Sovereign (Sovereign Series) (21 page)

I
walk farther, now with a better idea what I’m looking for.  I push some wood
out from under dirt with the toe of my boot.  It’s no good. 

After
about ten minutes, I see a much larger pool of water--larger than I’ve ever
seen before.  Maybe this is a pond.  I stuff the cloth in my pocket and drop to
my knees.  Now’s as good a time as any for me to drink up.

To
say the water tastes good would be a blatant lie, but it quenches my thirst.  I
hadn’t even realized I was thirsty; I was too busy worrying about Dylan. 

After
drinking as much as I can before my stomach cramps, I scan the pond’s edges for
anything I could use.  If he was conscious, I could just bring him here.  But
that’s out of the question.

I
slam my fist on the muddy ground and groan under my breath. 
Think
.
  I allow my eyes to close for a moment, and I realize the
only option I have, an idea disgusting even to me.

I
shift my weight so I’m sitting on my heel while I prop my other leg in front of
me and untie my boot laces.  It won’t hold much, but it’s my best shot.  I take
a whiff of the boot and even though it doesn’t really smell, I still cringe. 

Without
another thought, I dunk the boot and fill it then get to my feet and hobble
back to Dylan.  After a few yards I realize I’ve forgotten to stay vigilant. 
When I see leaves jostling several yards in front of me, I freeze.

A
man’s hand pushes through, and I spin on my bare heel to hide behind a tree. 
My hands trembling as I clutch the boot, a splash of water bounces off the edge
and spills onto the ground, making a slapping sound. 

I
bite my lip, hoping the sound was lost on the man nearby.

A
voice calls out, “It’ll be dark soon.  We’ll need a fire.” 

Another
responds, his voice gruff, “Do it now.  Everybody else, keep looking.”

I
peek around the tree and see two of them dangerously close to Dylan’s hiding
place.  One is only a foot away from the fallen tree.  My heart begins to race
faster and I pray he doesn’t make any noise.  I press the back of my head
against the tree. No one’s getting any closer to me, thankfully, so I’ll just
have to wait them out. 

When
I look again, the taller one has climbed atop the tree with Dylan inside.  He
seems to be seeking higher ground.  He takes a step to his right, which I
estimate to be
very
close to Dylan’s feet. 

The
tall man shifts his weight and the rotten wood gives.  His leg falls through,
and he yelps in pain, trying to regain his balance, his hands sprawled across
the enormous tree.  His cohort helps him pull his leg free, and they stumble
away from Dylan. 

A
heavy exhale escapes me, and I slap my hand over my mouth.

“Idiots,”
the gruff one says, standing with a hand in his pocket and the other on his
gun.

I
glance at what little rays of sunlight remain.  The nights are still cold, and
Dylan and I both are hardly clothed for cold.  Especially Dylan, shirtless and
alone.  He’ll freeze tonight if I don’t get to him.

It
sounds like the idiots are making a fire.  I hear a flurry of footsteps and
wonder where the others are.  Maybe they’ve caught up, and if so that’s more
potential eyes to spot me.  I can’t risk taking another look until it’s dark. 

I
stand frozen for at least another hour before I’m satisfied it’s dark enough. 
I peek around and find six men around the fire, which was built in the center
of a clearing near Dylan’s tree.  Three of them are still eating, the other two
are on their backs, presumably sleeping. 

There’s
a soft hum of voices from the ones eating, but I can’t make anything out.  I
crouch for a moment to watch them.  I need to stay low, blend with the
darkness. 

The
older one tips a can upside down and slurps the last bits of food.  He tosses
the can my direction flippantly.  I take the opportunity to move, timing my
footsteps with the rustling of his trash, then pause again.  This will take an
eternity.

The
gruff one, who I realize is in charge, unzips the sleeping bag he’d been laying
on and crawls inside.

The
big guy follows suit but makes quite a bit more noise; he’s clumsy.  I move
again.  I stop again. 

Still
crouching, my legs are on fire.  I stay like this for another long while, but I
can’t do it much longer.  The next time there’s a noise, I sit down.  I’ll just
wait until they’re all asleep.  I hope they all sleep tonight.

I
lean my head against a tree and stare at the sky, wondering what the other side
of that wall of clouds looks like.  Are there stars?  Is there a moon?  I like
to imagine the universe is intact and only our little world is in shambles.

I
wonder.

I
feel a pinch on my cheek and swat at it.  It stings a little at first, and then
more.  My eyes flutter open, with a heavy haze obscuring my vision.  I touch my
cheek and feel something small there.  I grab the thing and force my eyes to
focus on it...an insect.  I have no idea what kind but it’s black, with a sort
of shell for a back.

It
pinches my finger and I toss it on the ground.  The stinging in my face grows
more painful, and I realize I’m sitting in the wilderness in the middle of the
night.  I look over my shoulder at the sleeping soldiers. 

I
have no way of knowing how long I’ve been out, but luckily I haven’t let the
boot tip over.  A lot of the water has leaked out, though. 

I
pick up a small piece of wood and toss it several yards, then look at the men
again.  No one moves. 

Carefully,
I get to my feet, holding one arm out to steady myself.  I grip the boot with
the other hand, holding it away from my body.

I
keep my eyes glued to the gruff one, the boss.  I can’t make out his face, but
he seems familiar somehow.  I take a step, and watch.  Then another and
another, until I’m mere yards from the tree, but I’m going to have to come out
into the clearing to get there.  The idea of standing in the open right next to
all these men that are hunting me seems idiotic.

One
of them starts to stir, but I can’t tell if his eyes are open or if he’s simply
tossing in his sleep.  He lets out a snort and a huff and I take another step. 
I’m still near the tree line, but nothing’s between him and me. 

Another
starts up, possibly awakened by the other, and I realize I’m not going to make
it all the way to the mouth of the tree.  I reach out and touch the bark with
my calf.  I’m right there, touching the tree that Dylan’s inside, but I’m at
the wrong end.  And getting to the other end means getting closer to the
sleeping dogs.

A
third man shifts in his sleeping bag, making a loud rustling sound.  I’m almost
caught, I just know it.  Suddenly, he smacks his own face and yells, “Ow.”  He
throws something away from him, and I think maybe the hard bug got him too. 

He
sits up.  I’m running out of options, but I freeze.  It’s dark, maybe he can’t
see me.  He fumbles for something, patting the ground.

I
look back at the tree and see the hole the clumsy one made; it looks large
enough for me to squeeze through.  I set the boot on the tree and climb as
quietly as I can.  I crawl up the bark toward the hole, shuffling the boot
along with me. 

I
keep my eyes on the soldier.  He’s still trying to find something, and from
what I can tell, he still doesn’t see me.  Then his head darts my direction and
I freeze, certain I’m caught.  I start preparing myself to run, tensing all my
muscles, but he doesn’t come after me.  Instead, he keeps patting around.

I
make it to the hole and lower my feet in, then my hips and midsection.  When my
shoulders don’t fit through, I realize I’m going to make noise.  There’s
nowhere to go but in.  As the first rays of the morning sun peep through the
cloud bank, I’m out of time.

I
press on a piece of bark and it breaks, getting the man’s attention again.  I
slip both arms and the boot inside the tree and look at him one last time to
see him slip on a pair of glasses.

I
tuck my head inside before he can look my way again.  At least I
think
so.

I
back away from the opening as quietly as I can.  The bite on my cheek has
progressed to burning; I touch it with my fingertips and feel swelling. 
Great,
toxic bugs
.  If it’s hurting me, maybe it’s hurting the guard, too.  Maybe
he won’t come after me.

Apparently
I’m wrong, because I hear footsteps on the other side of a thin, rotten layer
of tree bark.  I’m completely still, trying to quiet my breathing but it’s no
use.  So I hold my breath--I have to take control of my body.  I imagine a flat
tire and how slowly it loses air.  I part my lips and let the air seep out,
imagining my lungs are the tire.  A long, slow release.  I inhale the same way,
slowly, then exhale again.  I feel my body relax and my breathing quiets down.

His
feet move away, and I release a soft sigh.  The man grumbles something and
shuffles around in his sleeping bag, hopefully going back to sleep.  But I’m
not sure.

I
look up and allow my eyes to focus on Dylan in the darkness.  He’s somehow
shifted to his back, so at least he’s not completely gone. 

I
move the boot ahead and crawl toward Dylan’s feet, passing the hole again. 
There’s not room for me on either side of him, so I’m forced to crawl on top of
him.  One of his legs comes straight down the tunnel, and the other lies off to
the side a little. 

I
position my right knee on the outside of his leg, and my left knee on the
inside, and continue crawling.  I set the boot near his armpit and realize I
can’t scoot any farther like this.  Blush warms my cheeks, making the insect
bite sting.  I shake my head, thankful Dylan is unconscious, and swing my left
leg over his hip.  My legs straddle him, while my torso is hunched forward with
my spine against the top of the hollow.

I
pull the cloth from my pocket and dip it in the boot, which barely has any more
water.  Dylan’s trembling lips are already parted, so I squeeze the liquid into
his mouth.  His shakes aren’t violent anymore, and I think they might be from
the cold, not the drugs. 

I
dip the cloth again and squeeze more water out.  I wipe the sweat off his
forehead and cheeks, then drip some more in his mouth.  Next, I dab his lips
with the cloth. 

Swallow
,
I think, not knowing if the water is doing any good.

As
if obeying my silent command, he swallows softly and pulls his lips together
tightly.  My heart leaps inside my chest as I dip the cloth again and touch it
to his lips.  A moment later, they part for me, and I give him more water.

I
can barely see him, but I can tell his eyes are still closed.

I
dab his face again and drop some more water on his tongue.  He swallows again,
but still in a subconscious way, which is fine by me.  At least I know he’s
getting the water. 

I
feel a rock or loose bark digging into my knee, and I reach down to move it. 
On the way down, my hand grazes across Dylan’s chest.  I feel goosebumps and
realize I need to try to warm him up.  I set down the cloth and rub both of his
arms slowly up and down, then his chest and abdomen.

I
guide his hands to his belly and I lie down on top of them, trying to cover as
much of his skin as I can.  My hands rest on his shoulders and I move them back
and forth to create friction. 

Before
long, I find a place to rest my head on his chest.  Despite the cold, his
breaths are steady, and they lull me back to sleep. 

I
wake with my hands under my head and my legs dangling over Dylan’s.  I can’t
imagine being tired enough to sleep this much after sleeping all night in the
woods.  Dylan’s body isn’t trembling, and his arms are no longer underneath
me.  He must’ve moved them.

His
hands move again and I realize where they’ve gone; they’re on my lower back.  I
pick my head up and look at him--there’s plenty of sunlight now--and he’s
looking right at me, almost smiling.  Almost giddy.

“Hi,”
he says, too loudly.

“Shh. 
Dylan, we have to stay quiet.  They’re here.”  I wipe my eye, trying to wake
myself up.

“Who’s
here?”  Still too loud. 

“Dylan,
please.  Trust me.”  I place a finger on his lips.  “Shhh.” 

He
looks me in the eye, still grinning despite my urgent panic.  He moves his
hands up my back, across my shoulders and lands with his hands on each of my
elbows, lingering there with a caress.  I ignore the shiver that chased his
fingers up my body and focus on him. 

“You’re
so beautiful.  I’m so happy you’re here with me.” 

He’s
not getting it. 

I
shimmy farther up so my head is right above his, and I cup my hand over his
mouth and lean in.  I whisper in his ear, “Dylan, please.  Be quiet.”  I
realize the withdrawals aren’t over yet.  He’s completely delirious. 

He
whispers against my hand, “I want to take you on a date.” 
At least he’s
whispering
.