The throbbing pain in her shoulder was nothing compared to the the throbbing pain in her head. Whatever neurotoxin that sick bastard had nicked her with a few hours ago was still messing with her motor functions and reflexes. She felt like her head was stuffed with cotton and her limbs had a mind of its own. If not for Royce propping her up and half-dragging her back into the jungle, she would have probably sat there until the next round of hunters had shown up and finished her.
Royce. He had finally told her his name. She just didn't know if it was his first or last name. With the others he was always curt and gruff. She had met a lot of tough, macho, egotistical bastards in her life and she had pegged him to be just as bad as them. That is, until he came back for her. He had made it crystal clear that he wanted off the planet and that the hunter's ship was his ticket. That's why it took her muddled brain a few minutes to process the ship's explosion and his subsequent return for her. She shook her head as if trying to clear her thoughts.
"What?" Royce asked in his gravelly voice as his left hand pulled her straighter and closer to him and his right hand quickly reached over to check on her makeshift shoulder bandage.
She looked up at his dirt-strewn face. She had never noticed his eyes before. They were a mixture of determination, resolve and concern. He was concerned about her. Of course he was concerned she thought. Two of them together had a much better strategic advantage surviving this nightmare than one of them alone.
"Nothing," Isabelle said brushing away her thoughts. They had to focus on getting to shelter before nightfall. Hurt and wounded, they would never make it through the night in the open jungle. Automatically, her brain shifted to do what she did best: filter, analyze and process survival options and then execute according to her training. She was IDF after all. One of the world's toughest defense forces fighting what many have arguably said is the longest-running military conflicts in modern history.
"We need to find shelter," Royce said seemingly reading her thoughts. "Whatever they dropped will be gaining consciousness soon. I don't think we want to be there to meet-and-greet."
"We have to go back to Noland's drill rig," she said as she suppressed a sharp pain shooting through her shoulder. They were picking up their pace and the unevenness of the jungle floor made every step feel like a knife tearing through her shoulder again.
Royce glanced at her with his piercing eyes and then nodded in agreement. It was their best shot right now. Isabelle could barely walk let alone be able to help defend them and the rig had a power source. Since they eliminated the original three hunters, the new batch wouldn't know that Noland had made a home for himself in the rig. They wouldn't be safe for a long time but it could buy them a few days to at least rest and recuperate.
What seemed like a lifetime passed before they squeezed, shimmied and crawled their way back into the drill rig. They passed by what remained of Noland and the smell had almost made Isabelle throw up. When she had dragged her broken body through the portal and Royce had secured the dented metal plate, the room started to spin. Just as she had started to lose her balance, Royce appeared at her side and wrapped his arms around her.
"Hey, hey, easy there," he whispered as he eased her gently down on some rags. "We should be safe here for the next few days until you can get back on your feet. Stay here while I go look around. That crazy bastard must have hidden his supplies somewhere."
Isabelle vaguely recalled hearing the rest of Royce's words before she nodded at him and passed out.
Hours later, Isabelle woke to the sound of boiling water. She forced her eyes open and turned her head at the sound. Her body felt like a 10-ton truck had run her over and left her for dead. There wasn't one part of her body that didn't ache and hurt.
"Feeling better?" Royce said with his back turned towards her as he dunked rags into the boiling water.
"No," she squeaked her throat dry and parched.
He gave a small laugh and turned around and walked towards her with a battered tin cup. "Here, drink. You're dehydrated."
"Thanks," she managed as she sat up and accepted his offered cup. She noticed that he had taken the time and cleaned himself up a little. The dirt and mud from before was gone and he was wearing an unfamiliar shirt. She glanced down at her hands and noticed that they were just as clean as his. She touched her face hesitantly.
"I, uh ... cleaned you up a little," he said with a hint of embarrassment. "Didn't want your wound to get infected."
"Thanks again," she managed equally embarrassed. She couldn't remember the last time someone had done anything nice for her and he certainly wasn't the person she had thought would be the one to do it for her.
"No big deal," he shrugged as he turned back to the boiling pot.
"No, I meant thank you for saving my life. I owe you."
Royce was silent as he took the boiling water off the heat source and replaced it with the pot of food Noland had originally offered them when they arrived at the rig the first time. "Hungry?" He said as he reached for two tin pans.
Isabelle smiled at his gruff question. In the short time she had known him, she had already figured out that outright compliments made him feel uneasy and uncomfortable. They all had a story. How they came to be the monsters of their own planet and she thought that if they both survived long enough on this hell hole, she would eventually find out his.
"Did you find any supplies?" She asked as she dug into the watery broth Royce had served her.
"Well," he let out a long sigh, "if we ration our food, we've got a week's worth before we have to start hunting for meat. Fortunately, Noland, the crazy bastard, managed to scavenge a good amount of weapons, most importantly that cloaking device and weapon he had on when he found us. I figured we can play around with it tomorrow and see what it can do."
Isabelle nodded. "I think a portion of the power source can be removed if we need to leave this place for a more secure location. I need to take a closer look tomorrow. Also, if I can get to the upper levels of this rig, then I can get a better view of the surrounding areas."
Royce looked at her with a faint smile. Sliced, poisoned, paralyzed and then stabbed less than 8 hours ago and she had already put her game face back on. Despite his initial doubts about her, she really was a professional. She was a woman after his own heart. No wonder he couldn't leave her back at the hunter's base. So damn ironic, Royce thought. Of course he would find the woman of his dreams here on this stink hole of planet and not on Earth. The universe was definitely sick and twisted.
"What?" She asked as she noticed him staring at her.
"Nothing," he said casually. "We should get that shoulder of yours sewn up. I thought I saw a sewing kit here somewhere." He got up to rummage through a pile of stuff.
He's not telling me something, Isabelle thought as she watched Royce carefully thread a needle. What is he hiding? Royce turned and walked up to her raising his eye brows in a sign of "ready?"
After gently removing her jacket, she turned the other way as he made the first stitch. Trying to still his nervous hands, he thought they could both use the distraction and started talking.
"Sniper, huh?" Royce said casually as he carefully started his first stitch.
Isabelle grimaced. While definitely not as painful as a stab wound, getting stitched up was not on her favorites list. "Yeah, sniper," she replied curtly.
OK, so his brief attempt at small talk wasn't going so well. He would have to take the initiative and try to distract her. He could see that the she was trying her best not to squirm from the needle.
"Never did have it in me to be still. I barely passed sniper rotation in basic."
Isabelle looked up at him in mild shock. He was sharing? Her shoulder must have been really bad if he thought talking about himself would distract her from the pain. But, what the hell she thought. Better to get to know him and all his vulnerabilities now than in the field under fire. They were stuck with each other, at least for now.
"That was the only thing I was good at. My instructors told me I had this 'stillness' about me that was rare. I could lie in wait for hours on end without moving waiting for the right time. It took forever to match me with a spotter."
"How many kills?" Royce asked casually as he reached the halfway point in her wound. She'd always have a scar there but at least now he'd been able to stop the bleeding.
Isabelle thought before she spoke. Not because she couldn't remember but because she was debating whether or not to tell him the truth. If the number was too low, then he'd think she was an amateur. If the number was too high, then he'd think she was a cold-blooded killer. What the hell, she thought. They were the last remaining survivors stuck on an alien planet. If he couldn't handle the truth about her, then to hell with him. "469 sanctioned kills," she replied clinically.
Royce whistled in appreciation. "That's pretty impressive. I'm betting that a good part of those were for Mossad."
"They occasionally asked for assistance," she replied evenly still uncomfortable with the direction of their conversation. "If you haven't noticed, my country is surrounded by enemies."
"An eye for an eye, huh?"
"If that's how you chose to see it."
"Look, I'm not judging. I'm a mercenary, OK? I have no loyalties," Royce said trying to keep the conversation light and friendly.
"My turn," Isabelle said quickly. "Why are you a mercenary?" She stared at him intently.
Crap. He'd set himself up for that one. He sighed before he started talking. "My country and I had a disagreement, you could say."
"You lost your team during a mission, didn't you?" Isabelle said matter-of-factly. It was her turn to read him.
Royce keep his eyes on his moving fingers and nodded in confirmation.
"Tell me."
He shook his head. "What's the point? What does it matter? It happened. Talking about it won't change anything."
"I want to know," she said simply.
He stilled his hands and looked at her. She looked back and held his stare. She was serious. What the hell, he thought. Even if she did judge him, they'd be dead soon enough so it wouldn't matter anyway. He tied the last knot with his fingers and dressed the newly stitched would the best he could. He turned and sat down a few feet from her giving her some room to put her jacket back on.
He stared at his boots as he started talking. "It was a standard six-man op. Simple extraction. Some dumb bastard had gotten himself taken by these militants and the powers that be wanted to look good to the world press. So they scrambled a team and sent us there with specific instructions. Bring the hostage back alive. Show the world that America couldn't be threatened or bullied. But, the thing was," Royce laughed in a cold and hollow voice, "it was bogus. The dumb bastard we thought was kidnapped was really working with the militants. They were so caught up in looking good that they didn't give us solid intel. We found out later that all the intel they gave us was based on a bad source. They hadn't even vetted the source before they OK'd the intel. One by one they picked us off until only one remained."
"You." Isabelle said softly.
Royce looked up with a sad smile. "Yeah, me. Shrapnel had pierced my Kevlar and lodged in my back and legs. Three of my ribs were broken and I had a concussion. I blew out my left knee trying to drag one of my guys away from enemy fire. I thought I was a dead man when I passed out after losing too much blood. Some sympathetic villagers dragged me into their home and hid me for days until American troops patrolled the area and I was evacuated to Ramstein for recovery." Royce blew out a breath of air. "I was in traction for six months and spent another six months relearning how to walk. When I confronted my superiors about the mission, I was told to keep quietly and forget it. Keep quiet and forget it? I lost my entire goddamn team that day. How could I keep quiet?"
"They discharged you, didn't they?" She stated quietly.
"I quit. There was no more honor, no more loyalty. They slaughtered us that day. I couldn't wake up every morning and follow lies," Royce spit out in anger.
"Do you think you should've died with your team that day?"
"Hell yes. I should have been the first to die. It was my team, my men. I was in command."
"Survivors guilt. It happens to all of us eventually. It's like penance."
"I thought you were Jewish? You believe in penance?" Royce asked in a mildly surprised tone.
Isabelle rolled her eyes. "Just because I'm Jewish doesn't mean I don't understand the concept of penance, you racist ass."
Royce let out a laugh. The first real one he could remember having in a long time. "No offense," he said as the remnants of a smile lingered on his face. "You said earlier you thought we were chosen because we were the monsters of our world."
"Yeah, and?"
"What if we were chosen by these bastards because we were the most worthy?" He turned to look at her. "Hunting is obviously a huge part of their culture. They do it for sport, for honor you can even say. There's no sport in hunting something that doesn't even present a challenge. You notice that everyone and everything that's been dropped on this planet has been kick-ass tough? From the freaky two-legged creatures we flushed out earlier to the skin-sloughing thing in the crates."
Isabelle thought a moment. "OK, let's say you're right. So?"
"What if ...," Royce paused, "what if we showed those alien bastards that we're tougher than they are?"
It was her turn to laugh. "How do you propose to do that?" Isabelle asked incredulously.
"We kill them," he said simply.
"Of course, why didn't I think of that? Genius!" Isabelle exclaimed with as much sarcasm as her aching body could convey.
"Do you want to just sit back and let them hunt and eventually kill us?"
"Maybe that wouldn't be such a bad idea," she said quietly.
Royce stared a her. "You're serious, aren't you?"
Isabelle was silent. She started to pick at invisible lint bits on her pants refusing to look at him.
Watching the turmoil flash through her face, he knew that she wasn't telling him everything. "You want to talk about it?" He tried to keep his tone casual and non-threatening.
She looked up at his question and stared into his eyes as if trying to determine if she could trust him. A moment of doubt flashed past her eyes before she steeled herself and straightened her back. Why hide from it any longer? All her life she'd been running away from it. Her situation now, stranded on this alien planet? It was her penance. This was the universe righting itself. She took a breath and stared at a neutral spot on the filthy wall.
"I'm not who you think I am," she started simply. "I lost my parents when I was 14 years old in a suicide bombing. They were having coffee at a street side cafe in Tel Aviv when a bomber decided to blow himself up across the street. I wasn't close to any of my relatives so the government placed me into foster home. It wasn't a good place. The children there, especially the older boys, used to bully the younger kids around a lot. I managed to stay under their radar until I turned 15. Then they started to notice me, harass me. The summer I turned 16, a group of boys decided that they would 'get to know me better' and cornered me in the bathroom late one night. They took turns. One after the other for what seemed like hours. Afterwards, they left my bleeding and broken body on the floor of the shower room to be found by the other kids in the morning."
Isabelle wiped her face. "The government removed me from the home and I spent the next month or so in the hospital. They told me that because of what had happened, I could never have children. But it didn't bother me then because all I could think of was what if my child had done this to someone? I tried to move on but then the nightmares started. Every night the same thing. I would wake up terrified and drenched in sweat. I didn't notice when the anger slowly started to replace the fear. It was gradual, I guess. By this time, I was old enough to work so I found a job at a bakery. The neighborhood wasn't so safe so the owner always kept a shotgun behind the counter. One day, the same boys who had attacked me came into the bakery. They ordered bread and coffee to go. They didn't recognize me at all."
She shifted her position on the chair before continuing. "This incredible rage came over me when I realized that. The next thing I know, I had grabbed the shotgun, ran out to the street and pumped each boy with two rounds from the gun. They were barely recognizable afterwards. They had to pick parts of them off of the street. I was arrested. But because I was still underage and because of what had happened before, I was given a reprieve, a choice if you will. Spend my adult life in jail or volunteer my services to the IDF. Ironically, it was the IDF that encouraged me and trained me to become a sniper, a killer. They said I had natural talent," Isabelle laughed in a hollow voice.
Royce stayed silent as her eyes glazed over and her thoughts traveled back in time. She gave a ghost of a smile. "You know I've never told anyone that story before."
"I would have done the same," Royce said simply in his usual raspy voice. "They deserved what they got. We perform a service, a service that no one wants to do. We rid our world of scum. We're a dirty little secret."
"Are you saying the world should thank us instead of persecuting us?" Isabelle asked incredulously.
"I don't give a damn about what the world thinks of us. It is what it is. We are what we are. And we use this to our advantage. We fight the bastards," he said.
"Until when? Until they cut us down?"
"No, until they notice us. The way I see it, they're a predatory species. If we can show them we are just as tough if not tougher than they are, they might take notice."
"And send more than just three to eliminate us? Send an entire army?" Isabelle said challenging him.
"Maybe. Or maybe they'll spare us," he said.
Isabelle stared at him. "You think that if we can take out their best warriors, they'll think we're worthy as their equals. They'll treat us like fellow predators and not prey."
Royce nodded slowly silently thankful that she had said "we" and "us" indicating that maybe she didn't think his idea was totally insane.
Isabelle let out a long breath. "It's a long shot at best."
"You got somewhere else to be?" He asked in a flat tone.
Isabelle looked up. "You're still an asshole, Royce."
Royce laughed and smiled. "Yeah, I know."