"Where's Paul?"
I felt like dirt. No, I felt lower than dirt. There were no words for how miserable I actually felt.
"Hello, Earth to Suze! Where's Paul?"
I could hear a faint ringing in my ears as a layer of sweat covered the palms of my hands. I tried wiping them off on my shorts, but it barely made a difference. The thud, thud of my heart, which was normally undetectable, became so loud, I felt as if my skull might explode. The rhythm soon became a harbinger of insanity, like a ticking clock counting down the hours until an execution. Suddenly, sweaty palms seemed like a minor penalty in comparison.
Though my stomach had plummeted to what seemed like the very soles of my feet almost immediately after the event, I could still feel that dreadful void of emptiness and shame. Shame that I knew was all my fault. Because no matter how many different ways I tried to spin this, I couldn't paint myself as the victim in any shape, way, or form. There was no hiding it. I had acted purely out of my own selfish desire and lust; I had become a slave to a wicked combination the two. And Paul had simply been there. Available and interested. Something Vince wasn't lately.
Because, oh yeah, he was KIDNAPPED.
WORST. WIFE. EVER.
"Are you even listening to me?"
It didn't make sense. It didn't make sense at all. How had it felt so good? Why had Paul's touch ignited something so feral, so strong within me? And more importantly: why had I liked it? I mean, it wasn't like I was in love with Paul. I loved Vince. That's why I married him.
But, a small voice challenged in my head, what if you still have feelings for Paul?
Suddenly, my breath caught in my throat, and all that thud, thudding my heart had been doing just moments ago came to a screeching halt. Was I right? Could I subconsciously have been in love with Paul this whole time; only, I had been too stubborn to admit it to myself, let alone him? Was I just as pathetic as Paul?
More importantly, is that what I had done? Had I married Vince just so I could cope with what I had assumed was unrequited love? Had Vince been some red herring I had used for my selfish need to ignore major confrontation in my life?
Was I still in love with Paul?
Involuntarily, memories of our time together flooded into my head. The good, the bad, and the ugly; all of it came front and center in my thoughts. Basically, I was forced into rewatching the most indescribable fourteen months of my life. And if I was expecting some emotional torrent to overtake me, I was highly mistaken. Because, in all honesty, I felt nothing. Well, not nothing exactly. There was the obvious pleasant sensation of nostalgia, but anything extending past that did not exist. Because I wasn't in love with Paul. Maybe I had been at one time—it was hard to make out through the fog of sixteen years—but those feelings, if they existed at all, were completely gone.
The truth was I loved Vince.
I knew it in the way my heart, which had suffered so much abuse in the many weeks we had been here in the jungle, still ached with an intensity I had never known before. It was an ache that encompassed my own guilt over my licentious discretions and my fear of never seeing my husband again. Alive, the part of my brain—that I was decidedly ignoring—insisted on tacking onto the end of that thought. The chance that I would never be able to look into his deep blue eyes, or to see him smile, or hold his hand, or even hear his laugh again put me into a deep set panic. I couldn't breathe.
Sure, Vince and I had our marital problems, but he was my husband. More importantly, he was my friend. My best friend. The only other time I could remember feeling even remotely like this was the day I found out my dad disappeared.
Without even meaning to, I could feel the sharp prickle of tears beginning to form. Oh, God! How could I have betrayed him like that?
"Where's my freaking brother, Suze?"
"A-And what happened to your shirt?"
I was torn from my inner musings only to discover Jack glaring at me furiously while Maverick's gaze seemed to be fixated somewhere on my person below eyelevel. Feeling incredibly self-conscious, I crossed my arms over my chest in an attempt to cover myself as best I could. Thankfully, Charlie and Jesse just seemed to be relieved to see me return in one piece.
"Seriously, dude?" I demanded of Maverick, sniffling and subtly trying to bat away any tears that may have escaped from the corners of my eyes. The last thing I needed was a barrage of nosy questions. Then, I wrapped my arms around my body more tightly and rolled my eyes, partly grateful for the temporary distraction from my inner turmoil. Partly creeped out by Maverick's sudden interest in my chest. "They're just breasts! Geez, get a hold of yourself, will you?"
The Master had the decency to look mortified and to avert his gaze quickly to the far extreme of not looking at me at all. Jesse and Charlie, on the other hand, both tried to hide their amusement by suppressing their own laughter, but Jack was in no mood for games.
"Suze," he bellowed authoritatively. "My brother?"
Really, when he put his mind to it, Jack could be just as intimidating as his older brother. I cowered slightly at his intonation, but managed a weak, "I-I don't know where Paul is."
This answer was either not sufficient or not the answer Jack was looking for. His eyebrows rose in incredulity. "Wait, he told us he was going to find you, so he could apologize. Are you telling me he never met up with you?"
I shook my head. "No, he found me at the cave, but I felt too claustrophobic when we started exploring it, so I came back here. I'm sure Paul will be back shortly."
Actually, that was a lie. I had no idea when Paul would be back, if he decided to come back at all. Really, I couldn't blame the guy if he wanted to stay as far away from me as possible. But what Jack didn't know wouldn't kill him. Or at least I hoped so, at any rate.
"So did you guys finally kiss and make up?" he wanted to know.
Immediately, I could feel my face heat up at his poor choice of words. "Figuratively"—And literally, unfortunately.—"speaking, yeah, we . . . um, came to terms."
At least, I hoped we had come to terms. Running out like I had didn't exactly allow me insight into Paul's reaction regarding the whole thing. But if I knew Paul—and judging by the day's earlier events, I think I could safely say that I didn't know Paul nearly as well as I had always presumed I did—he would come sauntering back, arrogant smile in tow, not even a hint of our quarrel's effects anywhere about his person. Paul Slater: ever the professional. He would never allow a hair out of place, let alone convey internal heartache.
Heartache. I could not wrap my head around the idea of Paul emotionally affected by anyone or anything, let alone me. The idea would certainly require some time to adjust to, although hopefully he would take much more kindly to this "break up" than the first one. Though, admittedly, I wouldn't blame him if he didn't. Rejection sucked.
"So then where does your missing shirt come into all of this?" Maverick asked once again, jarring me from my internal monologue.
Simultaneously, Charlie, Jesse, Jack and myself either scoffed in disbelief or rolled our eyes. Jack even went so far as to smack him upside the head, which he did not take too kindly to. Charlie, on the other hand, muttered something under his breath as he shook his head. Thankfully, it was inaudible.
"What?" Maverick demanded, rubbing the back of his head, though it didn't look as if Jack had hit him nearly that hard. "It's a legitimately sound question! Oh, come on! Like the rest of you haven't been pondering the same thing since she returned! I mean it's not entirely my fault, is it? I'm certainly not going out of my way to be distracted by naked—well, half naked, anyway—female flesh, anymore than Suze is going out of her way to purposefully flaunt said naked—half naked—female flesh, though a shirt wouldn't exactly do any harm, or even—"
Immediately, I clasped my arms over whatever part of my body I could cover successfully, and before I could defend myself, Charlie beat me to the punch. "Kid, do us all a favor, and stop talking before you dig yourself even deeper into this hole of embarrassment and mortification you so kindly dragged the rest of us into."
Then he directed his attention my way, politely and resolutely keeping his gaze at my eye level. "And for the love of God, Suzie," he continued, jabbing a thumb at Maverick, "cover yourself with something so the kid here doesn't pass out or have an epileptic seizure of sorts. I have some medical training from my later days in 'Nam, but they never taught us how to deal with a man seeing a real, live naked woman for the first time in his life. I reckon it's a telling commentary on the sad state of the public school system in this country."
Jesse and Jack both tried to stifle their laughter, while Maverick turned the shade of embarrassment I felt. "I have—on numerous occasions—seen a real, naked woman's actual breasts," he insisted angrily, balling his hands into fists. He cast a quick glance in my direction, his Adam's apple bobbing erratically, "just none of them have been quite as perfect as h—"
"Son, I wasn't kidding," Charlie snarled angrily as he cracked his knuckles, for extra emphasis, I guess.
Maverick muttered an apology before involving himself in some kind of chore out of earshot, more than likely planning to never speak to any of us ever again. I, on the other hand, reached my bag and began rummaging through it, finally settling on a piece from my current spring collection: a rayon blend, royal purple tank top with sweetheart neckline, embroidering on the straps, and strategic pieces missing from the back. Normally, I preferred natural fabrics, but you couldn't be too choosy when it came to a predicament such as ours; plus, had I known this is where I would be spending my vacation, instead of Pennsylvania, I would have packed a more practical wardrobe. "You didn't have to be so hard on him," I admonished Charlie, pulling my new shirt on over my head. Looking down, I noticed I had put it on backwards, so I squirmed around in an attempt to right my error.
Charlie wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand before answering, "In the short time since knowing you, Suzie, I've come to think of you as my own daughter, and the idea that he might be looking at you with devious intentions of any kind, in all honesty, creeps me the hell out." I couldn't help but swell with pride and smile brightly even if he didn't say hell. "Plus, you're married," he added unnecessarily. "Kid should be more respectful."
It took all I had in me to keep my jaw from hanging open. Major Charles O'Neil. Charlie, the most foul mouthed, least moral character—next to Paul, of course—in our group was not so subtly reminding me of the sanctity of marriage. How low had I sunk that I was seeking moral council from Charlie? Imagine if I had actually slept with the guy instead of just kissed him!
The thought made my blood run cold, especially considering how frighteningly close to reality that scenario actually was had it not been for some choice decisions and a timely flashback. I've never considered myself to be a religious person, but if divine intervention ever existed, that was proof enough to make me a believer of sorts. Now if only Vince was still alive.
Please be alive . . .
"In all seriousness, querida," Jesse piped in, crossing his arms over his chest, "what did happen to your shirt?"
He laughed, though admittedly not as much after I playfully punched him in the arm. Jack even managed to crack a smile. "Well, to make a long story short," I obliged them all, "in the cave we found more . . . insects like the one that attacked Charlie. The major difference being that the ones in the cave did not have wings, and they had way more legs. Like if a millipede and a scary, hell demon creature mated."
Jack allowed a grin while Jesse frowned slightly in thought. Obviously, the topic of unidentifiable creatures took precedence over the whereabouts of my shirt, which suited me just fine. Not that the story was embarrassing or anything, but the tale was so closely linked to my indiscretions with Paul that inevitably I would let something slip. I in no way wanted to let something slip to Jesse, or God forbid, Jack. I mean, how embarrassing! Just what I always wanted to discuss with Jack: how I had just had my tongue down his older brother's throat.
Not.
"Anyway," I continued, brushing a strand of hair out of my eye, "one of these creatures crawled onto my back, and then about a hundred more of his friends joined him. Rather than waiting for one of them to rip my eye out like they did to Charlie, I yanked my shirt off. It was a question of safety over modesty at that point."
"So these creatures," Jesse pressed on, showing little, if any, concern for my sacrificed modesty, "what else can you tell me about them? Though it seems unlikely, did you manage to get a sample?"
Pleased that I had some good news at least, I nodded. "Yeah, Paul managed to grab one when I was still up there." Jesse's whole face lit up in anticipation for the upcoming dissection he knew he would be a part of. I smiled fondly, then I remembered something. "Oh! And I almost forgot! As soon as sunlight touched those bugs, they burst into flame before completely disappearing."
"Why's that so significant, though?" Jack wanted to know. He had, by this time, taken a seat on a particularly large rock, and he allowed his arm to dangle over his right knee. He shrugged. "Every other time we've run into these . . . things, they've disintegrated, too. It's basically the same thing, right?"
I shook my head, crossing my arms over my chest. "No. Well, not according to Paul, anyway. See, it was different in the cave. Instead of fizzing and disappearing into thin air, they caught on fire as soon as the sunlight touched their skin. It was totally creepy."
"Interesting," Jesse breathed, not directing the one-word proclamation to anyone in particular. "I wonder why that is."
Once again, eager to have an answer, I volunteered, "Paul mentioned something about a chemical secretion on the creatures' skin. One that would react with direct sunlight in a 'sun-hits-creature-creature-goes-fizzle-poof!' kind of way."
Jack grinned at my description in such an adorably charming way, I had no choice but to reciprocate the gesture, despite how crummy I was feeling. Jesse, on the other hand, merely tilted his head to the side in recognition of my statement. "Though I've not come across such a phenomenon in all my years of study, logistically speaking it could be possible," he concluded. "It would certainly support our theory of rapidly increased evolutionary development."
Charlie hung his head and shook it in a defeated way. "You kids and your bat shit insane theories," he remarked, running his fingers through his hair. "I tell ya', if any of this turns out to be true and not the aftereffects of a bad acid trip, I'll be pleasantly surprised."
We laughed, unable to word our own sentiments any better. "Something feels . . . strange about this development, though," Jesse pointed out, "like I have been in this situation previously, or have heard someone talk about it. It almost feels like—"
"Déjà vu?" I piped in.
"Precisely!" he exclaimed. "I can't quite put my finger on it, but the feeling overall is . . . uncomfortable, to say the least."
"Yeah, well we're all gonna be uncomfortable soon enough if we don't start headin' out before the sun goes down," Charlie forewarned as he turned his sidearm's safety on right before placing it in the back of his pants. "C'mon, folks. You know the drill by now."
For whatever reason, Jack took great umbrage at this. He abruptly stood, and insisted, "Whoa, we're not going anywhere until my brother gets back." The sound of snapping twigs caught my attention, but upon investigation, I discovered it was just the Master. He rejoined us, decidedly having overcome his own crippling embarrassment. I tried not to smile . . . or cringe. "Suze," Jack directed at me, an edge of nerves and irritation evident in his tone, "where the hell is Paul?"
"You mean you didn't tell them?"
Everything happened at once. I heard the frightening click of a switchblade being released, and then I felt the cold, hard steel of the blade against my jugular as a large arm wrapped around my chest from behind. I could feel my body react immediately. Blood pulsated erratically from limb to limb, my temples began to throb, and the rest of my body became rigid, as if I had looked straight into the eyes of Medusa herself. Instinctively, I knew that bone chilling voice could only belong to one person.
"I have to say, I'm a little disappointed, Ms. Simon. I thought you said you were made of thicker stuff than that. Then again," General Holdren shrugged, "I suppose if the roles were reversed, I wouldn't be too keen in revealing my . . . indiscretions either. Especially if I was a well-respected woman of integrity, such as yourself. Gentlemen!"
Somehow he knew. About Paul and me, I mean. Even though I couldn't see his face, I just knew a sardonic smile stretched across his unforgivingly harsh face. Fury, in addition to fear, raced through my veins, as I tried to telepathically plead with my captor to keep my "indiscretions" to himself. If I thought I was busted before, this was way worse.
Like, way worse.
Please don't say anything!
Following the General's small speech, about ten men suddenly appeared in the forest behind the two of us. All at once, guns clacked into place as all of Holdren's men lifted their firearms into place. Charlie, Maverick, Jesse, and Jack weren't far behind with their own guns. All of them looked like I felt: scared and angry beyond anything imaginable.
Within moments, I felt the switchblade dig deeper into my skin as General Holdren's grasp on me tightened painfully. A pathetic whimper escaped from me as I tried to squirm out from his grip. I wasn't particularly accustomed to being held hostage, and it showed when my actions elicited an even tighter, more painful grasp from my captor.
"I'd put your weapons away, boys," Holdren gestured toward my guys. He held me at such a painful angle and so close to him that I could feel his own heartbeat thudding along calmly underneath his Kevlar vest and regulation fatigues. "We wouldn't want li'l Suzie here to get hurt, now would we?"
"Hurt her in any way," Charlie snarled in response, his facial expression harder than I'd ever seen, "I'll riddle your skull with bullets. Mark my words."
He unwaveringly clutched onto his gun, striking a menacing stance. The others followed directly flanking him. Only Jesse shook for a hint of a second as he cocked the hammer on his pistol.
This blatant act of defiance majorly enraged the General. He spat irately, "I wasn't kidding!"
Promptly, he swiped the blade down my cheek, eliciting a scream and a trail of blood from me, as well as shocked gasps from Charlie and the others. "Anyone else decides to play the role of quipping hero, and next time I plunge this through her freaking temple, understand?" he bellowed. "Now put the damned guns down!"
Instead of complying, they took a step closer, looking even more menacing than before. "Let her go first!" Jack demanded.
In response, General Holdren took the hand that wasn't holding the switchblade and used it to grab a handful of hair and yank my head back, thrusting the blade even closer to my throat. I yelped in pain and began to cry. "Please!" I begged as two tears slid down either side of my face.
Holdren cackled as a result of my plea. "Always turns me on when they beg." He accompanied this statement by thrusting his pelvis into my backside, eliciting laughter and catcalls from both himself and the small army of men behind him. A cocktail of mortification and white hot rage washed over me. "Now," he directed toward Charlie and the others, "you heard the lady, gentlemen! Put your weapons DOWN!"
They only hesitated for a moment. Jesse was the first to follow the order; Maverick was the last.
"Good." You could practically hear the smile of victory in his voice. "Now, kick them away from you."
Once again, Charlie, Jack, Jesse, and Maverick followed the order. Only Charlie and Jesse looked like doing so made them physically ill.
"Good!" the General boomed, more content in his power play than his opposition's compliance. I'm sure a hideous smile made its way onto his face. He yanked my head back by my hair, causing another pathetic moan to slip past my lips. "Now," he said much more gruffly, the scent of his vileness overpowering, "if any of you so much as steps one toe out of line, I will kill her."
Jack, who realized he couldn't do anything to help me at the moment, decided to switch the topic of conversation. "Where's my brother?" he asked cautiously, though his voice by no means wavered.
"Your brother?" Holdren wondered aloud. Recognition suddenly became evident in his voice. "Oh! You must mean Paul Slater." He paused. "You mean to tell me that arrogant jackass is your brother . . . ?"
"Jack," he offered through gritted teeth. Jesse placed a calming, yet restrictive hand on the younger man's shoulder.
"Ah, Jack!" the General repeated, an unnatural amount of felicity in his voice. "Now that you mention it, the resemblance is a little uncanny. But in answer to your question, Jack, your brother is currently residing back at our camp."
"You mean kidnapped against his will!" Jesse corrected him darkly, an undertone of fury evident.
Judging by his body tensing, I could tell the General shrugged. "You say, 'kidnapped against his will,' I say, 'citizen's arrest for aiding and abetting a wanted fugitive of the United States government.' It's all semantics, really."
Jesse frowned and asked sternly, "Under what authority can you claim this supposed power? Your jurisdiction cannot possibly cover innocent, tax-paying United States citizens in South America."
Even though I was pretty sure that, as a four star general, Holdren could probably do whatever he wanted, I didn't think it was wise to correct my defense. I watched enough Law and Order marathons to know that much. Plus, enough evidence told me that if I so much as blinked, my captor would have no qualms in killing me.
General Holdren laughed. "'Under what authority?'" he repeated. "I think I've made myself quite clear in stating I'll slit her throat at even the tiniest show of insurrection."
Like I said.
"Yeah, you've been crystal," Charlie replied brusquely. "What I'm still fuzzy on is why you're here, beating on women, trying to affirm your masculinity. State your piece, then let her go."
For a moment, I thought Holdren was going to snap. I could feel him tense, my heart in my throat, but he relaxed. I took the opportunity to try and develop an escape plan. "Charlie, is it?" Holdren wondered aloud. "Major Charles O'Neil?"
Charlie nodded tersely. "Yes, sir."
This, for whatever reason, caused the General to laugh. "If you don't mind me saying, Major, you have a lot of nerve insulting your superior like that. Especially considering how you have become the longest running punch line in the United States Marine Corps. I've got buddies in Pennsylvania that say they should have put you out to pasture years ago. They say you're an embarrassment to the entire military institution and to your country; you're a disgrace. Essentially, your name, Major, is synonymous with mud."
In my thirty-six short years on this earth, I had learned in my youth that my fists rarely, if ever, solved conflicts. Yet, had I been able to break free from the General's tight grip, I would have decked him. Considering how he had threatened my well-being at least three times since he invaded our camp, General Holdren's name wasn't exactly sparkly clean either. Where did he get off saying all those terrible things about Charlie? Granted, he had some . . . questionable personality quirks, but all of those aside, I'd pick Charlie over Holdren every time, given the chance.
Major O'Neil hung his head and laughed quietly to himself. He straightened his beret before saying, "You're right, General," he admitted in a mild, yet unwavering voice. He lifted his gaze, filled with decisiveness and assurance, to Holdren and stood more erect. "I am a shitty soldier. I've never been able to fully detach myself from combat, never been able to kill without remorse of some kind. I'm a cranky, old shell of a man who stopped living a meaningful life the minute I received word that my fiancée had died. The first shred of purpose I've felt since then has been this gig.
"So, yeah," he agreed, "the guys back home have every right to poke fun at me because let's face it: I'm a joke of a soldier. But as far as my character goes—I am solid. I know and God knows that I'm a man of integrity, and while I'm far from perfect, I know that I'm a hell of a better man that you will ever be. Sir."
Once again, I could feel General Holdren's whole body tense. He remained still and silent for a long moment before he inquired, "Is that so?"
Charlie barely had the time to nod that, yes, that was so before Holdren reached behind him, grabbed his Glock 9, and fired a shot right through Charlie's left knee cap. Blood, small pieces of skin, and bits of bone exploded once the bullet pierced through his leg. Charlie let out a howl of pain before collapsing to the ground, his leg too weak to support the rest of his weight.
I screamed, louder and more terror-filled than ever. The guys made desperate moves to get over to Charlie, but Holdren roared, "Nobody move! Otherwise, the next time I shoot will be to kill!"
My whole life, I had never witnessed anyone being shot before. I mean, yeah, Vince was way into the Dirty Harry movies, so obviously I'd seen someone get shot, but not up close. Not personally. No one ever tells you about the ringing in your ear after the gun has fired, or how everything goes in slow motion, and they sure as hell don't tell you how scary it is to watch someone get shot. Especially when you're powerless to stop them from being shot in the first place.
The guys retreated, obviously not wanting to, but seeing it as the only way to keep Charlie from enduring anymore pain. For his part, the Major seemed to be doing his best to keep silent and to keep General Holdren from getting the satisfaction of his, Charlie's, discomfort. His age betrayed him, however, and he could be heard moaning as quietly as possible.
Jack, on the other hand, looked positively livid, as if given the chance, he could murder Holdren without even breaking a sweat. Not only had his brother been kidnapped, but now his best friend had been shot without a chance to defend himself. I could almost feel the pain and anger radiating off of him. Considering I was nearing my own boiling point, I empathized entirely.
"Get to the point, Holdren," he demanded darkly. I had never heard someone's voice sound angry, scared, and saddened simultaneously. "I know you didn't hunt us down just so you could hurl empty threats and insults at us all day."
General Holdren's voice boomed in my ears. "Astute observation, Jack! Now it's simple, really. All Ms. Simon has to do is hand over her father's note, and the rest of you—" He made sure to gesture to Maverick, Jack, and Jesse, on the off chance they forgot who they were, I guess. "—need to come with me quietly, no resistance whatsoever."
"So what do we get out of this arrangement?" Maverick demanded, his hands balled up into fists at his sides. "Do we even get a guarantee that our friends will be unharmed?"
Before Holdren began laughing as if this was the funniest thing he had ever heard, I felt touched by Maverick's words. And, okay, so he apparently had this creepy fascination with my chest, but whatever. He called me his friend. That had to count for something.
"I'm sorry, what do you get out of this deal?" Holdren repeated in a tone that suggested he couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. "You get to be alive! Granted, there's going to be some prison time involved, but I am being pretty damn merciful not killing all of you for what you've put me through. Especially you, Ms. Simon." He emphasized this with a not so gentle squeeze around my neck.
"And what about Paul? What about the rest of us?" Jesse reminded him gruffly. I'd only ever seen him truly angry a handful of times before, and if my memory served correctly, none of those times ever ended positively. I prayed that he wouldn't do anything stupid.
Holdren scoffed, then laughed sinisterly. "What about 'im? Anderson, Reynolds—" He gestured to my guys again. "—tie 'em up, then let's move out."
"No."
It wasn't as if I intended to cause an insurrection. I swear. I mean, nowadays, I barely so much as blinked an eye at my manicurist for botching my nails. But something inside of me at that precise moment snapped. Suddenly, beyond anything else, I felt tired. Tired of having some creep's knife up against my throat, tired of running, and tired of having the people I loved most in the world threatened almost constantly. So, yeah, I was tired. And you know what else? I was annoyed. And pissed. Like, super pissed. The illogical conclusion I jumped to suggested that I could not be blamed for my next course of action.
"What did you say?" Holdren asked gruffly.
I had a sneaking suspicion that he had heard me just fine the first time, but I obliged him anyway. My voice sounded raspy from the combined fear and lack of use within the past forty minutes or so. My throat felt scratchy, too, but I made sure to enunciate properly. "No," I repeated, this time much firmer than before.
Instead of hitting me—which I halfway expected him to do—General Holdren laughed again. "Ms. Simon, you seem to think that the fate of this little group rests on democratic decision when it, in fact, does not."
"And you," I said, "seem to think that by insulting me it will stop me from kicking your sorry ass when, in fact, it will not."
"Tough words for s—" Holdren began, but he never had the opportunity to finish because I smashed the back of my head into his face. I noticed he changed his tune entirely soon after. "You bitch!" he snarled, teeth gnashing.
For good measure, I slammed my foot down on his, satisfied to discover his boots weren't steel toed at all. "Call me 'bitch' one more time, and I will make absolutely certain those are the last words you'll ever get a chance to say to me before I kill you!" I threatened before promptly running back over to the others.
I could hear Holdren growl in frustration, but I resolutely ignored him and made my way over to the Major as quickly as possible. "Charlie!" I gasped, collapsing at his side. By this time, a good sized pool of blood had formed on the forest floor. "Oh, God!" I had the strong urge to vomit, and the overwhelming metallic scent wasn't helping. I had never seen so much blood before. "Are you okay? Are you strong enough to stand on your own?"
In the background, I faintly noticed Jesse, Maverick, and Jack making an effort to grab their discarded weapons. Primarily, though, I noticed how Charlie made the courageous effort of forcing a smile even though it just barely covered a pain induced wince. "Of course I'm strong enough," he assured me, making an effort to prove his point. "I've been in worse scrapes than this, Suzie."
At once, he slowly stood erect and attempted to put pressure on his injured leg, but immediately, he collapsed again. Before I could cry about the sheer desperation and hopelessness of the situation, I called Jesse over to give me a hand. Just because Charlie was out of commission didn't mean that we could give up. I knew in the pit of my heart that whether it was divine intervention again, or the universe not so subtly telling me I needed to sack up, this was my time to step up as the leader of this group. Charlie had carried us, particularly me, this far into our mission, and for that I was grateful. But I knew it was time for me to put my foot down, to stop looking to my past to define me, and to retake the reigns of my messed up life and try putting the pieces back together.
Oh, yeah. That's right, Universe: Suze Simon is back!
And this time, she's going balls out, Xena: Warrior Princess on everyone's asses, whether they asked for it or not.
Hells, yeah!
I threw one of Charlie's arms over my shoulders, while Jesse did the same thing on his other side. With our combined effort, we were able to successfully lift him. Quickly, I scanned the surrounding area for anywhere that would give us sufficient cover. I spotted a clump of trees not too far from where we were standing. "Jesse," I ordered, "let's take him over there."
Jesse nodded and we began to hobble the small distance between our current position and the new shelter. Maverick and Jack noticed our current direction and fell in step behind us. Meanwhile, I heard Holdren roar, "DON'T JUST STAND THERE! SHOOT THEM!"
Following his command, a small chorus of cocked weapons sounded right before a barrage of bullets soared our way. A few whizzed by us, far too close for comfort, and one, right before we reached our cover, grazed the side of my arm, taking a layer of skin with it. I could feel blood trickle down from the wound, while at the same time I had to grit my teeth to keep from crying out in pain. Call me a baby if you want, but you try being grazed by a bullet. It's not fun or painless, let me tell you! I snuck a quick glance behind me to see if I could pick out whoever fired that bullet, but I didn't really need to. General Holdren had a predatory sneer on his face. He looked immeasurably proud of his effort as he pulled the hammer back on his gun, once again aiming in my direction.
Safely behind the trees, Jesse and I propped Charlie up against one of the thicker trees. His bullet wound kept losing major amounts of blood. Noticing how squeamish I looked, Jesse said urgently, "Susannah, see if you can find me a small object I can use to stop this from bleeding."
I nodded and left to find a stone or a piece of bark or something that could be identified as a "small object." After a minute or so—it was definitely difficult to concentrate with repetitive gunfire volleying back and forth—I found a rock about the size of the hole in Charlie's leg. I wiped the dirt off the best I could and brought it back to Jesse. He took the rock from my outstretched hand and placed it over Charlie's wound. I watched as he proceeded to tear a strip of fabric from his shirt to use to keep the rock in place. Doggedly suppressing any urge to gag, I crouched down next to Jesse and held the stone in place while he tied the piece of his shirt around Charlie's leg tight enough so the stone stayed in place. The blood hadn't completely stopped, but it had slowed down considerably. Objectively speaking, I couldn't tell whether Charlie or I was more relieved.
"Watch after him, Susannah," Jesse told me. He grabbed his Luger from its holster, and added, "If the bleeding increases let me know. We can't keep his leg in this state for too long. If the blood flow is cut off from his lower leg for too long, we will have to amputate it, but considering our situation, our options are limited. In the mean time, we need to take down as many of Holdren's goons as we can. At least—" I watched as his Adam's apple bobbed nervously. "—until all of our ammunition is gone or we can leave the area safely."
"Roger that, De Silva," I threw his way. He grinned for only a moment before peeking around the tree we were situated behind and taking a couple shots. I tried to ignore him and focus on Charlie. That's who needed my help right now.
"You're going to be okay, Charlie," I tried to assure him bravely as I could muster. His breathing became jagged, as if he was consciously focusing on each breath to make sure it didn't hurt him. "Just . . . Just hang on."
Hang on? What a stupid thing to say! Hang on to what? My hand? His consciousness? That tree root? His life? I had never been less sure of a statement in all my life. For Charlie's sake, I hoped that didn't show.
"Suzie," Charlie said through gritted teeth. I could see how hard he was trying to keep the pain and fear out of his voice. That gesture alone warmed my heart. "I've been in much worse hell than this during my time. So you can relax." He paused. "In the event that I do die—"
"No," I blurted, my voice cracking. I couldn't bear to hear him finish his statement. Charlie couldn't die. He was like this invisible . . . thing, this invincible force to be reckoned with. He was like Superman or something. Well, more like Captain America what with the whole soldier thing. Minus the super secret experimentations, and oh, my God, Vince stop infiltrating my inner thought process with your nerd ramblings. Why does he know these things anyway?
My heart lurched. What I wouldn't give to hear him ramble on about anything, even if it was a speech on why Aquaman is a seriously underestimated member of the Justice League. I probably sounded repetitive, but I missed Vince so much.
"You're gonna make it, Charlie," I repeated, "I swear to you. And when we get back to the States, you can tell me more about Susan, and you can bore me with details about your time in combat and how you had to walk ten miles to school—uphill! both ways!—it'll be great; I promise."
That warranted a laugh from Charlie, and I heaved a small sigh of relief (it's the same old Charlie) before he started moaning and clutching his injured leg. I swallowed, steeling myself against an outburst of tears. To distract me, I blind fired my pistol from behind the tree we were both hiding behind. That lasted two rounds before the gun emitted that ominous, empty click sound. "Charlie, do you have any extra ammo?"
He barely shook his head, but his meaning was clear. Unwilling to give up, I glanced around at the other guys. "Does anyone have any extra clips? I'm out."
Maverick had some, but Jesse said, "I am out as well, querida."
Before I had a moment to panic even more about the lack of ammunition, Jack interrupted from behind us. "More bullets wouldn't do us much good anyway. There's too many of them," he said, gesturing in front of us, "and we're not exactly in the best defensive position ever. Plus, we need to get Charlie somewhere safe, so Jesse can take a better look at his leg. We have to get out of here."
Maverick somehow managed to roll his eyes, despite the gunfire, and quipped, "Well, we concluded that much on our own, surprisingly enough. How do you propose we actually go about doing that?"
Jack just smirked, as he dug around in his backpack. His expression brightened when he found what he was looking for. I wasn't able to see what he was so excited about until he stated, "With this."
I nearly choked on my spit. A grenade. He was holding a grenade. "Are you out of your mind?" I may or may not have included gratuitous swearing. "You can't just use a-a . . . grenade." I made sure to keep my voice as low as possible, in the event Holdren could hear our hypothetical plan. With all the gunfire happening, though, it proved unnecessary. Still, you couldn't be too careful. "Despite how much I despise him, Holdren's still government personnel. We could get in serious trouble if we . . . kill him."
Jack seemed to find my reaction somewhat amusing; his mouth quirked up at the corner. "What other option do we have, Suze? We're pretty much out of ammunition, and we're in desperate need of a distraction, so we can get the hell out of here." He tossed the grenade up in the air and then caught it again in his outstretched palm. "This baby solves both problems."
I bit my lip. He certainly had a point. I mean, it was sort of hypocritical of me to be worried about the disastrous effects of a grenade when I had no problem with firing a gun at Holdren and his men. In fact, part of me sort of relished it. My grudge aside though, from a rational standpoint, Jack's idea made sense. Right before I gave my okay, a thought occurred to me.
"What about your brother?"
Jack hesitated for only a moment, and I totally would have missed it had I so much as turned my head or even blinked. His Adam's apple bobbed with resolve, and he emitted an even, "We'll have to leave him for right now." Though he didn't show it, I could tell it nearly killed him to admit that. "He can hold his own for a bit until we can rescue him. We're no use to him dead."
He was right, of course. Even the part of me that couldn't bear the thought of how mortified I would be once I saw Paul again realized that. It's not as if I wanted Paul to get hurt; I so didn't. I just, I didn't want him to blab about the whole me kissing him thing. Thankfully, my conscience was able to keep my priorities in check, though: Paul's life far surpassed my wounded pride. At least . . . I thought it did.
No, no, it totally did. Get it together, Simon.
I swallowed the lump of fear and hesitation in the back of my throat, not without trouble. I motioned for Maverick to come help me with Charlie. Finding a brief respite in gunfire, he made his way over (in a surprisingly stealthy way for such an . . . unstealthy person), and after some difficulty, helped me prop Charlie up. The Major hung limply between us, most likely unresponsive due to shock. Again, I felt guilt well up in my chest; I didn't want to be responsible for both Charlie's and Paul's deaths. Finally, I relented: "Okay." I slammed my eyes shut, scrunching my facial features in the process. "Do it."
Jack just smirked in a villainous kind of way. "With pleasure," he snarled, relishing the taste of the words on his tongue. He ripped the pin out with his teeth—which, eww, totally unsanitary—and lobbed it into the clearing between us and Holdren. Before impact, I heard him mutter, "That's for Paul, you son of a bitch."
I know no one ever talks about the whole getting shot thing, but no one ever talks about a grenade explosion. The most noticeable occurrence was the sound; I may be beating my point like a dead horse, but a grenade explosion is loud. Not only that, but shrapnel and dirt flew everywhere, followed by a wave of heat that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
Thankfully, Maverick had a good hold on Charlie as well as a solid stance because the force of the blast threw me to the ground. I tried to land on my hands, but one slipped, and most of my fall was broken by my head. I could feel a sharp pain somewhere in the vicinity of my forehead. More than that, though, was the high pitched ringing in my ears blocking all other sound. It was like wearing those headsets the doctors make you wear for hearing tests, the ones that are soundproof.
I scrambled to my feet, eventually with the assistance of Jesse who had made his way to my side. He was saying something frantically judging by his facial features, but I could not hear a single word. Scared, I glanced around at everyone else. Once again, their mouths were moving, but I couldn't hear anything either of them was saying. Much like Jesse, Jack was frantically waving his arms. Even though I couldn't hear him, his meaning was perfectly clear: let's get out of here.
+SS+
General Holdren had an easier time of ignoring the ringing in his ears. By this time, his anger had completely consumed him. It served as an excellent anesthetic, though: he could barely feel the pieces of shrapnel lodged in his forearm. As he shuffled back into their camp's perimeter, he made a mental note of thanks for his Kevlar vest. Other than a couple minor, sustained injuries, Holdren was fine. His temper, on the other hand, was thoroughly homicidal.
Furious, he shook any residual pain away and marched to the center of the camp, his men following suit. The camp wasn't much of a spectacle. It included a couple canvas tents, a makeshift canopy and table with sundry items atop it: firearms, ammunition, a few rations, and flashlights. What was left of their team casually patrolled the outskirts of the camp, while Grabowski, along with two other men, remained standing in front of a man tied to a tree by his wrists. He was breathing heavily, his entire body heaving drastically as he tried to fill his lungs with more air. Impeded by a combination of failed strength and no leverage, the bruised and bloodied victim hung limply. As Holdren approached, the victim lifted his head with great effort. Through a black eye and a split lip, he smiled (or at least attempted to smile) at the General. "Holdren! So nice of you to join us again," the victim said in a raspy voice. "I was starting to think you'd forgotten all about me. Not exactly setting a great example for the rest of your unit in hospitality, now are you?"
Holdren gritted his teeth, the pressure in his head exploding. His fists subconsciously balled at his sides. Mentally, he counted to ten before responding, "And miss out on an opportunity for us to bond, man to man?" He laughed darkly. "I wouldn't miss that opportunity for the world! Comfortable?"
His only explanation for not bashing the little punk's skull in was that he needed information from him. And despite himself, he preferred not to get violent in front of Grabowski. On the occasions that he lost control in front of her, he watched as she stared at him with fear so blatantly etched in her stare. For all of her shortcomings, Holdren liked Grabowski, as a partner and a person. He didn't want her thinking that he was some kind of monster.
Defiant as ever, Paul said as cheerfully as possible, given his circumstances, "Never better! Felicity and I were just talking, weren't we, Felicity? You know, about how all of this gross misconduct is in violation of my eighth and ninth amendment rights as an American." He paused. "If we stretch it, I bet we could definitely include the fourteenth in there as well. What with the due process clause and that whole pesky penumbra situation."
Before he could respond, Felicity stepped forward, her arms crossed over her chest, a frown on her face. "Where is Ms. Simon?" she demanded, a note of concern present in her voice. She peered over his shoulder, and her demeanor softened slightly when she saw the injured and beaten status of the other soldiers. "Where are the others?"
Holdren shifted his attention from Slater to his partner. "We ran into a bit of an . . . altercation and were unable to retain Ms. Simon and her band of merry men."
Paul scoffed, a laugh escaping from his parched and bloodied lips. "Like hell! Suze owned your ass, and good for her! She's way smarter than your whole outfit combined. You are never going to catch her."
Attempting to keep his fury in check, Holdren tore his gaze from Grabowski and stepped over to where the prisoner was hanging. "Oh, really? And why do you say that?"
Paul stated simply, "Because she wants it more. And because she's not a manipulative, dumb freak such as yourself."
Unable to keep himself in check any longer, Holdren slammed his fist into Paul's lower abdomen. Wheezing, Paul keeled over, as much as his restraints would allow. His body creaked and groaned in protest; his muscles were taught with fear and hyper awareness. He had been searching for some way of escape to no avail since they initially tied him up. As of yet, he had no options available.
"I don't think you're hurting enough, Slater," Holdren confided in his prisoner. "You're far too disrespectful and arrogant to truly grasp how desperate your situation is. In addition to being dumped by your whore of a girlfriend, you will die at my hands. I swear to you."
Incensed, Paul spat, "Good. Anything to grant me a reprieve from your asinine power trip ramblings."
For his disrespect, Paul earned a punch in the face, as well as one to the stomach. Holdren yanked Paul's head back by pulling a handful of his hair. "Keep being cute, Slater. I'm feeling particularly violent, which may or may not have something to do with one of your friends throwing a grenade at us earlier. Now before I get truly pissed off, where is Susannah Simon, and more importantly, where the hell is Peter Simon?"
Paul smiled. He could feel blood dripping from his nose and down his face. "I have no idea."
Without warning, Holdren once again punched Paul in the face. His grasp on Paul's hair tightened. "DON'T SCREW WITH ME, YOU USELESS SACK OF SHIT! WHERE IS YOUR BITCH OF AN EX AND WHERE THE HELL IS HER FATHER?"
Paul momentarily forgot about being a wise guy, and snarled, "What'd I tell you about talking about her like that, huh?"
Holdren seemed to find this amusing. He chuckled before asking, "Oh, yeah? And what are you going to do about it?"
Without another word, Paul spit in Holdren's face, victory bubbling in the back of his throat. At least if he was killed, he could have the satisfaction of thoroughly humiliating his captor. Enraged, Holdren swiped at his face, flicking the spit off of his hand. Rage consuming him, he slammed his knee into Paul's crotch as hard as he possibly could manage. Involuntarily, a pained whimper emitted from Paul's mouth, as a horrendous ache scoured through his nerves from the point of contact to every imaginable part of his body.
"WHERE ARE THEY?" Holdren roared, one hand wrapped around Paul's neck, the other held back, ready to slam into his face in the event Paul decided to be a smartass again.
Thinking better of it, Paul ignored the urge to say something cocky. Instead, he focused on remaining conscious as he responded as calmly as possible, "I don't know where Suze is, and I have no idea where Pete is. I was kidnapped before anyone shared any rendezvous plans with me."
For good measure, Holdren decked him one more time in the stomach. He emitted a grunt of disgust at the sound of Paul wheezing and coughing before slinging his assault rifle over his shoulder. "Grabowski. Reynolds." He gestured for them to follow his lead. "Let's go. Anderson, Wyatt, look after the prisoner. And if he escapes, I will personally kill both of you with my bare hands."
Paul had every intention of ending the standoff with the kind of flourish it deserved, but he blacked out before he could utter another word. The last thing he remembered was Holdren and his crew heading toward the perimeter of the camp as well as the metallic taste of blood in his mouth.
+SS+
"I think we are a safe enough distance away, Jack," Jesse said, panting. He wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. "Do you see anyone following us?"
Jack searched the area meticulously. For the better part of what felt like an hour, he had led us on a snake-like path through heavy thickets of trees before we came to the slight clearing we currently stood in. The only landmark of significance was a large stone structure, with strange symbols carved on it. Though, I only caught small glimpses of them because the structure had since become the victim of heavy undergrowth—a combination of moss, some kind of ivy, and other various flora. I took the momentary stop to lean against the stone in order to catch my breath. My lungs felt like they were doused in fire.
"Coast seems to be all clear," Jack replied, sounding on edge. "Still, we shouldn't hang out in one place for too long. We can rest for a bit, but that was way too damn close for my own liking. How are you holding up, Charlie?"
Maverick, who had supported the Major for most of our escape, relished the opportunity to set him up against the large stone. Immediately, Jesse crouched down next to Charlie and offered him his canteen. Begrudgingly, he took it, and drank. When he was finished, he wiped his mouth with a visibly shaky hand. "I'm fine, kid. It's just a minor setback. Quit coddling me."
Jack managed a smile, but I could tell he was still worried for his friend. As was I, but I tried to shove any thought regarding the possible death of Charlie out of my head because they would inevitably lead to tears. As the new leader of the group, I couldn't afford to show any weakness.
Meanwhile, Jesse examined his crude medical work on Charlie's leg, a frown on his face. "This won't hold forever," he said more to Charlie than to us. If the statement in any way resonated with him, Charlie certainly didn't show it. His courage instilled me with my own bravery. Combined with the fury I felt toward Holdren, I felt invincible.
"So what is our next course of action?" Maverick wanted to know. He tore his somewhat queasy gaze away from Charlie and directed it at me. All the while, he kept a reassuring hand on Charlie's shoulder.
"I . . ." But what could I say? I had no more idea where Paul was than I did where my dad and Vince were. The thought had crossed my mind that they were all dead, but my resolve wouldn't let me accept that reality. I still had hope that they were alive. They had to be alive. And I had to be strong. "I . . . I think we need to keep searching for my Dad's symbol on these nearby trees. We can't lose sight of our objective. We came here to find my father, and now we need to find Paul and Vince, too. We can't give up." I sank a little lower against the rock. "First, though, I think we need to rest a small while."
Jesse finally stood, breathing a sigh of relief. "I second that, querida. I do not think I have ever run so far and so fast in my entire life. Except maybe that time Mercedes thought I had deleted her soaps from the DVR."
He leaned against the rock, and we all laughed. It was the first time I smiled in awhile.
Suddenly, the sound of grinding stone filled our ears, and without warning, the stone wall behind me had disappeared, and I flailed my arms wildly, trying to regain my balance. Having failed, I fell backwards into a darkened enclosure, landing on my arm painfully.
Once I regained my balance, I sat up. My eyes were greeted by Jack, Jesse, and Maverick peering in at me, flashlights at the ready. I struggled to stand on my feet again, all the while quipping, "DeSilva, I swear, if you triggered this stone to open, and if my arm is even remotely fractured, I'll—"
"Suze," Jack said in a daze, his mouth slightly ajar, his flashlight pointed at the wall beside me. "Shut up."
I attempted to brush any extra debris off my clothing in a huff. "Dude, I get that you're still pissed at me because of your brother, but rude, much?"
"Look."
I turned my gaze to where Jack had the flashlight pointed, and my own jaw dropped. On the wall, glistening in red, was Dad's symbol—the snake swallowing its tail. There was also writing. It read:
HELP ME!
P.S.
My blood ran cold.
. . . Dad?
TG/N: So I am officially one of the crappiest updaters ever. I promised that I would update exactly one year and a month ago, but it never came to fruition. I would be lying if I said this could all be attributed to writer's block (after all, about half of this was written in time for my one year update time), since much of it can be attributed to college work, actual work, video gaming, and various other distractions (*cough*Hulu*cough*). In any case, I have nothing to say to those of you that have stuck with this except thank you SOOOOO much, and the end is in sight! As in, two chapters and an epilogue, in sight! Lord willing, it won't be a full YEAR until I update again, but I promise you that I will stick with this story and finish it out. I dedicate this chapter to both The Obsessive Book-aholic and I want to be Jesse's girl, both of whom harassed me in the best/most loving way possible to update this story. I can't apologize enough for the wait, but thank you for your support and encouragement! It with readers like you in mind that I will finish this work of love.
I love all of you sooooo much!
The General
