Chapter 35

3 hours earlier

As Clay stood there frozen in time, trying to wrap his head around the image in front of him, focused on the rifle muzzle pointed right at his face, a thought flashed across his mind. Is this it? Was he too late for his team?

"Останавливаться. Руки вверх и вниз!" Stop. Arms up and get down.

Clay cocked his head sideways as he tried to jump into his scrambled head and see if his limited Russian could help him shed some light on the words the man was screaming into his face as he nudged his forehead with the rifle. He was jiggling his finger along the trigger, itching to pull it and send Clay into darkness. I think that was something about getting down. Clay winced as the muzzle grazed the gash along his temple, opening any form of a scab his body managed to create. Warmth started to flow down the side of his face. Great. Clay's eyes flashed down towards the ground and slowly towards his legs as he huffed, knowing he could not get down. Once he went down, he was sure his body would be determined to stay down. There was no getting up again this time; once he was down, he knew either his body would take him if the man in front of him did not decide to put a bullet right through his forehead, as he seemed pretty determined. He was fighting against a large Russian and his own body, and he was pretty sure he would lose this one.

He was taking too long to register this demand for the man in front of him, and soon he felt the butt end of the rifle collide with his already hurting ribs. If his body was not already riddled with blood, bruises, and holes, he was sure that would leave a mark. The bright side is just another notch to add to the list if it was not already a spot with a beautiful purple and blue tint.

His body involuntarily slumped over as he huffed, trying to regain breath. Having trouble getting a full breath was not his only problem now. His eyes started to widen in panic as he could not catch that small ounce of breath he had become accustomed to for the past handful of hours. He had been winded before and knew the primary way to overcome this sensation was to hold his hands above his head and slowly try to get that deep breath allowing him to return to his basic needs of inhaling air as normal; unfortunately, he knew this was not the case here. He could not physically put his hands upon his head if this man would even allow it. So, all he could do at this point was pinch his eyes closed and try to gasp in some oxygen. Just as he was about to come to terms with the fact that this amount of air he was going to get would have to be enough, he felt another blow to his side, followed by another pool of warmth. Whatever connected to his side caused his wound to open again. More blood flowed from him, soaking his clothing.

Another thing to add to his list that would kill him was not enough to cause blood loss leading to death, but enough to lead to delirium and passing out if he did not catch another infection from his soiled clothes pressing along his side. He was already fighting an infection from somewhere on his body as he forgot where else he was hurt. At this point, his whole body ached and felt like it got hit by a truck. Or did he even narrow the infection location down? Things were getting so fuzzy he was in a constant state of a high, floating in his mind trying to comprehend his surroundings and thoughts. His fever must be high enough to the point he would not have much time before his organs would start to try and shut down and cook from the inside leading to seizures and who knows what else. He did not want even to try and think that far.

With this blow, his body had no choice but to crumble to the ground as he tried to curl into himself for any form of protection. He knew he did not have much going for him at this point. As he lay there, eyes still closed, he did not want to see what was happening around him as things were just a blurry mess now. It was making him sick trying to track any slightest movement; he heard movement and shuffling in front of him and soon felt his hands being ripped in front of him and held together as something looped over them and cinched tight to the point he was sure there would be tingling within the hour. Well, if his body even allowed him to feel any other sensation other than pain. Tingling is not something anyone wants to feel, but he welcomed the uncomfortable sensation at this moment. Tingles would allow him that tiny sliver of hope as he could welcome another feeling that was not pain and showed his mind; he was still alive.

With one significant heave, he felt his body pulled up from the ground and pulled into the large man as he tried to right him onto his feet. Clay wobbled and tried to stumble up and get away from the man's grasp, but he was not going anywhere. The hand holding his arm was holding on too tight, and he had no more fight in himself. All he could do was wince and let out a low grunt of pain as he swayed, standing in front of the man, trying to make eye contact as he held a steely gaze. He was not going to let him know how scared he was, how he knew his outcome would be dead, and he was not ready to face that yet. He was a SEAL and trained to endure everything that would happen. He was prepared to go to his happy place and wait for it to all be over. But he was not ready to accept that, in the end, he would ultimately die and that he could not put up any fight. He would have just to let it happen.

"Двигаться." Move.

Again, having no clue at this point what was being shouted in his face, he kept his gaze locked on the man in front of him; no emotions crossed his blurry blue eyes. As he tried to stand his ground, his sways calmed down, but his body was still trying to curl into itself for protection. He had to accept the best he could do was wrap his one arm around him the best he could and try to put pressure along the wound on his side. Try to slow down some bleeding and alleviate some pain as the small act of restriction seemed to hold his aching ribs up, allowing some pressure on his lungs to dissipate. It was not much, but it helped him get a few deeper breaths and calm some of his nerves.

Clay slowly took one step back, trying to keep his composure, but a small grunt slipped his lips. His movements seemed to displease the man again, and he decided he would try and help Clay get moving. Soon he felt a hard shove to his back, causing him to stumble and fall to his knees, causing a sharp yell as he tried to steady himself with his tied arms flying to brace a possible fall, palms slamming into the ground, shooting pain up his arm into his injured shoulder and coursing into his chest right towards the bullet hole that was itching to open with all these sharp movements.

This sharp shot of pain and movement caused Clay to slam his eyes shut, trying to ward off the incoming headache and pain his concussion loved to bring back at the worst possible times. Not being very successful, he felt a dry heave throw his body to the side as his stomach decided to let itself be known and try and lose all nonexistent contents. Being upset that it had not received any water or food in the past day, it could only protest its discomfort with another sharp dry heave.

Rough hands pulled on his arms as he was again thrust up onto his feet with a sharp push against his back, forcing his feet to try and gain their balance as they took a few steps forward.

"Двигаться." Move.

As Clay and his captor stumbled through the woods, the rough man finally realized the only way he was getting to his desired destination within this year was to steady the fumbling blonde in front of him and push him along.

Bravo Team- Present time

"Now." Bravo 1 yelled as he heard Davis confirm their window has begun over coms. Within seconds the base plunged into darkness, as all lights, technology and cameras shot off, giving them their two-mike window to sprint across the grass into the cover of the woods and start their hike towards the border where the body was reported.

They had a location to focus on now; yes, they were not sure who the body was and dreaded the possible outcome as it could still be Clay. They knew in their hearts it was not him but who else would be in their gear heading towards the Mongolian border. Logic caused them to have the slightest ounce of doubt in their hearts as their brains tried to push in the idea that they could come face to face with a mop of blonde hair under the mud.

Bravo put their heads down and followed Cerbs' sprinted pace into the trees.

We are coming for our boy.