Chapter Eight: The Long Road Home

Kate screamed as the dark form of a man rushed toward them. He barreled into Sawyer, and the two men went down grappling.

Sawyer tossed his backpack away and blocked the man's fist an instant before it hit his jaw. He countered with a punch of his own, wincing as his knuckles connected with the man's temple. The man howled with rage as he rolled onto his back and Sawyer took full advantage. He came to his hands and knees and punched the attacker in the jaw. The man's head fell back and he lay still, his breathing labored, his eyes closed.

Sawyer struggled to his feet, his breath sawing in and out of his lungs. "Damn it," he muttered.

"Who is he?" Kate asked.

"My uncle Larry," Sawyer said. "How in the hell do I know?"

He turned back to the man just as a rock glanced off his forehead. He fell back, knocking Kate over, and then the man was on him again. He viced an arm around Sawyer's throat, cutting off his breath.

Sawyer was bigger, but the man's grip was like iron. Sawyer reached up and grabbed a handful of the man's hair and yanked. His grip on Sawyer's neck slackened, but didn't break.

"Get the hell out of here, Freckles!" he shouted.

"I'm not leaving you here."

"I can take care of myself," he said, surging back and finally breaking the man's grip.

"Yeah, you're doing a really good job so far," she said as the man charged Sawyer again and the two men fell to the ground and rolled around in the dirt. Sawyer landed another blow to the man's jaw, but he didn't stop. They rolled back and forth, landing and blocking blows, jockying for position.

The man used a sudden surge of strength to roll on top and cocked his fist back, but suddenly he was gone. Sawyer heard a loud thunk, and the man fell to the ground, out cold.

Breathing hard, Sawyer looked up to see Kate standing above him, a flashlight clutched in her hand. She extended her other hand and he took it, pulling himself to his feet.

As soon as he was on his feet, Kate turned away and bent down to her duffel bag. Sawyer looked down at her in time to see her discretely wipe the edge of the flashlight against the grass. The man's blood? He turned, but the man was face down. No way to tell if Kate's blow had broken or simply bruised the skin unless they rolled him over, and Sawyer didn't much feel like it. He just wanted to get the hell out of there.

He opened his mouth to suggest that, but Kate was already two steps ahead of him. She'd put everything back in her duffel bag and slung the strap over her shoulder. "Let's get out of here," she said, picking up her backpack from the cockpit and leaving the clearing.

A loud clap of thunder shook the air around them. Sawyer looked up into the sky as the first fat drops of rain fell to the ground. Just great, he thought. They finally get dried out from the last damn storm, and another one rolls in. He'd been so absorbed in what he'd been doing he hadn't even noticed clouds creeping across the sky.

Not that they had any choice but to hike through the jungle in the rain. Again. They sure as hell weren't going to use the cockpit for shelter.

He picked up his own bags and followed Kate into the trees. He glanced back at the man in the grass, but he hadn't moved. It was impossible to tell if he was alive or dead. But had Kate's blow really been hard enough to kill him? It would be easier for both of them if they never had to deal with him again, but he hoped for her sake that it hadn't killed him. She shouldn't have to have that weight on her shoulders.

He didn't stop to think about why he cared.

Of course, she might already have that kind of weight on her shoulders. He still didn't know what she'd done to warrant that marshal's attention. For all he knew, it could have been murder. Never mind that she didn't look the type to kill in cold blood. He knew all too well that looks could be deceiving.

Kate marched through the trees, fine tremors of exhaustion starting to run through her limbs. She needed water, needed food, but the very thought of eating or drinking made her stomach turn. The cockpit...the bodies...the smell...the attacker.

She didn't want to think of him. He'd come charging out of the darkness, eyes flashing in the diffuse light of the clearing. He'd fought with Sawyer, throwing punches and rocks for reasons only he knew. Her instincts had taken over and, seeing Sawyer in danger, she'd gripped the flashlight in her fist and swung.

She hadn't realized what she was doing until it was done. Then she'd found herself in a daze, gathering her things and leaving the clearing without any real emotions coming through. But they were coming back now, despite her best efforts to stop them. She kept picturing Sawyer going down to the ground, kept seeing the man's fist connecting with his face, kept seeing the rock. Sawyer had been bigger than the other man, but the other man had had surprise on his side.

"You all right, Freckles?" he asked sometime later.

"I'm fine," she said, turning back to look at him. She frowned. "You're bleeding."

"Just a scratch," he said, touching his fingers to his forehead.

"That's more than just a scratch," she said, dropping her bags and pawing through them for something to clean up the blood that was slowly trickling down his forehead. The rock the man had thrown at him had opened up a small gash on his forehead.

"You turning into Florence Nightingale suddenly?" Sawyer asked.

"Maybe I just don't want to look at all that blood all night," she murmured. She repeated it to herself as she searched through the duffel bag, rain drizzling down through the trees. She just didn't want to look at the blood; she wasn't offering her help because she was starting to care for him. Certainly not. He was completely wrong for her, which was beside the point since she wasn't looking for a relationship, with him or anyone else.

"This might work," Sawyer said, and she turned to see him holding a small first aid kit and grinning at her.

She narrowed her eyes. "You had that the whole time and you didn't say anything?"

"Maybe I just like watching you fret over me, Sweetheart."

"I don't give a damn about you," she insisted, snatching the kit out of his hands. She opened it and extracted a roll of gauze and a small tube of dermabond.

She dropped the kit on top of her duffel bag and used the gauze to wipe away the blood. Sawyer leaned his head down and let her clean the wound. She glanced up at him, but the quiet intensity in his eyes made her immediately look away. She tried to concentrate on what she was doing, but her hands were starting to shake, and it had nothing to do with hunger or the chill of the rain.

"Would you stop looking at me like that?" she asked finally, exasperation clear in her voice.

"How am I looking at you?" he asked, his tone all-too-innocent.

She blew out a breath and used the dermabond to glue the sides of the cut together. When she was done, she used the gauze to wipe away the last traces of blood.

She turned back to her bag, but Sawyer caught her arm before she could bend all the way down to place the first aid kit inside. She stood back up, slowly turning her head and meeting his gaze. He didn't say anything. He merely stared at her, shaking his head before jerking her up against him and crushing his lips to hers. One of his hands tangled in her hair, the other pressed against the small of her back. His tongue pushed past nonexistent barriers and tangled with hers.

Her hands, which had flown up to his shoulders in shock, relaxed and slid into his hair. She pressed herself against the length of his body, feeling the heat radiating through his rain-cooled skin. One of her hands slid down and found the solid flesh beneath his T-shirt.

Rain poured down around them but did nothing to dissipate the heat they were generating. They pressed closer to each other, touching from head to toe. Kate dug her fingernails into his flesh and gasped when his fingers connected with the swell of her breast.

A clap of thunder shook the air and Kate jumped back, out of breath and in shock. She wrapped her arms around her body to ward off a sudden chill.

Sawyer seemed at an equal loss of words, a rarity she was sure. His eyes met hers, and the banked fire she saw there sent a shiver straight through her. This wasn't supposed to happen, she thought frantically. She wasn't supposed to feel anything for him. She wasn't supposed to be worrying that she was slowly becoming addicted to not only his touch, his kiss, but to his rebellious nature and his smartass comments and nicknames.

She was, quite simply, becoming addicted to Sawyer.

"What do you say we get the hell out of here, Freckles?" he asked.

She nodded, bending down to slide the first aid kit into her duffel bag and sling the strap over her shoulder. Maybe that was the solution. Pretend the kiss hadn't happened, that she hadn't been ready to tear their clothes off in the middle of the damn storm. Maybe denial wasn't her healthiest option, but it was a hell of a lot easier than examining her attraction to Sawyer.

They grabbed their bags and headed through the trees, taking the route she remembered from her first trip to the cockpit. Had it really only been three days ago? It felt like they'd been on the island for weeks.

The longer they marched through the trees, the harder Kate began shaking, and it wasn't just the cold. Her body was rebelling against the lack of food or water and the overload of stress. The peanuts from earlier had long since burned away. She pulled out another bag and forced them down as she walked, ignoring the way her stomach heaved.

Her head swam, and she did her best to remain steady on her feet. She wondered what she was going to tell everyone when they got back to the beach. They were sure to be curious about what had happened. But she sure as hell didn't want to tell them the truth, that she'd run into the jungle during a nightmare about the monster and the marshal. If she told them that, they would know that she'd been the marshal's prisoner.

She could only hope that Sawyer would keep his knowledge to himself.

She stumbled, reaching out to catch herself on a nearby tree. Her muscles shook. She leaned back against the tree trunk and closed her eyes. She wasn't sure how much further they had to go, but she didn't feel like she could move another step. She was going numb, from fear and cold and fatigue. This was different than all the other times she'd run from something. Before, she'd had access to food. She'd been able to rest before taking off again. But now she was at the end of her energy reserves.

"Gotta keep moving, Freckles," Sawyer said.

"I don't think I can," she said, not bothering to open her eyes.

She started to sink down to the ground, but Sawyer caught her. He took her arm and draped it around his neck. He took her backpack and put the strap around his shoulder. "Let's get the hell back to the beach," he said.

He started walking again, supporting her weight. She gripped his shoulder, forcing her muscles to move, forcing herself to take one step, then another. They had to be close, she thought. They'd been walking for what felt like an eternity. The beach couldn't be much further.

Blackness faded the edges of her vision and she felt a spurt of panic. She couldn't faint. She couldn't let Sawyer see her that vulnerable, couldn't leave herself that helpless. She needed to ignore the shaking of her muscles, ignore the pounding of her head and stay awake. When they got to the beach, she could stop and eat something. When they got to the beach, she could rest.

It was the last thing she thought before she passed out.