Deadly Strain (Biological Response Team) (9 page)

“Hide.”

A shout echoed, then another.

Her body dumped enough adrenaline into her system to mobilize a fossil, but she didn’t know which direction to go.

Sharp put a hand on the back of her neck and pushed her down just as she shifted her weight. Balance gone, she tried to catch herself with her hands. One landed on the edge of a rock while the other tangled with a bush. She fell through it and kept on falling into a narrow trench the plants had hidden.

Grace landed on her side with enough force to knock the wind out of her.

While she caught her breath, Sharp hissed, “Stay there.” The crunch of running feet on rock told her he’d gone.

Yelling, voices raised, speaking Dari. Several gunshots punctured the air. More than one person ran past her hiding spot.

Had they found him?

Her thoughts raced as she listened to the commotion slowly die down. It didn’t sound like they were celebrating, but they didn’t sound angry either.

What happened?

She was about to leave when two men, chattering away in Dari, walked past. They carried water canteens, ammunition and rifles. Men on a mission. With that much water, a long one.

She waited a few minutes, while the area grew quiet and the sun rose in the sky. Finally, she crept silently out of her dark hole and listened. Voices were audible to the west.

Not very far away, but between her and them was a ridge of rock. She moved cautiously closer. What she’d thought was a ridge was what remained of a man-made wall.

She looked around it.

Four men were visible. Three in traditional Afghan dress, one in an American military uniform. Sharp.

He was seated, his hands tied behind his back, his head bowed over knees drawn up to his chest. His feet were tied together. She could see his chest moving with every breath. Breathing heavy. Too heavy.

Damn it. He was hurt.

The Afghans were talking and cooking around a small fire inside a rock oven. They smiled at each other, their gestures large and excited.

They’d bagged an American soldier. They probably thought they’d really accomplished something. All three were armed with the same Soviet-made rifles as the two who’d left had worn, and loops of ammo were draped across their chests.

Wonderful. She was outnumbered and outgunned three to one, and she only had one thing on her side. Surprise.

Chapter Nine

Surprise wasn’t enough, but if she added a distraction, it might cause the confusion she needed to get Sharp out of there.

She knew what Sharp would say.
The mission was more important than him.
She should get out while she could.

Too bad for him he wasn’t in a position to stop her from doing something stupid.

Distraction, distraction. What did she have that would work?

She had a couple of smoke flares. Setting one or two of them off would certainly be distracting. She didn’t dare wait. How long could he last, bleeding who knows how much, with no medical treatment? Were they giving him water or food?

She was careful and quiet as she made her way back to her hiding place. She found a small gully a short distance away and threw the flare into it as hard as she could.

She ducked into her hidey hole.

Shouting followed after only twenty or thirty seconds.

Several people rushed past her haven, yelling and shouting, toward the place she’d thrown the flare. Two gunshots followed, but they weren’t close. Sounded like they’d come from the direction where Sharp was held prisoner. An aggressive
oorah
was cut off by gunfire.

Grace’s breathing staggered to a halt.

Had they just shot Sharp?

Had her distraction gotten him killed?

Oh God,
oh God
. She’d thought she was so clever and sneaky. Provide the perfect distraction so she could tiptoe in and rescue Sharp with no one the wiser. Only minutes ago she’d been patting herself on the back for her ingenious plan. She should have left well enough alone. Sharp had probably had a plan of escape.

Now he wouldn’t be going anywhere, because he was
dead
.

Self-loathing, regret and indecision held her hostage. Now what? Her situation had only gotten worse. She was trapped in her refuge, alone with only a day’s worth of water and a case of anthrax samples strapped to her back.

She caressed the butt of her Beretta, dark thoughts making her hands shake as tears flowed down her face.

How could she have been so stupid?

Another burst of yelling caught her attention. At first, she wasn’t sure why, until she began hearing words shouted in English, in a voice sounding remarkably like Sharp’s.

He was alive?

“I don’t know,” he yelled. It was definitely Sharp. “Whoever did is a long way from here.”

There was a grunt of pain, then nothing audible for several minutes.

Someone had probably hit him.

What were they doing now? Were they hitting him,
torturing
him?

Another pain-filled sound echoed and she found it difficult to suck a proper breath in. She had to stop it, save him. She couldn’t bear the thought of him hurt, and she knew,
knew
he’d never say anything to risk her safety.

Well, she wasn’t willing to give his life to save her own. He was her friend, her
best
friend... Oh, who was she kidding? He was more than that, even though she didn’t have a label for what they were to each other. She cared about him and couldn’t leave him in the hands of men who were going to kill him.

She worked at calming her breathing. Sharp was alive and well enough to holler. The thing was, did setting off the flare help or hinder her chances of getting to him and getting them both out of here?

Just as she was about to leave her shelter, several men walked past, one talking, the others only adding a word or two here and there.

She waited for a long time before easing out of her hole and making her way back to the wall.

She peeked.

Sharp wasn’t sitting up anymore. He was lying in a fetal position, motionless except for breathing.

At least he was still alive.

Two men were tending the fire and talking softly to each other. No one else was visible.

Perhaps the rest were out hunting the person who set off the flare. She hoped they were searching farther away, because if the rest of those men were close, her goose and Sharp’s were both cooked.

She palmed her gun, took in a deep breath and resigned herself to killing at least two more people, then popped out from behind the wall and shot the first man in the chest and head.

The second man raised his weapon, but he was standing close to Sharp, who kicked out at the man’s knees, proving the Green Beret was only playing possum, knocking the Afghan down. He didn’t get up.

Grace ran over, gun in front and ready to fire, to check the man, but sightless eyes stared back at her.

“He must have hit his head on a rock,” she said to Sharp as she went to work on the knots in the rope binding his hands behind his back. “Where are you injured?”

“Gunshot to my right leg, some contusions and a possible concussion.” His voice was low and tight.

Grace looked him in the eyes. Both pupils seemed the same size. “Headache?”

“Yeah, and I was a little nauseated after one of them punched me around for a while. You set off a flare?” Sharp asked as he grabbed a knife from the dead man next to him and cut the rope tying his feet together.

Grace looked around, waiting for another man in Afghan garb to appear. “It was the only distraction I could think of.”

He growled at her as he shouldered one of the Soviet rifles. “About that. Why the hell didn’t you make a run for it after I was captured?” He took three limping strides, then plucked his backpack out of a pile of stuff tossed to the side. Then he grabbed her by the arm and towed her with him as he jogged away from the bodies, heading in the opposite direction from the one the Afghans took earlier.

“I was thinking you might appreciate a rescue. You know, from certain death?”

“Death is everywhere, including the Christmas present attached to your back. You want to try for a better answer?”

Anger gave her the strength to yank her arm out of his grasp. “There’s a difference between you dying at eighty-six of a stroke, and dying because I didn’t do anything while some asshole put a bullet through your head.” She poked him with one finger. “Besides, you’re a thousand times better at the survival-in-the-field stuff than I am. I need you.”

“It’s damn difficult to plan an attack or a response to one if I can’t predict what you’re going to do. It’s my job to protect you, not the other way around. Stop thinking with your heart and start using your head.”

“Well, excuse me for giving a shit, Sergeant,” she said through clenched teeth. “But don’t we have somewhere to go?”

He paused. “Fuck me.” He looked around, they’d stopped some time during their argument. He grabbed her hand and pulled her along with him, muttering, “Damn doctors always wanting to save everyone but themselves. How can I keep you safe when you throw yourself into harm’s way every other hour?”

“I thought we were a team. You know, the kind where we help and protect each other?”

“This team,” he said, pointing at himself and her, “has very defined roles. It’s my job to keep you alive and get you back to base. It’s your job to do nothing to jeopardize your own safety.” He started walking again, but kept hold of her hand so he could tug her along.

What did he think she was going to do? Have a hissy fit and run off like some spoiled brat?

“What a load of bullshit,” she said to his back.

He didn’t respond except to squeeze her hand, then drop it.

Scream at him or silence. It was a difficult decision, but she chose silence rather than give away their position.

Sharp set a tough pace, one she struggled to keep up with. His helmet was gone, so were his body armor and the rifle he loved like a pet, and he was even dirtier than before. For a man who had the kinds of injuries he did, and then was beaten and shot on top of it all, showed how strong, how fierce a warrior he was.

She found herself watching the rocky ground as she jogged behind Sharp, trying to be sure she didn’t put a foot down wrong and twist her ankle.

There was blood on the ground.

“Sharp, your leg. We need to stop and bandage it up.”

“We don’t have time.”

“You’re leaving a trail.”

He swore and veered to one side toward a large boulder. He was already tearing his pants open so she could see the wound.

Matching entry and exit wounds on the meaty part of his thigh were easy to find.

“These have bled a lot. You need stitches and probably a transfusion.”

“It’ll hold,” he said. It sounded like his teeth were so tightly clenched he was chewing on the words.

“Really? How wonderful, you’re a doctor now? Able to diagnose injury at a glance and run long distances in an arid country with no water and no protective gear? How about I just give you a superhero name?”

He gave her a
what the fuck
look. “What’s got your panties in a bunch? We’re alive, aren’t we? You’ve got your samples, right?”

“Oh yes.” She let her frustration drip off the words. “All the necessities of life, right there.”

“We don’t have time for anything else.”

“I know, and I hate it.” She was so angry all she could do was shake, because if she let herself do anything else, she’d probably make a fool of herself. “God, I’m going to need so much therapy when I get home.”

She pulled off her backpack and grabbed two nonstick gauze pads, one for each wound, then secured them to his leg as tight as she could with a pressure bandage. Hopefully it would keep everything in place despite Sharp’s acrobatics.

He didn’t say anything to her after she finished, just grabbed her hand and urged her to her feet. He went back to that ground-eating jog. They went east for a while, then south, then northwest. After that he didn’t waver on speed or direction.

She wasn’t sure how long they’d been running when the echoing sound of gunshots reached them. Sharp didn’t look back, but she did.

How far had they run?

Was it far enough?

Finally, sometime later, Sharp slowed and seemed to be looking for something.

“Sharp?”

“We need another cave.” His voice sounded raspy, dry. Tired.

“How long will that take?” He was probably dehydrated and in pain. Damn it, what was it with tough men never allowing anyone to know they need help? Suffering in silence was stupid, especially when one word,
one word
, to her would get him the water he needed.

“Not long. Our team studied topographical maps of this area. It’s full of caves.”

His voice, with slight hesitation at the end of the sentence, made her ask, “But?”

“But...we have to be careful not to pick an occupied one. People use caves in this area for homes sometimes.”

“Great,” she breathed.

He moved on, continuing to examine both the ground close to them and look for signs of caves.

He picked up his pace again and they detoured into a small gully, and despite the fact that the whole place looked like solid ground all around, led her into a cave. This one was much bigger than the first one they’d stayed in. Unlike the last time, Sharp sat down with a thump.

Grace crouched next to him. He should have been sweating. Instead his skin looked dry and wrinkled, his eyes sunken. She put her fingers to his neck to check his heart rate.

“Headache?”

“Yeah,” he whispered.

“Let me see your tongue.”

An unholy grin wiped the pain and fatigue from his face. “Just see?”

She wasn’t going to slap him. She wasn’t. She wanted to, but she wasn’t. “Let. Me. See. Your. Tongue.”

He stuck it out. It looked dry and leathery.

“You’re seriously dehydrated. Your heart rate is high and you’re not sweating.” She pulled open her backpack, pulled out one of the full water bottles and handed it to him. “Drink all of this.”

“No, we might need...”

Her head came up and she gave him her specially crafted
don’t fuck with me
look. “If you don’t rehydrate, your kidneys will shut down. Stop being a goddamn martyr and drink.”

He swore under his breath, but he took the water and began drinking.

“Let me see your leg,” she ordered.

“Bossy.”

His thigh wounds had bled through, leaving his pants leg and sock bloody.

“Shit,” he said after swallowing another mouthful of water.

She knew what he was thinking. “Did we leave a trail?”

“Did you notice any blood on the ground?”

“No.”

“That will have to do, because you’re right. I’m...”

“You need recovery time,” she said, finishing his sentence.

“Yeah.”

“Let me check the rest of you.”

“For what?”

“I know they beat you, I could hear it.” She swallowed hard. “It was all I could do to stay hidden.”

Sharp surprised her by snatching her hands and shook her. “Damn right you stayed hid. You’re more important to this mission. You’re the expert. You have the samples.”

“I will not leave someone I—a friend—to die of broken bones and internal injuries,” she snarled. “Why do you think I set off that flare? To give me a chance to get to you. To get you out.”

“It was a stupid rookie mistake.”

“So, I should’ve left you to be tortured and murdered?”

“Yes,” he hissed.

Her mouth fell open and she gaped at him for a couple of long seconds. “You...you
suck
.”

He snickered, let go of her hands and sat back again. “Don’t say that in front of the team. I’ll get a reputation.”

“This is not
funny
.” She was so angry with him, she might hit him after all.

“Sure, it is. It’s a damn comedy of errors. Nothing on this mission has gone right. Not from the get-go.”

She opened and closed her mouth a couple of times as his words penetrated her own mental fog of exhaustion and stress. “You sound suspicious,” she said, pointing at him and then the floor of the cave.

He got the hint and lay down. “I’m beyond that. I think this has been planned for a long time. Someone has studied our responses to other...emergencies and very carefully crafted a way to strike at the Afghan authorities and their American allies in multiple ways during the same event.”

“Emergencies,” Grace huffed. “You make it sound like you’re firemen or something.”