by Amy Andrews
She felt his conflict. How awful to have to make a decision in a split second when emotions were running high and a life was at stake. And to spend years with it on your conscience, trying to rationalise it and stop the nightmares. He was truly an honourable man.
He could have killed without conscience, without batting an eyelid, but it was the measure of the type of man he was that his actions had caused him much angst. Love surged through her, a stronger, more mature love than she had ever felt. Richard had changed and so had she. But one thing hadn’t—Richard, her damaged hero, needed her love more than ever.
And there was nothing light or feathery about her kiss this time. She unleashed herself, pouring all her love and the pride she felt at his actions into the kiss. She moved closer so their bodies were touching, trying to imprint herself upon him, convey the depth of her feelings.
Richard reeled from the kiss, grabbing hold of her hip, almost drowning in the surge of need that swamped him. He held her face and joined in the mutual raging desire. His tongue plunged into her mouth and hers met his with equal power. He wanted her, there was still something between them that was useless to deny. He must have her.
Holly’s heart sang. This. This thing between them had never gone away. She’d spent two years telling herself she didn’t love him any more, but now she knew this passion and strength of feeling could never just be over. And he could deny it all he wanted but she could feel it emanating from every cell in his body, too.
She wanted him inside her so badly that kissing was exquisite torture. She didn’t care that their circumstances were less than the best. If she was going to die tomorrow or some time in the next few days then she wanted to go knowing that for a brief while he had loved her. She could feel his hardness pressing into her belly and gave in to the urge to touch it.
Richard almost jumped at the unexpected intimate pressure on his erection as Holly fondled him. It brought him back to earth with a thump. Whoa, there! This was getting a little out of control. When had a spot of kissing become so serious? They were in a jungle, for heaven’s sake, with armed guards outside their door!
He broke away from her mouth and she opened her eyes and looked at him questioningly.
‘Richard?’ She frowned.
Her voice was husky and her lips were swollen from their passion and her eyes had that glazed, drunk kind of look and he very nearly kissed her again.
‘We can’t do this, Holly,’ he said, drawing in deep ragged breaths. He couldn’t protect her properly if their relationship became intimate. It would be too distracting and he couldn’t afford any lapse in concentration. It was important to stay aloof from her and focused on his mission. Saving Fumradi and gaining their release.
He sat up, distancing himself from her stunned stare. He could see her trying to get her head around what he was saying and not quite believing the words.
‘Of course,’ she said, shutting her eyes, already wishing she had the last few moments back not to have made such a fool of herself. But part of her wanted to cry out, Why not? If they were going to die soon, why not go out on a sexual high?
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, his breathing now under control. ‘I shouldn’t have let you kiss me.’
‘No, I’m sorry. I was just trying to…comfort you. Your nightmare…I wanted to help you forget.’ It wasn’t a total lie but she had to say it lest she told him the truth. A truth he wasn’t ready to hear. Maybe never would be. That she wanted him and needed him and loved him in every way a woman could love a man.
Unfortunately their situation was complex to say the least. There were still too many of those barriers he’d put up in his mind for their relationship to blossom into something deeper. And particularly while they were still prisoners, she knew there was no way he was ever going to accept her feelings. That she knew for certain. He needed to be the big tough guy and focus, and he didn’t want silly, girly admissions distracting him. ‘Thanks,’ he said, his back still to her. ‘I don’t need any help.’ ‘Yeah, I got that,’ she said, and turned on her side away from him.
Holly slept badly for the remainder of the night. She relived the kissing in her mind over and over. It didn’t help that he was so close. Her fingers itched to touch him as each wave of hot desire surged through her belly. She pressed a fist between her thighs and clamped her legs shut tight to stop the tingling sensation burning down there. She almost wished it was morning and she was marching up the mountain again.
Fortunately morning came soon enough and neither of them were in a talking mood as they ate their cold rice. Richard wanted to apologise again but felt it was probably better to just forget it had ever happened. She appeared to be giving him the silent treatment anyway. It didn’t matter. Today was too important to their survival to worry about whether she liked him or not. It wasn’t high school. This unfortunately was as real and harsh as life got.
‘Come now,’ said John as he opened their door. ‘Today is the day you fulfil your purpose.’
Holly was pleasantly surprised to find that her muscle pain had lessened. They were still sore but the excruciating agony of every step had eased considerably. She must be getting used to the punishing climb, she thought, and then grimaced at the sobering thought.
They moved out in their usual formation. Richard chose to zone out the sway of Holly’s bottom by centering his mind on the challenges of the day. Fumradi had a bullet wound. It sounded infected. He’d need to probe the wound for any retained particles, clean it, administer some antibiotics and replace his fluid loss.
He knew he could do those things with his kit, easy. Should Fumradi require more intensive care, then they were probably toast. He’d know more when he laid eyes on his patient. For the moment all he had was an educated guess.
Holly put one foot in front of the other, mulling over the conundrum that was Richard to take her mind off the endless trek upwards. She’d learned another piece of the puzzle last night and shuddered as goose-bumps broke out on her skin despite the oppressively hot conditions. Richard had seen man’s inhumanity to man up close and personal. That had to screw you up a little.
She hadn’t really appreciated how complex he was until last night. She was no longer just dealing with his crappy childhood or his failed engagement to a younger woman but an incident of terrible human cruelty. It had hardened him and made him seem so much more unreachable than he had ever been before.
They walked for hours, the choppers of the day before nowhere in sight today. Holly’s legs felt much better but two days of marching and not much sustenance was really testing her stamina. Exhaustion never seemed very far away.
Even the thought that they’d soon reach their destination wasn’t enough to lift her mood. Yes, the endless walking would at last be over but she knew that their fate awaited them at the top and perversely she wished the mountain would stretch upwards for ever.
Holly smelt the woodsmoke long before the camp came into sight. As they neared, a young boy wandered down the track towards them and greeted the soldiers. He looked about five or six but given his state of malnutrition he could well have been older. His large protruding stomach stuck out from his ill-fitting ragged T-shirt and his skinny arms and legs didn’t look strong enough to support even his feather-light weight.
He eyed them curiously but said nothing. He had large brown eyes, light brown skin and that solemn look she’d seen on so many children’s faces since she’d been in Tanrami. His long dark hair looked unkempt, the fringe almost blinding him and the back brushing his shoulders.
The soldiers at the front of the procession unloaded their backpacks and gave them to the boy. She gasped as he uncomplainingly hitched them on his shoulders. His limbs looked like they’d snap under the extra weight and Holly swore she saw him sink a few centimetres shorter.
Her heart went out to him as she watched him struggle with his load. The men appeared to be finding his efforts funny. How could grown men burden such a small child with man-sized baggage?
Richard brushed past her and she wondered what he was doing. When he walked past the two soldiers ahead they tried to restrain him but he shrugged them off. He reached the young boy and placed a hand on one of the backpacks, stopping the boy in his tracks. He unloaded the child and shouldered the packs himself.
John brushed past her next and Holly kicked on some speed.
‘Give the packs to the child. It is Tundol’s job,’ said John, barring Richard’s ascent.
‘You use a child to do a man’s work?’
John’s face hardened. ‘He likes it. He is grateful to the freedom fighters.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Holly from behind as she caught the conversation. She watched the child, who stood quietly regarding the adults’ conversation solemnly.
‘We found him in Abeil, scavenging for food. He was displaced during the typhoon. His family, his village are all dead.’
‘He’s an orphan?’ she asked incredulously.
‘Yes,’ confirmed John. He flicked ash from the end of his cigarette in Tundol’s direction.
‘And you use him as a slave?’ Richard’s voice left no one in any doubt of his contempt.
‘He earns his keep.’ John bristled.
‘As a packhorse? A mule?’ demanded Richard.
‘He is strong.’ John shrugged dismissively.
‘He’s a boy,’ Holly hissed. She felt hot tears scald her eyes at their callousness.
She looked at him and Richard saw her utter disbelief and disillusionment that people she had defended could do such a thing. She looked totally crushed and his heart went out to her. Shattered ideals were always hard to deal with.
John looked down at the sad-looking child with big, brown eyes and gave a curt order. He scampered up the track but not before Holly saw fear in the child’s eyes. What had the poor boy been forced to do since the typhoon had separated him from his family?
‘You want to carry Tundol’s load, be my guest, Sergeant. But hurry. Fumradi waits for you.’
They fell back into line and arrived in the camp about ten minutes later. Holly was still too angry to fully appreciate the surroundings. Top camp was luxurious compared to the rudimentary dwellings of the lower camps. An impressive large abode dominated the area. It reminded Holly of the tree-house in the movie Swiss Family Robinson, which she had seen as a child.
It was made of timber and nestled in the thick canopy, high above the forest floor. The other living quarters weren’t as big but were also elevated off the ground and a series of wooden bridges connected each to the other. It looked kind of surreal, like a magical forest kingdom.
Holly noticed Tundol as soon as they entered the camp. He was sitting alone near the sturdy animal pens, while a band of other children played happily together nearby. He looked so sad and alone and isolated.
The soldiers were greeted by a throng of locals, as they had been previously, and Holly took the opportunity to talk to Richard.
‘I’m not leaving this camp without Tundol,’ she whispered, placing her hand on his arm.
Richard looked at her and something inside him shifted. He recognised a kindred spirit and placed his hand over hers. She had seen an injustice perpetrated on an innocent child and had decided to make a stand. To look out for him, to defend him. And he, probably more than most people, understood how she felt.
Tundol’s treatment had appalled him also, but he suspected that John probably wouldn’t give the boy up easily. Maybe if they managed to cure the ailing rebel leader, they would have a good bargaining chip. If they didn’t, and had to run?
A child would seriously hinder their progress. He glanced over at the boy and Tundol looked directly at him. Richard looked back at Holly and saw the purpose in her eyes.
‘I don’t want to leave him either, Holly, but it’s too risky.’
‘We can’t leave him here with these, these…’ She cast around for a suitable description. Something that would convey her utter disgust at their treatment of Tundol.
‘Poor, misunderstood freedom fighters?’
She glared at him mutinously. How dared he throw that back in her face? So, she may have been wrong about these people. Did he have to rub it in? Her body was broken, her spirit was crushed. Wasn’t she already defeated enough?
‘Animals,’ she hissed back at him, and couldn’t even muster sorrow that her idealistic fantasy had been shattered in a million pieces.
‘Come,’ John interrupted, and signalled them to follow. ‘There is work to be done.’
Richard felt his heart start to beat louder as they followed John up some steep wooden steps into the large home of the rebel leader. The house had looked big from the outside but the reality was even more impressive.
‘Wait here,’ said John at a doorway. He opened it and shut it behind him.
Holly felt…trepidation. What would they find behind the door? Could they help? And what if they couldn’t? What did that mean for them and for that poor orphan child outside? She glanced at Richard and he smiled at her reassuringly, but she could see the same doubts assailed him.
John opened the door. ‘Fumradi is worse. It looks like we’re just in time.’
Great, thought Richard. Maybe John should have abducted a magician. John stood aside and Richard’s worst fears were confirmed. The rebel leader was propped up in bed by several pillows and looked very unwell.
Richard met the rebel’s leader blank gaze and knew with dreadful clarity he was looking into the eyes of a dead man.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE first thing Holly noticed was the stench. It drifted over to them and she had to suppress the urge to wretch. She noticed a bloodied bandage on his right thigh and thought that if Fumradi wasn’t septic she’d eat her hat. The smell of a purulent wound was something you never forgot and the rebel leader reeked of it. Great! We’re dead, thought Holly.
A woman hovering around the bed, holding a cloth and wiping her leader’s brow, caught her attention and Holly could see the worry etched on the woman’s face. And quite rightly, too. Fumradi’s skin had a distinctive yellow tinge, indicating jaundice and therefore probably liver failure. She hoped Richard had a magic wand in his pack.
And then as she advanced into the room with Richard she saw something even more alarming. Fumradi’s skeletal chest vibrated with each boom of his bounding heart. She didn’t even have to touch him to count his pulse, she could do it from the end of the bed. His heart was working at an alarming pace. He looked flushed and his forehead was beaded with sweat.
Richard knelt beside his patient and knew he couldn’t save Fumradi. He doubted that even the high-tech medical care he’d get in a modern intensive care unit could have saved the rebel leader.
He was surprisingly young. Mid-twenties at most. ‘Fumradi is gravely ill,’ he said, turning back to John. ‘I cannot help him. He needs to be evacuated.’
‘No evacuation.’ John shook his head.
‘He needs intensive care.’
‘No hospital,’ John reiterated.
‘He’s going to die,’ said Richard, with barely concealed anger. ‘Is that what you want? Are you going to tell those people out there that you let their leader die?’
‘Best not let him die, then, Sergeant,’ said John, his voice cold and hard.
Richard turned back, grinding his teeth together. He glanced at Holly on the other side of the bed and he could tell by the look on her face that her assessment of the situation was the same as his. Hopeless.
So, he thought. Fumradi would die. And that was going to be very bad for them. It was time to stop trying to change John’s mind. He obviously wasn’t going to budge. It was time to start thinking o
f ways to delay the man’s death as long as possible and work out a way to escape.
‘OK,’ he said to Holly, quickly prioritising in his head the things they could offer him that could buy them some time. ‘He needs fluids, antibiotics, his wound investigated and cleaned up. Let’s get two IVs in and give him some colloid. We’ll administer antibiotics and then we’ll probe and clean his wound.’
Holly looked at him blankly. Surely he knew that Fumradi was still going to die, regardless of anything they did?
‘I need my pack, John. Now.’ Richard turned to see John disappearing out the door.
Are you insane?’ she hissed. ‘He’s at death’s door and knocking really loudly. It doesn’t matter what we do, he’s still going to die.’
‘Yes, I do realise that,’ he replied quietly. ‘I’m just trying to buy us some time.’
‘For what?’
‘To escape. You want to be here when they discover he’s dead?’
‘Of course not,’ she said sarcastically. ‘But how much time do you really think you can get us? If he’s alive in an hour, I’ll be amazed.’
Richard heard John’s footsteps getting closer. ‘He has to be, Holly. We need to get him through into the night. We’re going to need the cover of darkness.’
Holly swallowed at the urgency of his tone. John handed the pack to Richard. It was three o’clock. Nightfall was sometime away yet. She glanced at Richard. He oozed confidence as he methodically pulled equipment from his pack. She couldn’t help but compare him to the man she had kissed last night. He was gone. Only the machine remained.
He handed her an IV cannula. ‘You get one in your side.’ Maybe he could see the panic in her eyes because his hand lingered for a moment and he smiled at her encouragingly.
Holly’s hand shook as she ripped open the packaging and assembled the tourniquet and other equipment she would need for when the needle slid into the vein.
Richard pierced his patient’s skin, finding a vein immediately. Fumradi didn’t flinch or protest at the sharp sting. ‘John, can you ask her how long Fumradi has been unresponsive?’ asked Richard, nodding to the woman who had been in the room when they had entered.
