Chapter 31
As Clay tried to run along the riverbank, he bit back a string of curses as his arm swung in the air, and he stumbled around, shifting his ribs, unable to gain footing. With each step he tumbled along, he lost grip on his injured shoulder as he tried to balance himself in the mud until, eventually, he lost full hold of his arm as he swung out and tried to brace his body as he stumbled onto his knees.
Clay bit his lip as he winced and tried to regulate his breathing. Fighting back the darkness that tried to force itself onto his vision, he blinked his eyes a few times, holding back the floating feeling pulling onto his body as it tried to pass out on him. Slowly he defeated the darkness and steadied his breathing, at least enough for him to regain his footing and slowly get up to his feet. His body was not going to win this fight, as Clays mind was way to stubborn to cave. He was not going down without a fight even if it meant fighting his own body.
"Сюда." (This way.)
As a mumbled shout reached his ear, his head shot up, and he tried to scan the area behind him, but with no luck. Everything was empty and blurry, but he knew his only advantage right now was the emptiness he saw and that he was ahead of them. If he could not see them, he hoped they were in the same boat and only followed him by tracking; the daylight would give away his position too quickly. Now that he was slowly gaining his bearings from his concussion, he was starting to think straight and devise a proper plan. His head was still unclear and slow, but he had some confidence he could come up with a basic outline of a plan even if it were a slow process. Getting off the open riverbank and into the woods for the cover was his main goal right now. His fight or flight instincts are not ruling his judgement as he is getting his adrenaline high, and he can now rely on his training and force his body into a third path, strategy.
With one quick glance down at his beaten body, he noted his recent stumble must have opened his wounds more as the crimson stains along his torso got more significant by the second. But he heard that haunting mumbled shout again, not too sure what it was saying, but his body knew enough to stumble towards the trees. There was no time for him to try and patch himself up. His options right now were running and trying to get away with the risk of bleeding out or stopping and trying to use his clothing and pressure to stop the bleeding but risking capture and becoming a lonely SEAL prisoner of war.
The possibility of bleeding out... eventually, seemed like the better option in this situation.
…
Bravo
"Ok, what do we know here?" Ray asked as he stepped up from the bed. He knew the team needed some direction, a target to point their spear at or else they would crumble. They did not do well in waiting, especially when one of their own was lost.
Jason lifted his head as he tried to escape his dungeon, thinking about losing Clay and that he was the one that forced them to leave. He knew his decision was the right one in so many wrong ways, but they had to get the General home, and there were many cake-eaters involved in this mission, and a few already had their targets set on Clay and the team. Bravo was always in someone's crosshairs as their antics were not standard, but they always got the job done, so the trigger was never pulled. But today, that trigger was being slowly squeezed if they did not abandon their teammate and head back. Little did they know Blackburn was taken out in the process, so returning for their fellow SEAL would be more complicated than they would anticipate. Jason had to make a call, and the call was based on getting some good graces and being able to head back in, sanctioned and will full military support. He knew that Clay would hold on and survive until they got there to bring him back; he knew Clay was too stubborn to let them leave him behind and not wait for them when they returned. So, he made his best judgment call and did what he knew Clay would push for. Leave him and finish the mission. They were Seals first. Although Jason knew his son would push the mission, it still did not stop the thoughts and guilt haunting his mind, pulling him into his own personal jail as soon as he took his first step forward away from Clay.
"All we know right now is that we need to get out to the border, and our two main assets to get there are locked in the back room." Trent pipped up as he scanned the room at each one of his team's faces trying to get a read.
"Ok, so for Clay, we need to all get our heads back in the game and come up with a plan. There is no way I'm stepping foot on that plane missing a brother." Ray nodded as he tried to gain some momentum with the group. He knew Jason needed the time to focus his thoughts and that he needed to take point on this until he was ready.
Slowly across the room, everyone's eyes focused and a fire light behind them as they nodded in agreement and started to gather towards the table in the corner beside Jason. Brock, Trent, Ray and Davis all gathered their teams' maps, notes and computers and set everything along the table for the team to get to work.
Jason closed his eyes and took a sharp, deep breath as he lifted his eyes and met Rays. Standing to his feet, he clenched his fists as he took one slow step towards the door and then another and soon stormed out the door.
"Hey, where are you going?" Ray called out after him.
"To get what's ours." Jason huffed as he turned the corner down the hall towards the back room where their two teammates were being held.
"Sonny?" Brock called out as he watched the burly Texan take another step in pacing away from the table. "Son, you know we need your brains here. You know best how Clay will think and move. He needs you."
With the mention of Clay needing him, Sonny halted his steps and glared out the window towards the forest; in the distance, his best friend could be alone and hurt. There was no way he was going to let his battle buddy down. After a moment of anger, as he started to go down the rabbit hole in his head about leaving clay and the guilt, he stormed towards the team with his brows furrowed, ready to start planning. He refused to get lost in his head and pushed all those thoughts aside to think about what would have happened to Clay if he had been alive. He was coming home even if he was slung over his shoulder, kicking and screaming.
Davis glanced over her shoulder towards Liz and tried to get a read on her but was coming up short. Her best friend had not moved an inch as she still sat there with a blank face and ice-cold eyes. She was not herself; everyone knew it and had no idea how they could reach her. They lost her, and the only way to get her back was to get Clay as he always was able to pull her out of her darkness or at least have the plan to get him and hopefully, that would defrost her enough to light a fire behind her eyes to head out and get their family back.
…..
Clay felt like he was running for hours, days even, but after looking up into the sky and tracking the sun the best he could in his fuzzy state, he imagined it was maybe an hour or two. But it was long enough that he did not hear any voices behind him or noises of branches breaking and rocks being kicked that would alert him of any Russian soldiers catching up.
Breathing became more complex from his bruised ribs and chest as Clay felt his body succumbing to blood loss. If he were not running, or in his case, doing his best to stumble forward faster than a movie zombie, he would have made it father before the effects of the lack of blood pumping through his veins took over his body.
"Clay!"
Hearing that voice made him freeze in his tracks, and he looked forward, trying to focus on the silhouette he saw before him. "Brian?"
"Clay, you need to stop and take care of yourself. You need to control some of the bleeding."
"Brian? I need to get back to my team; I can't. What are you doing here?" He stared at the shadow, waiting for a response but slowly giving up hope as his eyes welled up with a few tears as reality started to sink in, "I don't think I will make it back home."
He was stubborn and would not go out without a bang, but he was teetering on the brink of losing that spark and giving up hope as lethargy came over his body like a blanket covering his body and clouding his mind.
With one blink, the silhouette vanished before him, and he tried to focus on the area surrounding him, hunting for his best friend; he was ready to join him and not be in pain. As he moved forward, trying to catch up to Brian, he tripped and fell over a fallen tree rolling down the edge of the small hill. Wincing in pain, he held back a mumbled cry as he tried to bite his lip to prevent any more noise from giving away his position. And a tear leaked from his tired red eyes. He was slowly giving up as pain ruled his life, and he saw no relief. No chance of a home and comfort from his loved ones. From Liz.
As he lay there in pain, tasting blood in his mouth as his teeth broke the skin, he squeezed his eyes shut, counting in his head, trying to calm down enough to keep his stomach contents inside as well as regain enough brain power to possess other thoughts and push the pain aside. Once he got to twenty, he felt a tiny sliver of confidence and tried to open his eyes and regain his bearings.
Dragging his body into a sitting position, he managed to lean back against a thick tree stump hiding from the view above the hill. It was not much cover and still not a safe position, but he was not going anywhere any time soon, so he would have to be ready and try and tap into his sniper senses to know his surroundings without seeing.
As he looked down, he slowly tried to assess his body and regain focus. Why was it so hard to focus again? Yes, he had a concussion; he thought he was regaining control over those symptoms as much as possible for a concussion. So why was everything foggy and blurry?
Wait, why was Brian here? Where did he go?
Ok, focus; he's not here; he died a few years ago. Right?
As Clay turned his gaze back towards his body as it wandered away unknowingly, he noticed his pant leg was ripped open more. And holy crap was it red and swollen underneath. And what is that faint smell alongside a hint of white color inside the wound. When did he get that cut? Oh, right, he noticed it first when he fell, but it looks a few hours older in the state of infection. Jason would not have let him on a mission with an injury like this as he sat there lost in his head, trying to gather a time frame and failing as he jumped from mission clips to a bar and then back to a river, his gaze glazed over and he felt his head slump down towards his chest.
His body jumped into autopilot as he took his good arm, grabbed the sleeve of his wounded shoulders' long sleeve shirt, leaned forward with a grunt of pain, and started to tug and rip the seam releasing the sleeve from his shirt. He stared at the sleeve in his hand for a moment as his brain slowly tried to catch up to his body's actions. After a few moments, he was working as a cohesive unit again as his brain ordered his arm to bring the sleeve towards his calf and wrap his wound as tight as he could, tucking in the cuff as best as he could with one hand.
This simple action left him breathless as he fought again to regain control over his thoughts and actions, and finally, it clicked. Fever. He had an infection that only worsened alongside his concussion symptoms. This was going to be a long day.
As he got his mind back on his side, he focused again on his shoulder. Looking down, he saw the red seeping further down his shirt. Knowing this would be a problem, he was aware enough of his situation to reach down and untuck his long sleeve and tried to shimmy it up his chest until it overlapped on his chest wound. Another idea popped into his mind as he was not going to give up in his lucid state yet; he managed to win that internal battle, and soon he was trying to make a sling out of the shirt and sleeve. He needed some support if he was going to keep moving.
Bracing himself, he sucked in a breath and bit down on his raw lip as he lifted his injured shoulder, took his good arm up, and pulled the sleeve down while he painfully pulled his arm up the best he could and out through the stretched-out neck hole. Having the collar and buttons undone for comfort was the best thing he did for himself in his wardrobe. Hating things being too tight on his neck and shoulders was the best trait he possessed right now, as his shirt was a size larger, allowing him to stretch his arm up and through the hole by the wrist and leaving the rest sitting inside, touching his chest. Ok, step one was complete and now for the next, trying to figure out how to take the sleeve and wrap his arm up and tight to his chest, holding it in place and having the compression to push against the bullet wound. If he were successful, this would be a win-win situation, and he needed a significant win.
"Brian, now would be the time to step in and give me some ideas. Since when do you hide from showing me you're smarter than me?"
As he closed his eyes, he could have sworn he heard a whisper from his best friend. He could not make out what he said but knew it was something cocky, which would get his gears turning, as his primary goal when they were together was to show him up. This time would be no different as he knew Brian was not there, but he was in his own way. He was always watching over him, so he needed to show him up, as their competitive streak never relaxed. After a moment of moving around and groaning in pain and muffling cries, he somehow managed to make it work and looped the sleeve around his front shoulder, holding his arm in place, bent and up, and tying it off on his wrist from behind his neck. He would have no idea how he managed this on a good day, not fighting a fever, infection, concussion, blood loss, or lack of water and being exposed to the dry heat. Maybe not thinking right allowed him to unlock some creative part of his brain he kept dormant. Either way, it relieved some pain with his arm not hanging loosely along his side, and he slowly got a glimmer of hope. He was starting to give up, but that slight relief of pain, as minor as it was, helped him regain some sense of strength internally. He was going to go home.
With the limited resources he had, this was the best he was going to get, and he just had to pray that his side wound would clot itself with a bit of pressure with his undershirt from his arm looping around his side, holding on as tight as his ribs and chest would allow. This position was not ideal and made him lightheaded as he closed himself into his bruised ribs and chest, from his chest plate taking a round earlier. That already caused restrictions before he started to curl up into a ball, squeezing his lungs more, making breathing very difficult. At this point, he had to decide between taking tiny light breaths and stopping the bleeding or bleeding and becoming more disorientated but being able to take slightly larger breaths still under restriction. Again, the bleeding won as he thought he felt a gentle push against his hand, holding it there. Brian was always looking out for him and his stubborn ass.
He was getting enough oxygen to keep living but not enough to keep him fully lucid and conscious as he slowly slumped down into the tree stump after what felt like an hour, but then again, his time awareness was severely lacking at the moment. Blackness took over as he felt his body limp and his arm falls from his side. With one slow, heavy blink, his chin dipped down, and he drifted into an unwelcome sleep.
