by Wolf (lit)
“If you let go of me now,” she said a little breathlessly, “I’m going to drown. I don’t have the strength to swim.”
“I won’t let go, Sylvie,” he murmured, nuzzling his face against hers.
There was something about the inflection in his voice that brought her eyes open. She met his gaze for a pregnant moment. The sense that he was telling her something momentous swept through her and then the moment passed and her certainty with it. Kissing her forehead, he set her on her feet and swam away. She watched him for a moment and finally moved closer to the bank where it was shallower, and soaked and scrubbed at her skin and hair until they felt relatively clean.
She still missed soap and shampoo and she was starting to really miss a lot of things. She pushed it from her mind, determined not to get caught up in the yearning for things.
A change of clothing, for instance. She didn’t even have underwear or shoes. She supposed, though, that it was probably just as well she didn’t have the underwear. That would’ve just made her current situation more difficult. It was hard enough to manage ‘going’ in the woods without having to worry about layers of clothes. It was also hot and muggy and she was almost tempted to go shirtless as the men did.
Of course, they didn’t have any choice in that, but somehow she thought they would’ve discarded them anyway.
It was no great surprise, to Sylvie anyway, to discover that the other men were more tense and irritable than they had been before. She knew they weren’t in any doubt about what she and Mac had been up to when they were gone so long and strongly suspected Mac had deliberately kept her busy to make sure there wasn’t any doubt.
Beau and Hawk had already returned with a kill—a large pig-looking thing. As if their return was some sort of signal, though, Cavanaugh instructed her on turning the spit and got up. The men walked a short distance into the brush, dropped their trousers and shifted.
More than a little disappointed that she’d only gotten the back view, Sylvie watched until they disappeared and settled to wait for them. She supposed she could understand the draw—to an extent anyway. The sheer thrill of being able to do such a thing would be a novelty and being able to prowl the jungle as one with the other denizens, to see and hear and smell with such acute senses must be an adventure each time they did it.
She tried not to think about the fact that, as men, they’d been careful never to get too far from her, were always alert to her need to be protected, whereas now …. She wondered if they had thoughts once they changed into the great beasts. Or did they simply have the beast’s instincts to guide them? And if that was so, was that part of the attraction? They could throw off the worries of the world for a time and be completely free as no human could?
There was a cost to some freedoms, she thought abruptly, feeling depression seep into her pores along with thoughts she’d rarely allowed herself.
Take infertility, for instance. Never a worry in the world that she might get knocked up!
She didn’t suppose she’d ever managed to consider it in that light. She’d tried to convince herself she did, but the truth was it was like a low grade pain that never went away. She could push it to the back of her mind for long stretches of time, but it always made itself known again when she was least able to defend herself from it.
She’d thought she was just ‘lucky’ when she was young and exploring her sexuality—like many kids playing Russian Roulette with both disease and pregnancy. She supposed she was lucky, or she just had better than average instincts. She’d managed to reach a more savvy age without catching anything. She’d thought she was lucky she hadn’t gotten knocked up until she discovered it wasn’t luck at all. She just wasn’t fertile—she wasn’t sterile, but it pretty much amounted to the same thing when her ovaries weren’t producing like they should. The doctor had scratched his head over it. He’d run every test he could think of to find the answer and still come up empty. He didn’t know why.
It had taken no more than that to convince her husband, contrary bastard that he was, that he would miss out if he stayed with her. They’d fought tooth and nail over her desire to start a family right away, had had yet another fight about it right before her appointment and then, when she discovered her chances of having a baby were slim to none without some kind of fertility treatment, he’d left her.
Not quite that fast, of course. They’d managed to drag things out a couple of years before she’d discovered he was having an affair—with a ‘real’ woman. Mike always had known how to go straight for the jugular. He wasn’t in the wrong. He was justified. She was defective.
There hadn’t seemed to be any point in pursuing a relationship after that. Eventually, after she’d gotten over the divorce and her initial devastation about her situation, she’d tried—of course. She was a glutton for punishment!
Her last try had been almost five years earlier, after she’d turned thirty. She’d thought that one might actually work. He was older than her—thirty-five. He knew she was thirty. She’d thought he wouldn’t expect or want children with her. As it turned out, though, he’d thought she was perfect because he figured she must be a clock watcher, frantic to conceive before it was too late. His last wife hadn’t wanted children—with him, apparently. She’d had children by her next husband and he’d wanted at least one.
He’d seemed open to fertility treatments until he discovered it wasn’t cheap. He decided he’d do better if he kept looking, particularly when there was no guarantee that the fertility treatments would even work.
So she was still free.
It was almost worse to think that her life had turned out shit and it wasn’t even from a bad decision. A ‘do over’ wouldn’t help even if she could’ve done it.
Trying to shake her thoughts and the depression settling over her, she turned the pig on the spit, wondering what had prompted the unpleasant past to rear its ugly head. She knew why, though. It was the ‘thing’ she had for Mac.
He was so young. They all were. She doubted they’d ever given a thought to the families they would have someday, but they would eventually. Sooner or later everyone reached that point in their life where procreation became the driving force—just about everybody anyway.
Not that it mattered—to her.
Mac hadn’t said what he meant to do with her and she hadn’t asked. Truthfully, she’d been too damned scared at first to give any thought at all to ‘later’—because she wasn’t really expecting there to be a later. She still wasn’t sure that there would be a later for them. They were amazing, but the government was relentless. If they were determined to cleanup, they were going to keep looking until they could.
Actually, she supposed if the guys could stay ahead of them long enough, they’d eventually be moved to the back burner and they might be able to get on with their lives. She hoped they could. They were good men. They deserved it and there were women out there that deserved really exceptional men. God knew there weren’t nearly enough!
She supposed if they could stop running long enough, they’d try to swing by some town or village and drop her off. On some levels, she was anxious for it. On others, not so anxious, but she didn’t suppose it mattered how she felt about it one way or the other. Whatever happened would happen. Her fate wasn’t in her hands and she was just as glad it wasn’t. She’d lucked out. Her fate had fallen into a lot more capable hands than her own.
* * * *
It was between their mid-morning respite and the slightly longer break they usually took when they stopped to eat lunch that they stumbled upon the cabin. Sylvie didn’t even see it at once and wondered why the guys had just stopped. After looking around for several moments, though, she finally noticed a regular piece of wood that seemed out of place. The jungle had almost completely reclaimed it. Vines grew all over the walls and roof and the crooked chimney. The door was ajar, creating a black maw in the center that she’d thought at first glance was just an artificial tunnel created by the thick vines and undergrowth.
“It’s been empty a while,” Mac commented finally, lifting his head and scanning the area around the cabin.
Nodding, the men spread out, disappearing from her view in a matter of moments.
She saw that Mac was studying her when she glanced at him again. “Want to check it out?”
Nodding, she took the hand he offered and allowed him to lead her through the brush to the rickety steps. He tested them with one foot. “Seems solid enough. Watch for rotted wood, though. The jungle tends to consume everything.”
There was no porch, just the crooked steps leading into the cabin. Sylvie stopped on the threshold, waiting for her vision to adjust. Mac released her hand when she paused and moved inside.
“The floor and walls are stone,” he called from inside, his voice sounding strangely hollow. “It’s safe.”
It was a single room and not a very large one at that, she discovered when she’d followed him inside. The vines and brush that covered the two windows, cut out most of the light but enough filtered through that she could scan the room.
There was a narrow metal bed frame against one wall. A ragged quilt partially covered the sagging mattress. Dust liberally covered the floor and the rough hewn table that stood near the hearth. There were two equally rough chairs to match, one lying on the floor, broken, the other listing to one side. The kitchen counter consisted of two crates set on end and another rough cut board across them. An empty can sat at the end nearest the fireplace.
Mac was studying the ceiling when she turned to look at him questioningly. As if he sensed her gaze, he looked at her. “The roof looks good—well, the tin isn’t rusted out. The beams don’t look great, but I think they’ll hold up to anything but a heavy storm. Looks like the place managed to weather a few of them.”
“How long do you think it’s been standing here?”
He shrugged. “Probably not nearly as long as it looks. As for standing empty—at least a year, I’d imagine. The plants grow fast here, but not that fast,” he said, pointing to the vines covering most of the windows. “What do you think?”
Sylvie blinked at him. When it dawned on her that he was talking about staying the night, a shiver worked its way up her back. As bad as it had been to sleep in the jungle, she wasn’t sure this was much of an improvement. “You think it’s safe to stop this early in the day?”
“I think if they’d figured out where we came ashore, they’d be a lot closer—close enough we would’ve heard, or smelled, them.”
Sylvie nodded. “I guess I should look around and see if I can find anything to clean it up a little.”
He chuckled. “It’s cleaner now than the ground.”
“I don’t know. We don’t know what was sleeping in that bed … or is.”
“Good point. I’ll drag it outside and see what I can shake loose.”
A rat ran out when he dragged the mattress off the bed frame. Uttering a shriek, Sylvie tried to race it to the door. When she discovered the damned thing was headed in the same direction that she was, she danced over it and then whirled and raced in the other direction, flinging herself at Mac. He was laughing so hard by that time, he staggered at the impact.
Hawk appeared at the door, his brows lifted questioningly.
“Rat,” Mac managed to say in a voice still shaky with laughter.
Sylvie peeled herself loose from Mac and shuddered. “It was as big as a cat!” she said indignantly.
Mac snorted, but dismissed it. “How’s it looking?”
“No trail up to the place. Nobody’s been here for a while. I found an overgrown cart path. Beau and Cavanaugh are checking it out.”
Mac considered it. “I think we can figure on one night here, regardless. How about giving me a hand with the mattress? Sylvie wants it shook out.”
Hawk flicked a glance at her and moved inside. As soon as they’d each taken an end and carried the unwieldy thing out, Sylvie grasped the coverlet between two fingers, dragged it to the door, and pitched it out behind them.
She stood in the doorway watching them and finally decided it looked that they were doing a fairly thorough job of dislodging any occupants. “Will it be alright to pull the vines away from the window?”
Mac paused and turned to study her and then the windows. “Just push them back. Don’t pull them down.”
Chapter Ten
“The cart track we followed connects with another about six or seven miles from here that gets a fair amount of local traffic. It leads to a village … another five miles at a guess. It’s small. We didn’t see any sign of tourists or tourist-type trade goods, and the people look poor, so I’m thinking it’s a good bet that it’s pretty isolated. We didn’t go in since it’s also obvious we’d stick out and be remembered.”
Mac nodded. “We’ll need to check it out more thoroughly, but I think this will be a good place to settle—for now, anyway. Not many comforts, but there’s a few and Sylvie’s pretty worn out.”
“I wouldn’t mind a few days rest myself,” Beau said wryly. “We’ve been humping it pretty hard.”
“I heard that!” Cavanaugh agreed.
Mac looked at Hawk. Hawk studied him a few moments and finally shrugged. “Whatever you say.”
Mac frowned, studied the ground at his feet for several moments and finally met Hawk’s gaze again. “I think we have something to settle before we move on anyway, don’t we Hawk?”
Hawk’s expression hardened. “Maybe we do,” he said tightly.
“That’s what I figured. There can only be one top dog. We’ll meet here—tonight—and settle it. Meanwhile, we need to see what we can do to help Sylvie clean up the place until she’s satisfied it’s as comfortable as we can make it. There’s a crude shower and latrine just out back. We need to see if we can get them in shape for use and see whatever we can scrounge up that the former resident might have abandoned. Doesn’t look like he had much, but it won’t hurt to look.”
“I saw an old garden patch,” Cavanaugh volunteered. “All grown up, but if there was anything left that ran to seed, there might be something to eat.”
“Check it out. Beau, how are you with plumbing?”
Beau snorted. “That ain’t plumbing, mon ami!”
* * * *
Sylvie was more worn out from trying to clean the cabin, she thought, than she would’ve been from a full day’s march. She still had the creepy-crawlies from all the varmints she’s chased out or slain outright, but she was convinced enough that they would have the cabin to themselves that she thought she might be able to close her eyes.
There’d either been way more wildlife inside the cabin than in the woods, or she’d just been able to see them better. She wasn’t sure which, but she knew she’d never get a wink of sleep if she could see them crawling around or worse, hear them skittering across the walls or floor.
The mattress looked and smelled better after it had been left outside most of the day to air, but it still didn’t look particularly appealing. She’d found a laundry area outside, though, a cracked tub and water supply from a huge barrel that had been set up to catch rain water. She’d also found a sliver of soap. It was a hard choice—save it for personal bathing or use it to clean the quilt—but she finally decided to use it for the laundry. It was pretty harsh stuff, and unscented. The quilt, even though it wasn’t very big, soaked up enough water it weighed a ton and that was the source of most of her weariness—trying to clean the damned thing, but she was reasonably satisfied after a while. She wrung it out the best she could and spread it over some of the brush to dry in the sun.
Mac and Beau, she saw, were working on the crude bathroom that had been built a short distance behind the cabin. It was almost sad even to her how excited she was at that discovery, but there was no denying that her heart leapt with joy. It buoyed her spirits enough that she could hardly sit still when they finally broke for lunch.
As soon as they’d finished eating, she was up and on the hunt for something to use to clean the
cabin. It was just as well she’d been gung ho about it. She didn’t think she would’ve had time to de-varmint the cabin before dark if she hadn’t started right away.
Cavanaugh came in about halfway through the afternoon and built a fire on the hearth. Sylvie watched him curiously. It got pretty cool at night—especially now that they’d gotten into the foothills—but it was still a long time till dusk and she wondered why he would start a fire so early.
Hawk came in a little later with a broken pottery pot and set it very carefully on the coals of the fire Cavanaugh had started. He sent her a speculative glance when he saw she was watching him. There was heat in the gaze he raked over her, and possessiveness and she more than half feared he might say something that would make them both uncomfortable. “We’ll be a staying here a few days. Why don’t you take a break? You can always pick up again tomorrow.”
A little surprised at the information but relieved that he hadn’t said anything personal, Sylvie smiled tiredly. “In a little bit. I don’t think I could sleep in this place tonight until I’m sure there isn’t anything in here to crawl on me while I’m trying to sleep.”
Mac came in just then, divided a glance between them and then headed to the hearth, dropping in several unidentifiable, bloody chunks of meat.
Mystery solved, Sylvie thought wryly when both men had left, wondering how they were going to eat the stew, or soup, the guys had apparently decided on for supper and if they had anything to put in it besides the meat and water.
Mac was back in a few minutes with his canvas tote. After digging around in it, he pulled out a box of salt, poured a little in his palm and dropped it in the pot. He also removed a plate, a large coffee mug, and a fork, knife, and spoon. The other men came and went, dropping off similar treasures. As the sun started to set, Cavanaugh came in with a small armload of stunted vegetables, mostly potatoes—a couple of over ripe tomatoes and a few peppers.
“Where in the world did you find all that?” Sylvie asked in pleased surprise.
