would be bloody and to the death.
So be it. Brian dove into him. Tackled him. They rolled. And rolled. Brian tried to control the ending so he was atop the attacker. But the man whipped him around.
Pain erupted across the back of Brian’s head and neck. He pitched forward. Dropped onto his knees in the cold, biting snow. With a groan, he tried to shake off the spots in his vision. He reached for his Glock. The holster was empty. He’d given it to Fekiria. As the realization hit him, so did another—crunching snow. Coming closer.
