I'm telling you people, I just don't know where the time is going...yesterday was Christmas...today...is half way through January! Slow down time! Slow. Down.
Feeling defenseless face down on his belly, Clay attempted to roll over but hands prevented him from succeeding. Hands that petted and patted his shoulders and back, were neither rough nor hesitant. Being felt up didn't feel uncomfortable, fingers didn't linger or squeeze or caress, they searched, pressed a bit too hard in a place or two then moved on. His display of protest – a slight movement of one knee, a curled fist, a grunt – was promptly stifled by a smart slap to his bare hip.
"Nuff." He grunted into the bed sheets.
"Shush." He was admonished.
His skin stinging from the rebuke and the brief time he'd spent upright, had him feeling flushed and dizzy. Convinced he shouldn't attempt to sit up again, he just turned his head to the right so he could breathe easier. One attempt at opening his eyes convinced him allowing them to remained closed was a very good idea indeed.
"What are those bruises from?" Sonny was asking, the accent familiar, Clay stirred in response.
"I don't know."
"Are they serious?"
"I don't know." Trent never liked to see bruises, but Clay hadn't flinched or drawn away from his touch, so he didn't think they were anything to worry about.
"Where are his clothes?"
"I. Don't. Know."
"But he's naked. Why is he naked? I don't like him being naked."
"I dunno Sonny."
"Where're his clothes?"
"Yeah, 'cause that's what's important right now." Trent nudged Clay in his right side, expected him to roll over, not let out a yelp that startled everyone, brought the men patrolling outside, inside at a run.
"DAMMIT Trent! What the HELL you doing?" Jolted by the unexpected reaction from Clay, Sonny didn't know whether he should knock Trent away from Clay or pick the kid up and keep him away from the man he just labeled 'mad medic'. "JESUS!" 'cause it sounded like Trent had just gone and stabbed him.
()
Jason stood patiently – or what served as patience for him – while Wasiqa explained her version, and likely the only one he was going to get, of events. She had heard the man responsible for destroying her village was on the base and looking for her. No, she hadn't had any intentions of meeting him or even going near the base until she'd learned Clay had been called in to be at the meeting. The temptation of seeing him – she didn't share the reason why – had been great enough, she'd entered the town closest to the base…and here they were.
He started to ask questions, wanting to know how she'd gotten Clay off the base, when a cry of pain made him abandon her and bolt to the bedroom.
The old woman muttered, shook her head in disbelief over the rushed antics of what she had been told was America's elite fighting force, returned her attention to the stove as five more armed men and a dog tromped through the door, all asking questions and demanding answers.
She ignored them, but wrinkled her nose in distaste of over the entry of a four-legged, flea-ridden furball into her home.
Ray stayed in the kitchen, but his attention was on the door everyone was crowded in. His job, per Jason, was to keep an eye on the old woman cooking on the stove and he would remain where she stayed in his sight, but that didn't mean he didn't want to push through every man in the door and lay his own eyes on Clay.
Sonny was yelling at Trent but the medic wasn't issuing orders and demands, so Ray convinced himself all was well. He stepped closer to the stove, was warned away with the spoon. He put his hands up, gave her a smile. Didn't look like the pot contained bomb-making materials, whatever they might be. He shook his head over the idiotic thought…what did he expect to see? Grenades, blocks of C4 simmering in bubbly acid? The contents were slime green, something yellowish, so probably a stew. Still though, in this heat, he thought, why cook? Raw vegetables would be a better snack.
He spied another pot set aside, moved closer, peered in….mud? Mud. Hot mud. The bowl radiated heat. Good grief, thank the good Lord he wouldn't be staying around long enough to be offered that! How were you supposed to eat it? Knife and fork? Spoon? Did it become a hard cake-like substance when it cooled?
He shuddered, retreated to the doorway where he could watch the door to the room Clay was in, the back door that led outside and the woman puttering about at the stove
()
Sonny seethed. His experienced eyes had seen the bandages, rags, sponges, canisters, a brown bottle, bowls and pails with pink water and unease and discontent had controlled his response, which had been to grab Clay who had been sprawled face-down on the bed, because bruises didn't require bandages or turn water pink. The dark bruises and no movement despite all the noise and commotion, had convinced him the kid was dead and not merely asleep. He'd rushed the bed and scooped the kid up, only able to breathe again when Clay struggled against his hold.
Trent showed no signs of alarm or panic, most likely because though his words were slurred, Clay was talking, knew they were there. That had lured Sonny into another false sense of 'everything was ok' and now, that everything wasn't, he was pissed and panicked – again.
"Okay, easy, sorry." Trent murmured, motioned to Sonny to ignore Clay's squirming and sounds of pain and flip him over, which Sonny easily did. "Weeeell, well, what have we here?" Clay on his back and held there by Sonny, Trent gave the injury on the kid's right hip blade his full attention. "Damn Clay, don't ever do anything the easy way, do you?"
"What? What is it? What did that? That serious? He need stitches? Staples? Bad place, huh? Right where the waist of his pants sit. That sucks. Gonna bother him, you think? Shouldn't that have a bandage? He's not bleeding. Gonna though, right? Oh, there it is. He sure does like to bleed. That bother you? You never say much."
"Sonny?"
"Yeah?"
"Shut. Up." Trent touched and tapped and pinched the deep trough on Clay's right side that went from the bottom of his abs and around his side. The bullet had skimmed off skin before lodging in flesh just above his hip bone then exiting. As far as gun shots went, it wasn't serious. The wound had been thoroughly cleaned, tended and the bleeding had stopped, though the recent rough handling had caused it to start again. The one thing Trent didn't like was the surrounding skin was red, puffy and warm to touch.
Then again, all of Clay was warm to touch, his face flushed and sweaty. Hard to tell if he were running a fever, it was so hot in the room.
"Bullet not in him, right?" Jason asked.
"Clean through." Trent, well aware how fast Clay could dehydrate, throw a reaction, develop an infection, run a fever, mentally reviewed the medications he'd brought with him. Stupid, he knew, but he hadn't expected to find Clay with a gunshot wound, so hadn't brought the med kit that he was in the process of building/making with Doc that would soon be referred to by everyone as the 'kit for Clay'. He'd left it on the truck, not a mistake he intended to ever let happen again. When Clay was next injured in the field, Trent would have a medical kit capable of allowing him to, if needed, do minor surgery in the dirt.
He hadn't brought IV's or blood or oxygen or strong pain meds and had a limited supply of mild antibiotics. The pain medication he did have, had, the last time he'd given it to Clay, made the kid sleep for over eight hours without stirring. Yeah, that hadn't made Trent happy. Doc had been more than happy to sit with Trent and discuss the why's and what's and they'd decided the reaction Clay had to it, had made the medication act more like a sedative, than pain relief.
So, shit.
Crouched down to fondle Cerb's ears, Brock tugged on his damp curls, they'd passed a creek and he was anxious to go lay down in it. Trent was annoyed, that was obvious, he just hadn't yet put his finger on why - and it wasn't Sonny. He watched Trent go through his med bag, pick through the supplies on the table, curse, go back to his bag. Aah, so that was it.
"Zipstitch?" Jason asked.
"In the truck." He tossed Sonny a clean white rag who folded it and used to staunch the flow of blood.
"Don't beat yourself up." Brock stood up. "There were 9 of us on that truck, any one of us could have told you to bring it, or carried it ourselves. Leaving the kit behind isn't just on you."
"Doesn't help now." Trent reached for the brown bottle, took a whiff, coughed when his eyes watered. "Damn."
"It is all we had to disinfect the wound. We heated water to clean it, but had no medicine." Wasiq explained from the doorway. "He slept for a while, then wanted to wash. Hasti could not stitch it." She slid a glance at Jason who stood by her side. "We did not do this to him." She called out something in her language.
Trent nodded. Hasti must be the older woman cooking some vile concoction on the stove. Hopefully her plan wasn't to give it to Clay because he'd put a stop to it. He withdrew a syringe from a pocket, nudged Clay towards his left hip, pulled the top off with his teeth, swabbed a bit of skin with an antiseptic wipe, stabbed the needle, pushed the plunger, tossed it aside, checked the bleeding.
Sonny had watched Trent work hundreds of times in all kinds of situations, in any environment, under extreme conditions and it still amazed him how fast he was. He hadn't even seen the medic find the packet of wipes, let alone rip it open and remove it. His eyes strayed to the discarded wrapper, wondered where the syringe had landed and Clay, disturbed by the puncture to his hip, was sliding up the bed in an attempt to distance himself from Trent.
"Hey, where you going? Come back here." Sonny blinked, reached out. "Not done with you yet."
"Trent?" Jason prompted. He needed to know what their immediate plans were. They hadn't expected to find Clay injured, though they should have.
Hasti popped up behind Jason in the door way, balancing two bowls in her hands. She nudged and poked but didn't budge the much larger man in her way until he stepped aside on his own and allowed her entrance.
"He's not hungry." Sonny snapped irritably.
"Not to eat. I had bleeding stop, 'til you came." She let Jason relieve her of the heaviest bowl, motioned for him to sit it on the table near the bed. "Stop bleeding," she paused, sniffed in disapproval, "again, draw out poison."
She sat right down on the bed opposite Sonny with the small bowl of...mold, moss, mildew…something green. She held the bowl, scooped out a generous blob, knocked Sonny's hand aside, tossed the bloody cloth, packed the green mixture over the bleeding, shooed Sonny's hands away. "Leave be." She scolded, whapping at his arm with a towel.
"The fuck?" Sonny growled, moved to wipe the blob off, but Trent told him to leave it. "Ow! That stings, you...you."
"Translation?" Jason asked Trent who lifted the towel and inspected the contents of the other bowl. When nothing slithered out or exploded, he allowed Hosti to take his wrists, turn his palms up, lay the towel across them, spoon out sloppy yellowish colored mud.
"What is she doing?"
"Is that what she was boiling on the stove?"
"It's a poultice." Trent explained. "A compress of herbs to draw out infection."
"Herbs? You mean, weeds and such? Roots?"
"Yes, Sonny." Trent refrained from rolling his eyes because the Texan was able to move freely and could easily cuff his ear. "Weeds and roots."
"You gonna let her do…..?" Sonny paused as Trent helped her tie the towel, now full of wet, yellowish mud into a knot. "Oh, you are."
"Even if it doesn't help, not gonna hurt him."
"It's…uh…yellow. Is that mud? That's mud, Trent."
"Might be yarrow."
"Goldenrod." Hasti corrected. "This yarrow." She mushed and mixed the green blob, patted none-too-gently. The towel in Trent's hands was wet, the mixture of…whatever, quickly soaked through. She deftly plucked the soppy, soggy ball of material from Trent's lax hands and without care, slapped it on top of the green mush over the wound on Clay's lower hip.
"YOW!" Clay yelped, jerked away, bumped into Sonny, found the flap of a loose pocket, held tight. "AAH-OW!"
"That grows naturally over here?" Jason asked, Trent shrugged, pulled his phone from a pocket, opened notes, made an entry to research natural remedies consisting of herbs and plants and discuss it with Doc, returned the phone to its pocket.
Hasti ignored everyone, packed and patted the mushy slop against Clay's skin, pinched him when he nearly dislodged it - elicited a whimper from him, a growl from Sonny, a scowl from Jason, a huff from Trent.
"He doesn't like it." Sonny said after a moment. Clay squirmed, tensed, pulled his knees up, straightened them out, clenched and unclenched his fist, tugged on the pocket, rolled and flopped his head repeatedly on the pillow.
"He doesn't like the heat." Trent shushed Clay who stirred with another whine. "Spenser, stop." He held Clay's chin, forced his head still. "You're fine, now stop whining."
Jason watched Hasti. She used fresh water from a clean bowl and a clean cloth to bathe Clay's face and neck. Cap's words came back to him, did he trust Clay when he spoke to people in this language? Trent certainly wasn't upset or concerned with what she was doing, and he found in that moment, when put on the spot, when the life of one of his men was possibly in the hands of these women, yeah he did and while he didn't trust either of these women, he trusted Clay and the kid trusted Jaber enough to remain in her care. That was good enough for him.
"Trent?" Jason said again.
Ignoring the dragging pain in his side, Clay focused on why his eyes felt like he was swimming underwater with them open and no goggles. Suddenly, it became hard to breathe. Funny, he hadn't felt like this when he'd taken his 'shower', so why did he now feel like he was being tossed about on huge waves, gripping the sides of a small, rubber, zodiac boat?
Okay, yeah, he'd been shaky and wobbly, standing under the trickle of water, but nothing like this. He flopped, turned, twisted, flipped, lowered a hand to his side when the need to breathe deep caused pain. Somehow on his back, he brought his knees up, planted his heels, tried to sit up. The pull on his side had him gasping and his arms instinctively cradled his belly. He moaned, now his ass hurt because someone had gone and stabbed him.
"Hey,"
He rolled his head towards the voice but didn't open his eyes. His knees were smacked, his legs straightened out by a tug on each ankle. He had neither the strength nor the coordination to stop it. His hand was caught, his wrist held when he tried to tug free.
"Water?" Clay licked his lips, eyes roaming under closed lids. Good God, he was hot. "No…more…tea."
Sonny looked at Trent who nodded, so he pulled a flap on a pocket on his pants, withdrew a bottle. Clay heard the familiar sound of Velcro being separated, perked up. "Water?" His attempt to sit up was aborted when his hip and ab muscles combined in sudden mutiny and he went limp with a whine.
"Sore, eh?" Sonny waited for him to regroup and come up on an elbow, removed the cap, let him have the water. "Gun shots to the belly tend to do that."
"Do what?" His teeth gripped the bottle, but no tab popped up. He frowned, finally opened his eyes, peered down in confusion. "Water?"
"Yeah, dumbass, tip your head back." Sonny grinned. "No, not that way, that's forward, the other way…back, your head…no, not like that…you dummy….Trent!"
"He's confused Sonny." Trent explained calmly. "Dehydration, infection, loss of blood, pain."
"He'd say disoriented, but that's a big word for you." Brock teased. "Help him get a drink, you big meanie." He rose to his feet. "We good here? Saw a stream nearby, want to let Cerb take a swim, cool off a bit."
Trent nodded, Jason waved him on, Sonny flipped him off. He grinned and departed with the guys from support.
()
"What did you do to him?" Ray asked Wasiqa when she returned to the kitchen. Despite his desire to speed to the room with everyone else, his orders to remain in the kitchen kept him there. Didn't matter with Hasti out of the room, there was no one to watch, still, he remained.
"I did nothing." She replied calmly. "We have only offered him comfort and care."
"What is he doing here?"
"Ray?" Kenny lingered while the other three went back outside with Brock, walking and watching. "No signs of electronics, electricity, radio, not even a CB, no cell signals either."
"How do you communicate?" Ray asked her, annoyed when she simply shrugged. "You must have a way."
"We travel to the nearest village."
"You're on the side of a mountain, there's one path up, same one down."
"We walk." She replied. "It was a safe place to bring him."
"Safe place? He's hurt, you should have taken him back to the base."
"He was shot." Kenny said off-handily, busy with some device or another in his hands. "No sign of tire tracks, horses neither." Now he looked up, but it was at Wasiqa, not Ray. "He sure as hell didn't walk here. But I need to talk to you about….."
Ray paled. Wasiqa frowned at him. Kenny frowned at her. Had she never seen a black man lose color in his face before? Ashen, it was called.
Ray licked a lip, plopped into the chair she pulled out from the table. "Gut shot?" He asked thickly, sweat beading on his forehead. Was that why Trent wasn't in a panic? There was no urgency? Clay was too far gone for help? He swore the cry of pain that had sent everyone running had come from Clay, but maybe it had been a cry of grief from Sonny. He jumped to his feet, he needed to be in that room right now, see Clay, before it was too late…..
"What? No." Distracted, Kenny scowled irritably, dismissed Ray, but after a second look, noticed the color of his complexion and it dawned on him what Ray likely thought. "NO! God Ray, No! Sorry. I'm sorry dude." He put a hand on Ray's shoulder blade, squeezed comfortingly. "Just a graze, Trent says. Bled a lot, and you know how he can bleed."
Ray lashed out with a closed fist, nailed Kenny hard in the belly button, causing him to double over as the air whooshed out his open mouth. The tracker clattered to the floor.
"What'd…." Kenny groaned with a gasp. "You…do…that…for?"
"Scaring me."
Kenny held a hand up. Elbows on his knees, he waited for his breath to find him. "Trent says…not life…threatening. Loss of blood and infection to…worry about." He retrieved his tracker, gave it shake. "Christ Perry….pull that punch next time, will ya? Whew!"
"You….where are you going?" Ray forgot Kenny, followed Wasiqa out the back door who had walked away from their antics, but all she did was retrieve Clay's clothes off the line and hand them to him.
"What's this?" Stupidly, Ray stared at the two pieces of cotton. "This…..what, you kidnapped the kid off an American military base in his underwear?"
"I kidnapped no one."
Ray frowned, drawing the wrong conclusion. "He left on his own to meet you?"
"Hey, Ray?" Seth popped his head through the open door. "Got a minute?"
"He did," she began but Ray put a palm up, silenced her and walked away to join Seth. "no such thing!" she called after him but didn't know whether or not she heard him. He didn't stop or turn to ask further questions and she decided she didn't quite like him. "Men."
"Ray." Chris joined him and Seth as they stepped outside, pointed to the sky. "Got a problem."
"A cloud?"
"Doplar radar, I'm not, but Davis said a storm is moving in."
"Here? In Afghanistan? Now?" Ray sighed, rubbed his forehead. "Of all times, now?" He paced, kicked at a clump of dirt. "I don't get it. It's weather. You can drive in rain."
"I can and I would, but the truck doesn't have wipers." Chris stated. "I say it isn't worth the risk trying to drive without 'em."
Ray spun around, stomped in the other direction, kicked a rock, chased after it, kicked it again. Chris had been Bravo's driver for years, both on land and on water. He could drive anything, anywhere and if he was saying he knew the truck didn't have wipers, then Ray could bet his life, the truck didn't have wipers. Both Chris and Seth would have gone over the truck before driving it off the base. If they said they couldn't drive the truck without wipers, they damn well needed to beat the storm.
"Jay?" Ray charged into the room. "We good to go?"
"Now?" It was Trent who answered. "Rather not. Wanna let him sleep a bit before we go, let the medication kick in. You know how cranky he gets when he's tired." He shrugged. "Gonna be a rough hike down for him."
"No choice. We got a storm to beat."
"Course its gotta go and rain now." Sonny muttered. "Rains what, once a year over?"
"Then why even ask?" Trent scowled crossly.
"Two-hour hike downhill." Sonny spoke up. "Least we don't have to carry his heavy ass uphill this time." He tried to free his pants leg, failed. "Hate hiking in the rain."
"Not the problem, truck doesn't have wipers."
Sonny scowled. "So, what're we talking about?"
"Less you wanna lay on top of the cab, use your arms as wipers, we got no other choice than to beat the storm, Davis puts it six hours out." Ray retorted. "We're not getting air."
"Nigh, can 'alk." Clay scowled, tried to sit up. "Ow...nuh!"
"He can walk." Trent echoed with a snort. "Sure Clay, you do that."
"He can't even sit up." Sonny looked around. "Anyone see his boots?"
"He doesn't need them, he's not walking." Jason pinched the bridge of his nose. "Trent, what you got for a headache?"
"For you?" Trent tossed him a bottle of Excedrin migraine, he caught it one-handed. "Only three Jay."
Jason made a face, popped the tab, shook out three, swallowed them with water.
"His clothes." Ray tossed them to the bed. "Jay, we…" He went silent when Jason held a hand up.
"Where're the rest of 'em?" Sonny demanded. "Clay, where the hell are your pants?"
"Not…bring…pants…." He used his palm to shove his damp bangs off his forehead, licked his lips. "I'm hot…hot-hot…why's it hot?"
"Hot-hot is different than just hot, how?" Sonny wondered to no one in particular.
Trent sighed, nope, hadn't brought a thermometer either. Hands full with a cranky, combative, uncooperative Clay who didn't want to lie still, drink tea or leave the compress - a mixture of steaming…uh, mud, paste….no, it was mud, oh please let it be mud - on his hip that Hasti constantly reapplied, he wasn't much in the mood to deal with any other issues or answer any more questions.
"Arms up Spense." He bunched the t-shirt. "Let's get you dressed."
Sonny leaned over, sniffed the bowl, got his face swatted with a pair of black, cotton briefs. He glared, she glowered, Trent looked upwards, prayed for patience.
"Woman!" Sonny growled, but he was all show and no action. "How long this stuff stay hot anyway?"
"Bowl holds heat." She tutt-tutted, grabbed an ankle. "He sure do squirm." She cackled at Trent who stared back, baffled. "Little boys, they do love to run around naked, don't they?"
"Other arm…Clay, let go… I need your other hand…don't you slap at me."
Clay went still at Hasti's words. Forgot everything else. Naked? He was naked? He had no clothes on?
Sonny agreed with the need to see Clay dressed in what clothes he had, but he rather thought the soggy, boggy mess of mud in a soaking wet towel would soon soak the cotton material.
"Don't matter." Trent read his mind, answered his unspoken thought. "It's so hot, he'll dry in minutes."
Clay let of Sonny's pants, reached for his boxer briefs for control of their ascent, cat-slapped with Hasti, lost. "I'm…dry."
"You're gonna bandage him, right?" Sonny asked, watching Clay's struggle with Hasti with a grin that faded when he began to pant. "Hey now, let off, you're good...what the...what are you doing?"
Trent glanced up. Clay tended to cling when he was hurt or didn't feel well and medicated. He, Jason and Brock were fine with it, Clay rarely turned to Ray, and though Sonny put on a great show of appearing uncomfortable and put-out, he was full of shit because though he huffed and puffed and cracked jokes, he was the first to allow Clay close and never pushed him away.
"I'll do him up before we head out."
"Cause that shit stinks. I don't wanna smell that all the way down."
Clay now dressed and crawling into a bewildered Sonny's lap, Trent began to repack his bag. "Hold that." He ordered Sonny who wrinkled his nose, made a face but obeyed. Trent looked at Hasti. He didn't care what Ray said or what the weather was going to do. He wasn't going to make Clay move until the medication kicked in.
"Thank you." He told her sincerely. Whether or not the slime did any good, she had cleaned and treated Clay's wound and while it wasn't up to Trent's standards, it was as good as he would have done out in the field with what was available.
()
"A moment?" Wasiqa asked Jason, inclined her head towards the door. He hesitated, despite Sonny's ridiculous display of annoyance, he wouldn't dump Clay off his lap or leave the kid, so he nodded, stepped from the room, allowing her to lead the way back to the kitchen. Ray went outside to round up the others. "I ask that you allow us to leave now that we have returned your man to you."
Jason was quiet, pushed a hand through his hair. He was hot, tired, sweaty and they faced a two-hour hike down the mountain to the truck where ice and cold drinks waited and would make the three-hour drive back to actual roads, and eventually the base, bearable.
They'd left the base and gone to the location of the alleged meet, an action everyone had thought a waste of time, yet had to be done anyway, found nothing and set out after the GPS signal, with a prayer it was still Clay wearing the watch.
He had a strong suspicion, the surrounding woods hid more than natural wildlife and if he were to attempt to take either woman into custody, he'd have one hell of a fight on his hands. She wasn't smiling at him nor was she glaring, she simply stood with her hands clasped in front of her, head slightly bowed.
He wasn't fooled by what appeared to be a submissive stance. "Returned him?"
"I allowed you to find him."
"Allowed?" Jason snorted. "We can track him anywhere."
"Really now, had I not wanted to be found…"
"I want to know why you took him."
"Because I did not know who held him."
"What? Held him? He was on base."
"He was not." It was her turn to hesitate, ponder what and how much to reveal. "When I heard he was here…I had the base watched for activity….by the time word got to me…" She stopped. "It was made to look like he was taken by, well, let's say, a group we feud with, but it wasn't like that. He was delivered to them…I took him back."
"Delivered?"
Meaning, Clay hadn't left the base under his own power and had been shot when she had stormed wherever he was being held. Cap had been behind whoever had taken Clay off the base in an attempt to set a trap for her. What would have happened had she not come after him? Had Cap intended for Clay to disappear? Become a casualty? Would they ever know?
They would. Blackburn would see to it.
"Far as I'm concerned, I never laid eyes on you." He said finally. "We got what we came for, get gone and we don't have a problem."
It was her turn to be quiet, stare at Jason. "He trusts you." She said quietly. "For what he did for my village, because he stood up for people he didn't know and had no reason to trust or help, I will tell you this…you would be wise not to take direction, advice or orders from anyone on that base that did not land with you on your C17…" his eyes widened when she told him the time they landed, "…they do not have your safety or best interests at heart." She nodded when he acknowledged he understood her message. "He will always be safe with me."
And there…she'd just confirmed his suspicions. He knew what she was saying. She would disappear and no one would hear from her again unless Clay returned. She knew Cap's plans, expected him to try again and those plans wouldn't prevent her from coming after Clay. Except, that would never happen. Cap wasn't going to see daylight without bars obstructing his view ever again
He didn't have orders to apprehend her or take her in. Correction, Blackburn hadn't given him those orders. She and Hasti would leave this place and Jason had no intentions of ever attempting to track her down.
"Are these mountains friendly?" Jason asked.
"They are alive, and not with the sound of music."
Which meant, when she left, whoever was in the woods protecting the house, would leave with her and Bravo would be considered fair game. Someone was nearby or could arrive within minutes because Clay hadn't walked up here on his own and these women hadn't carried him. Brock and Cerberus could find the 'eyes in the woods' but it wasn't worth the time or effort.
"You have a way of communicating to, uh, nature?"
"You will not be disturbed by those loyal to me." She spread her hands. "You were allowed to come here without confrontation, but I cannot guarantee you safe passage once you return to your vehicle."
"Fair enough."
"Jason." Ray was back, didn't agree with the deal Jason was making.
"You found him in a ditch." The barest hint of a smile played on her lips.
"Covered in yellow mud." Jason agreed.
Now she smiled, seeming to have accepted Jason. "I'm glad he has you. You came east, yes?"
"Yeah."
She nodded. "There is a path that winds down the cliff…."
"Not on the map." Ray, pacing in tight circles, stopped to interrupt. Unlike Jason, he didn't blindly trust either of these women simply because Clay did. Things didn't add up, and he had questions he wanted answered. How had she tempted Clay off the base? When? Why? How had she known he was there? How had he gotten shot? How did she know when they flew in, what time they landed?
But Jason wasn't asking.
"Not your map." She agreed. "You follow it, you will cut your descent time to under an hour.