Chapter 7 - Eight Miles
The first mile was the hardest because Marcus still believed she would stop.
“Put me down.”
“No.”
“You’re going to destroy your knees.”
“Probably.”
“That’s not funny.”
“I wasn’t joking.”
The second mile crossed a slope no wider than a kitchen counter, with rock rising on one side and empty air dropping away on the other. Jenna moved sideways, pressing one shoulder toward the mountain. Marcus kept his eyes on the valley and warned her when distant movement appeared below.
The third mile brought gunfire from far behind them.
Not close enough for accurate shots.
Close enough to remind them they were being followed.
A teammate’s radio voice came through broken static.
“Bird is rerouting. Keep south. We have eyes on your position.”
Jenna’s breathing had become raw. Sweat ran beneath her helmet. The straps cut into her shoulders. Marcus felt every tremor in her legs.
“Lawson… put me down. You can’t carry me that far.”
She tightened her hold beneath his knees.
“Watch me.”
By the fourth mile, Marcus stopped arguing.
At the fifth, Jenna lowered him beside a rock long enough to change the pressure on his wound and drink one mouthful of water. Marcus watched her hands as she adjusted the dressing. The left was missing two fingers, but her movements remained precise.
“What happened to your hand?” he asked.
“Another long day.”
“You were artillery.”
Jenna looked at him. “You finally read my file?”
“No. I saw the tattoo under your glove.”
She pulled him back onto her shoulders.
“At least you’re observant now.”
The sixth mile crossed a broken saddle under brutal wind. Jenna fell once, turning as she went so Marcus landed against her instead of the rock. The impact drove the air from her lungs.
Marcus tried to push himself up.
“I can crawl.”
“You can bleed.”
“You’re hurt.”
“So are you.”
She stood again.
May you like
At the seventh mile, helicopter blades became louder.
At the eighth, the plateau appeared.
