CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CALI
DAD MADE US wait an hour before we climbed out of the hole. I think he was scared to find the two of them dead when we came out. When we reached the surface, we were in fact faced with two dead bodies: Seaver and Kacen.
“Kacen?” Dad questions as he hovers over his dead body. “What the hell was he doing here?”
“He was after you, Dad,” I say simply.
Completely unfazed by the dead bodies, he then looks over at Seaver. “They killed that guy too.” I do feel sadness for Seaver. He was a good man with a good heart. And like Tango, he had been through way too fucking much to come here and be killed the way he was.
I retrieve Tango’s pack from behind the tree and pull out his phone. Of course there’s only one bar left. Shit. I press the emergency button on his phone, and I press it up to my ear, waiting, hoping. After a minute, the phone connects, and an English speaking man answers the line. “State your emergency?” he drones.
“We’re in the middle of the Copper Canyons in Mexico. I don’t have a location, but I found this phone and I’m lost here with my dad.“
“We’ll send you a rescue crew immediately. If you can start a fire, it will help us find you. Otherwise, keep an eye out and stay put.”
“Thank you,” I say, pushing the end button on the phone.
I drop the phone into my back pocket. “Everything is going to be okay. I need you to hang in there,” Dad says.
Except nothing is okay. At all. I’m completely and utterly heart-broken. My insides feel shredded and torn apart. I feel helpless and alone again. Having Dad by my side doesn’t give me the comfort it should, because I can assume he’ll disappear the first chance he gets again. He’s good at that. I’m refraining from asking where he’s been my whole life and where he plans on going, but I’m smart enough to know he’ll either make up a story or look me in the eyes and say he’s sorry. That’s the way it’s been since my earliest memory.
An hour goes by and we started a small fire with the materials I took from Tango’s pack. The smoke must have done the trick because it’s only minutes before I hear the spiraling propellers pushing through the winds. We walk out into the clearing, and I pull a dirty red shirt out of my pack and wave it around, waiting for the helo to spot us. It only takes a couple of minutes before the thing is above us and a hanging ladder descends from the opening on the side. I take one last look around, wishing and hoping to see Tango and Mom running toward us. But they’re both gone. So far gone.
Loss is and always will be my one and only reality. It’s one constant I can rely on in my life.
An older man with salt and pepper colored hair makes his way down the ladder, which is swinging coarsely in the air. He reaches for my hand, and I give it to him. He pulls me up to the ladder and I place my feet firmly on the bottom rung. Once I’m inside, the man lowers himself back down the ladder to retrieve Dad. Once they’re up, the ladder is pulled up into the helo and another man pulls me into the back.
The man has short, fire engine red hair, bright green eyes, and his face is covered with reddish freckles. His cheeks look as though they’ve been pinched, but there’s only pink around his cheekbones.
“Was it your phone you called from?” the redhead asks.
“No, sir. I found it in a bag. Someone must have lost their belongings,” I lie.
“We should send another search out for whoever’s bag that is,” the redhead says to the pilot.
“Copy that,” the pilot says.
One of the men appears to be a medic, and he’s checking Dad out. I can understand why they’d think he might need medical attention. He might have only been in the canyons for a couple of weeks, but he looks as if he’s been living under a rock for two years and doesn’t exactly scream the picture of health.
“You’re lucky you found that phone,” the man says. He picks up his radio and calls for a search unit to go in and find the missing person. I can only wish they’d find Tango and Mom, but I’m sure they’re long gone. “Oh,” I interrupt the man on the radio. “I heard some fighting going on in the canyons. There may have even been gunshots. Not sure what was going on, but you might want to check it out.” Just covering my bases.
Dad made it clear that we can’t call the police or any type of official and report missing people. Information on the untested drug he gave Tango and Mom can’t be public information, which I can understand. If the public knew there was a potentially simple cure for cancer floating around, riots would erupt and all hell would break loose. There’s no possibility of that ending well for anyone.
“Where are you from, hon? And what is your name for the record?” The redhead asks.
“I’m from . . . Pecos, Texas. My name? It’s Carolina Tate.” Saying my name with confidence is a first. It’s the first time I know I’m not being chased.
“Is there someone you want us to call for you?” he asks.
TANGO
I didn’t cry at my own funeral. I didn’t cry at any of my brothers’ funerals. I sucked in the pain and held it strong, hiding it behind my heart. But right now, I feel like crying. I feel like crying like a little girl. This was all for nothing. I’m locked in a fucking room in some underground facility in China, I think. They kept us blindfolded when we departed the jet. Alice and I have been placed into two different rooms.
What’s worse is the symptoms I have been living with have worsened. I can hear death knocking on my door with each struggle to take a small breath. I have come to the conclusion that I’m not scared of anything else in this world, except for dying. Moreover, I wouldn’t wish dying with a broken heart on my worst enemy. I already miss her. She was in my life for three weeks, but those three weeks felt like forever. Leaving her and being strong while trying to do so has been my biggest challenge yet. The look on her face, the one I could barely make out in the dark, was enough to kill me and of itself. She weakened me and made me realize I can’t be strong all of the time.
My lungs are burning so badly it feels as though I ran miles in near freezing temperatures. A knife slicing into my chest would be a more desirable sensation. Coughing is becoming my best way at sucking in enough air to survive, but with the coughing comes more blood. I’m only twenty-four, but I’ve used up more of my lungs than I was apparently allotted. All I wanted to do was protect and serve. I did. Then I end up with a death sentence and a bunch of realistic nightmares. Saying life isn’t fair is such an easy way out. It’s as if life takes some people by the neck, strangles the air out of them, kicks them in the face and throws them to the wolves. Is this karma? They didn’t tell me karma would be the death of me. They told me I might not come back from war. They told me I would die with honor if that happened. But no one knew I’d make it back and have the rug ripped out below me and then die without honor.
This shit isn’t working on me. I can feel my insides closing in, disintegrating and shutting down. If that’s what’s happening, I can only hope I die in my sleep. I slap my arm over my forehead to conceal the dim white light hanging over my head.
I suppose if it’s going to happen, I’m ready now. I look up to the ceiling and close my eyes. “God take me to where the sun is always shining, to where love doesn’t die, and to where war won’t haunt my living memories.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CALI
SASHA’S ARMS around my neck cause me to burst into tears. We hold each other for what seems like an eternity as we stand in the middle of an empty dirt parking lot. The faint lights of a run-down burger shack flirt with the broken glass bottles that pepper the ground below. “Ready to go home, Cali-girl?”
If home is where the heart is, Tango should be there. But he won’t be, so I’ll probably never find my home again. I nod my head and she loops her fingers through mine, squeezing ever so tightly.
I clamber into her old beat up Cherokee and pull the seatbelt down over my lap. She starts the engine and the pop music immediately fills my ears. I
must have flinched at the sound because she hits the volume button and shuts the music off. “Start talking, girly.”
“Reaper is gone and Tango is gone.” What else is there to say, that I actually could say?
“What happened to Tango?” She doesn’t care about Reaper, and why should she? All anyone would need to know is that he’s gone, and everyone should feel instantly safer knowing that asshole doesn’t exist among us anymore. “Um. He was pretty sick it turned out. Didn’t make it back.” The words cause a tearing sensation to rip through the middle of my chest.
I feel the car jerk to the right side of the road, reminding me of when Tango did the same thing, when he wanted to kiss me. My lips won’t ever know of something so wonderful again. I will not let them.
She keeps her hands wrapped around the steering wheel, assumedly contemplating what to say to me. She knew I was falling for him. She knows I don’t fall for people, and now I’m telling her that he didn’t make it back in a way that sounds like I’m telling her he went to go buy a cup of coffee and never returned.
“What do you mean he didn’t make it back?” She finally looks at me with nothing but utter concern within her beautiful blue eyes. I shrug my shoulders and turn my head to look out the window, avoiding her sympathetic stare. Her warm hand covers mine and she tugs on my wrist to pull my attention away from the darkness outside.
“There really isn’t much to say, Sash. He’s gone.” I bite on my top lip, hoping it will stop my chin from trembling. I’ve spent the last three hours being strong, and I can’t just let it all go now. I have to maintain this super power of not showing my true emotions. Because right now, my true emotions are pulling me back to the same place where Krissy’s death pushed me. I pull my hand out of Sasha’s grip and turn my wrist over to admire the heart with wings—my reminder of why I’m supposed to want to live. I close my eyes and imagine Krissy telling me to be strong. I have to be strong for her. I have to continue on for both of us.
We’ve been driving for a while down a long dirt road. She really moved to the boonies, and I can’t blame her. “You live pretty far out here, huh?”
“Yep.” She rolls open her window a bit and looks over at me briefly. “Your dad okay?” She knows she shouldn’t ask, but she also knows we’re in a car in the middle of the fucking desert with no listening ears.
“My dad is fine.” The second we landed, he told me had some stuff to do. I gave him Tango’s phone number since I have his phone, but I know I won’t hear from him anytime soon. It’s nothing new. Dad was meant to be a man on the run. Who knows, maybe he’s turning himself in. Maybe that’s what he should do.
“Hmm,” she responds.
My mother is alive too. I wish I could tell her that part—although, that might be a little harder to explain.
We pull into a dirt-covered driveway, which appears to be an extension from the dirt road. A small red ranch house residing in the middle of nowhere somehow looks to be the perfect spot for Sasha. This girl can make anything look beautiful. A dozen little lights line the dirt driveway all the way up to her front awning, which shadows over a tiny porch. Two wooden rocking chairs sit perfectly on each side of the white screen door. And the front door, which I can now see is a tattered wooden slab—is wide open. “You leave your door open while you’re gone?”
She giggles a Sasha giggle. “No, silly, Landon must be home.”
“Landon?”
“Oh gosh, I forgot to tell you—well, I guess technically I didn’t forget to tell you. It all sort of happened over the past couple of weeks. Remember the guy I sort of told you about?” A couple of weeks? That is not the Sasha I know. “I think you’ll like him.” Her smile warms my cold heart.
I remove my pack from the back of her trunk and pull it over my shoulders. The thing feels so light now compared to the heaviness within my heart. I follow her into the house and the aroma of something delectable instantly overwhelms me. I smell spices—fresh garlic, rosemary, and basil. It smells like Mom’s old kitchen.
A ginger-blushing lamp perched on a worn oak coffee table lights the living room. It is surrounded by a set of mismatched couches that all somehow complement each other perfectly. The room itself smells like fresh bread, the scent of a warm home. The scent of love. It calms my nerves and comforts me in a way I wasn’t sure I could be comforted right now.
“I’m home!” Sasha shouts into the kitchen. “I have my girl back.” She wraps her thin arm around my neck and squeezes tightly while placing a wet kiss on my temple. “Come meet Landon.”
TANGO
A light above me flickers on, forcing me to squint from the harsh burn. I’m scared to open my eyes. I’m scared to acknowledge that what I wish is only a hanging bulb might be my light calling me from above. The pain in my chest isn’t quite gone, but it’s not as severe. Would I feel pain if I were dead? Maybe. What if the enemies whose lives I ended are waiting in front of me when I open my eyes? What if I’m surrounded by flames?
A frail soft-skinned hand is resting on my forehead, though, and I force my eyes open, avoiding my fear of seeing the light.
“What are you doing in here?” My voice comes out surprisingly strong considering the way I felt last night.
Her voice, so soft and pleasant—she speaks slowly. “They’re letting me visit with you.” When I look around, I see I’m still lying in the same place I fell asleep. With moments to focus on what’s going on, I feel a stinging sensation on my left arm. I look down to see what the cause of the pain is, and I see a number of tubes and wires connecting me to machines.
“Testing,” Alice says, acknowledging my confusion. She extends her arm out toward me and shows me a number of bandages covering her skin. “They want to keep us for eight months. And if we make it through that period of time, they’ll release us. They said that’s how long it will take to do all of the necessary testing. I’ve made it three years, so there’s hope for you too.” She sighs softly. “There is a bright side to this . . . if everything turns out the way they’re hoping, they might be able to push this treatment to become regulated. And I’m sure you can understand what that might mean for the general public.” She squeezes her hand around my wrist. “This isn’t for nothing after all.”
“Oh,” is all I’m capable of saying.
“What did you do before you became ill, dear?”
“I was a Marine.”
She sweeps her hand through my hair, and it reminds me of my own mother’s touch. “You’re a good man, Tango.”
“No, I’m not. When I found out I was dying of cancer, I had my parents notified that I had died in the field. I’m actually quite the opposite of anything good.”
“You were trying to save them from going through more pain?” she asks. She understands why I made that decision. I wasn’t even sure I understood why I made that decision, or if it had any point to it.
“Yes, that’s exactly what I was trying to prevent.”
“In my book, that makes you a good man.” She stands up from the edge of the bed I’m lying on and looks down at me with a smile. “They gave me a few minutes to come in and see how you were, but they asked me not to stay long. I promise I’ll be back when I can.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
CALI
IT’S BEEN TWO WEEKS. Sasha let me move into her spare room and I promised her I’d find a job as soon as possible so I could help with rent. I’m depressed and miserable. I think about him every second of the day, wondering if he’s dead or alive, and Mom too. I keep his phone on the nightstand, wondering if he might ever call it. I keep it charged. I keep it alive, wishing he was that easy to keep alive. I pull the phone from the table and turn on the display. I just realized he took the password feature off of his phone at some point after I saw Chelsea’s message to him. Not sure why I didn’t think of it until now, but I’m thinking he did it so I’d trust him, which makes me hurt even more.
My thumb accidentally hit one of the apps and a notepad pops open, displaying a
note addressed to Chelsea, his sister. Normally I wouldn’t read something so personal, but I don’t think he’s coming back, and I don’t really think he’s even alive anymore.
The note reads:
Chelsea, I should have told you sooner, sis. I’m dying. Not from a bullet, or a hand-to-hand combat fight, not from an explosion or a knife. I’m dying from lung cancer. It came on suddenly and left me no time for intervention. It is the real reason why I’ve done what I’ve done.
To everyone else, I died a couple of months ago, but you have been the only one to know the truth, and I’m sorry to put you through this twice. As it seems, life has had its plans for me. I ran from the bullets that were chasing me in the field. I fooled them. I fought hard and I cheated death while I watched others who weren’t so lucky. But as it turns out, it wasn’t the physical enemies I should have feared, it was the enemy within my body that would have the final shot.
Chels, I heard someone say something once that made me understand your situation. I want you to live for both of us. I want you to be happy for both of us. I want you to find a good job, settle down, and give Mom and Dad lots of grandkids. Live the life we both should have lived.
I’m thinking today might be it for me. I love you for constantly thinking about me. Even though I couldn’t respond to your text messages, I’ve always been thinking about you, Mom and Dad. I love you, and I miss you.
Love, Tyler
While wiping my tears then clinging my free hand to my chest, I scroll my finger over the text and click copy. I paste it into a new message with Chelsea’s phone number attached. At the beginning of the message, I write:
Hi Chelsea--you don’t know me, but I knew your brother. He had taken a job, which involved working with me. Unfortunately, I’m not sure where he is now, but he left his phone behind. I’m not sure if he’s alive or—you know. But I found this message on his phone, and I think he would want you to have it.
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