Chapter 8

I look around the space for any sign of the blonde man and his friend. Their supply bags remain in a small pile by the waving nylon flap of the tent. Beside their bags, a curling cloud of steam seeps from two Styrofoam coffee cups.

The coffee must still be warm-they couldn't have been gone long.

A small mud puddle grows from the rain dripping through the widening gap and I can't help enjoy watching the brown river slowly approach their limited supplies.

I keep my eyes guarding tent door and slowly peel the layers of blankets wrapped around me to the side.

I look down at my bare feet in frustration-they took my shoes too?

The tapping of the rain above me masks the clamor of my cot as I crawl to the floor. I stay close to the ground to avoid making any shadows and kneel beside Phillip.

I gently shake his shoulder as I do most mornings, "Phillip….Phillip get up." I whisper.

Usually he'd push my hand away and roll onto his other side. But this time, he just remains still.

What'd they give us?

I make a fist with my left hand and force my knuckles back and forth across his chest-the edge of my diamond ring marking his chest with bright red stripes.

"Come on Phillip. Get up for me."

His eyes begin to flutter and I press my fist harder against him.

"Come on!" I say.

He inhales sharply and his eyes widen. He looks around the room trying to take in his surroundings, trying to remember what happened. But there was no time for that.

"Get up, Phillip. We gotta go."

He wipes his eyes like a groggy child, "What's going on?"

I throw his blanket to the ground and pull his arm to sit him up. He runs his fingers over the fresh white bandage on his leg.

"I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have let them touch you."

His eyes travel back and forth as he attempts to remember- "There were two men."

He says, almost as if it were a question.

I kneel down beside their bags and start packing some of their food into my pockets, "We have to hurry. They couldn't be far."

"Elizabeth, what happened?"

"I thought they were our contacts. You were so sick and they knew how to help. I'm so sorry. I should have known…"

He leans down beside me, places his arms calmly on my shoulders and turns me toward him."

"Elizabeth," he repeats softly, "What happened?"

"They're not who they say they are." I say.

"You're sure?"

I nod, "The man called his anesthetic lido."

"So?"

"Lidocaine hasn't been approved yet by the center…we're still ordered to give procaine."

"So he picked up some newer drugs while working over here that doesn't mean…"

"That's what I thought. And then I saw the tattoo on his right forearm."

His face stiffens, "You're sure?"

I gesture to my own arm, "A bright red heart and a cursive name right here."

"An easily identifiable mark." He quotes from our very first few days of training.

"They never would have allowed him through training with that." I say. "I saw people pulled for having too distinct of a birth mark-A tattoo as obvious as that—The Americans could pick you from a line-up of a hundred in minutes."

He looks down at my working hands, "Is there anything good in there?"

I shake my head, "Best we have is a plastic knife."

"So we can distract them by making sandwiches, perfect."

"You have anything better?"

He takes a quick look around the tent. His eyes catch the small metal pole strapping the tent down to the dirt. He reaches and pulls the shiny rod from the ground. He examines the pole and presses his finger against its pointy tip.

"Better than nothing." He says, tucking it under his arm.

He watches as I continue to take snacks from the supply bag.

"What are you picking out food for? Grab the whole bag."

"They'll notice it missing right away." I say.

He smiles, "I think they'll notice us missing first."

He throws a strap over his shoulder and reaches for the other bag.

"I'll take it." I say.

He takes the bag from my hand and hangs it from his other shoulder, "I'll take it."

Phillip takes a quick glance through the flap of the tent, "They left the car. Give me five minutes- I'll get it wired. I'll bring it to the side-."

"No, I'm going with you."

"No, you stay here."

"I'll stand guard." I say.

"That's ridiculous-it's easier to hide one person that two. If they're out there they'll…"

"I'm not separating from you again. You get the car started I'll pack up the supplies and stand guard."

"Elizabeth…"

"Don't argue with me just do it."

"Is that how it is now?"

"That's how it's always been."

He lingers for a moment then pulls back the flap of the tent, "After you."

I can't see far beyond the pouring rain. I attempt to scan the area but I can't distinguish much of anything between the trees. The car doesn't seem to be anywhere in sight.

"Car's over to the left." I hear Phillip whisper in my ear. "Stay close to the side of the tent, check around the corner for visitors, then dash for the front seat."

"I know." I say.

"You were looking off to the right."

I roll my eyes. I can't argue with that.

I keep my back against the side of the tent and inch toward the corner. I peek around the side and see only the dark forest. I wave for Phillip to follow. He clutches his new weapon and stays close behind me.

"On three." He says. "One…"

I take a deep breath, "Two."

"Three." He whispers. I feel him nudge my back and suddenly I'm running toward the car. I can feel my bare feet sinking into the cold mud with every step. Mud splashes up against my pant leg and I hear Phillip sloshing through the puddles behind me.

"Go, go, go." He says, reaching for my arm."

I crouch down by the passenger seat of the old maroon station wagon. I can hear the glass shatter and Phillip reaching to unlock both doors. I tuck myself into the foot space under the glove compartment and Phillip removes a small panel under the steering wheel.

A hint of light reflects from the tiny corner of the rearview mirror.

"Phillip…" I say.

"Almost got it." He says.

The glow grows and soon the lights of two tiny flashlights are speeding toward

us.

"Phillip!" I repeat.

"Almost done." He says, trying to keep his composure.

I watch through the mirror as they run through our tracks in the mud. I can hear the one man screaming to the other but I can't make out what he's saying.

"Lock your door." He says flatly.

I obey and despite the missing window on his side he locks his door too. He flinches when a few sparks fly between his wires and the engine comes to life.

He sits up in the driver seat and puts the car in drive.

"Stay down." He says.

He reaches for his seat belt and four dirty fingers wrap around the edge of the cracked window.

"Phillip!" I say, pointing toward our visitor. I take the metal pole from his lap and smash the four fingers against the sharp glass edges of the window.

Phillip slams his foot on the accelerator and the wheels spin viciously in the deep mud.

"Damn it!" he says.

He puts the car in reverse and slams down again, sending the car speeding back toward the tent. The car jumps and we hear our wheels run over one of the men.

"Oooh" Phillip says, "That's gonna take more than lido and a bandage."

We wind through the woods and find our way back to a small country road just as the rain lightens. I get up from the ground and settle in the passenger seat.

Phillip turns to me, "You buckled?"

"I'm fine." I say.

"Just do it."

He reaches across me and pulls my belt to the buckle.

"But you're fine with me getting into knife fights with the people here."

We sit in silence for a moment and I lean my head against the window.

"Where are you going?"

"To the center."

I sit up straight, "You can't bring a stolen car to the center."

"You have a better idea?"

"There's a gas station a few blocks back. We'll leave the car by the river, walk to the gas station and call for backup."

He looks back and forth between the road and me, "That would also work."

He makes a sharp turn with the wheel and guides the car to the side of the overpass. I step out of the car just as the sun starts to make its appearance above the river. I put our two supply bags on the ground while I wait for Phillip to finish the job. He steps beside the car and kneels down. He takes our only weapon and forces the metal pole between the edge of the driver's seat and the accelerator. Within seconds the old station wagon is at the bottom of the river.

Phillip shrugs his shoulders, "Americans don't care about pollution anyway."

He holds out his hand to help me up from the ditch, "Come on," he says with a smile, "if we hurry we'll have time to stop for breakfast."

I take a step toward him and a sharp pain shoots down my side. I grip my side and Phillip comes down next to me.

"You okay?"

I keep my tone light, "Fine, just stepped funny."

"Elizabeth, you're bleeding."

I reach for my head, "Still? So much for their bandage-"

He pulls my hand away from my forehead and points to the ground.

"No, Elizabeth. You're bleeding."

I look up to meet his gaze but his eyes are fixated on the ground below me-where drops of red are trickling down my leg.