Page 78 of Rock Bottom

“Please don’t do this,” I pleaded.

“Stop stalling! You promised to do what I wanted, so do it! Or do I need to show you how serious I really am?” He pointed the gun at Church’s head.

“No!” I shouted, my voice breaking. “No, I’m going! Look, I’m going! Just don’t hurt him!”

Turning around and walking away was one of the hardest things I’d ever done. It meant leaving Church there alone, defenseless. Anything could happen, especially with the fire raging. I told myself that eventually someone would see the smoke and call the fire department. They’d find him and give him any medical care he needed. But the nearest neighbors were miles away. It could be hours before help arrived.

I threw a longing look up at the distant ridge Bowie was supposed to be headed towards. Please hurry, Bowie.

Get up.

I watched Oscar force Dante into the trees with my gun pressed against his temple, but there was nothing I could do about it. My head was scrambled from whatever he’d hit me with. I thought it was Bowie at the door when I answered, but as soon as I opened the front door to ask him what he forgot, Oscar smashed something into my face. The next thing I knew, I was on the ground with twelve hundred volts coursing through me and the kitchen was on fire. I didn’t even know how that had happened.

At least Dante is alive, but how long will he stay that way? Not long, probably. Oscar was unhinged, and his dangerous behavior was escalating. If he wasn’t stopped soon, he might hurt Dante, or worse.

I pushed up on shaky arms, only to fall back into the dirt. Come on, dammit. Move, soldier!

Gritting my teeth, I curled my fingers in the dirt like claws and pulled myself away from the house. It was only a few centimeters, but it was something. I repeated the motion, ignoring the voice in my head that was shouting I wasn’t moving fast enough. Moving was good. I needed to get the blood flowing back to my limbs, needed to ignore the throbbing in my head, to focus on the spot between the trees where they’d disappeared.

Rocks scraped under my forearms when I reached the driveway. I found the rear bumper of Bowie’s truck and pulled myself up on shaky arms. My legs wobbled, and my head throbbed. Judging by the nausea, double vision, pain, and spinning, I must’ve had a concussion from whatever he hit me with, but it didn’t matter. Getting to Dante was all that mattered.

I staggered forward, one foot in front of the other, going into the trees. There were broken branches and disturbed underbrush everywhere, leaving a clear trail. Why would he take Dante into the forest? I wasn’t even sure I wanted to ponder the possibilities.

I need to focus on following the trail. All the answers are there. I just have to keep going. Left foot, right foot…That’s it, soldier. Just keep doing that. You’ve been through worse, haven’t you, old chap? Keep it up. March, now. March like your life depends on it!

My foot hit a branch, and I went down in the underbrush with a curse. Briars scraped at my arms and chest and clung to my clothes.

God dammit! I punched the ground and exhaled. Don’t lose it now. Get back up. What else are you going to do? Lie here and do nothing like you did back in Syria?

My fingers curled in the dirt as that helpless feeling returned. Non-existent walls closed in and palpable darkness threatened to crush me. The stink of unwashed bodies and the filth of my cell filled my nostrils while the screams of the long dead rose to haunt me from thousands of miles away. I’d done nothing in that cell, knowing they were beating my fellow soldiers to death right outside my door.

But that wasn’t even the worst thing I’d done.

Suddenly, I was half a world away, watching from outside my body as I led my men into that ambush at the Lebanon border. When we were detained, I gave the order to cooperate, believing it was all a mistake, and they’d let us go.

Instead, I had to watch as they took away my men. I had to listen as they were killed. I stood by helplessly while my men—who had depended on me to keep them safe—died because I was too weak to save them.

It was my fault they were dead. I may not have pulled the trigger, but I’d killed them all just the same. And my country called me a bloody hero for it. I swore then that I’d never let the enemy have one of my own again.

Never. Again.

I pushed up and tore free of the thorn bush, forcing myself forward. Wherever Oscar had taken Dante, they were likely long gone, but maybe they’d left some clues. I had to do something, but something didn’t feel like enough. One foot after another, I made myself keep going, following a trail of broken and bent branches, hoping it actually was a trail and not my imagination.

When I stumbled into the clearing, I was so surprised I almost fell flat on my face a second time. One minute I was tearing through bushes and vines, and the next, I was standing in the middle of a grassy meadow with the sunset sky above. A pair of tracks cut through the tall grass, just the right size to be tire tracks on a small vehicle, but it couldn’t be just any small vehicle. The terrain out there was too rough for a sedan like I’d seen Oscar driving, and they didn’t look like truck tires. An ATV, maybe?

As I was examining the tracks, my foot kicked something hard and small, but it wasn’t a rock. I frowned when I looked down and spotted one of Dante’s shoes. As I bent down to pick it up, black glass glinted in the bushes nearby, and I reached to grab it, bringing up Dante’s phone. The screen was cracked in the corner, but I recognized the wallpaper and the model. It was definitely his. Maybe there was something useful on it that would help me find him. At least I could confirm he was there recently.

The bushes rustled behind me, and I spun around, ready to fight whatever was about to come through, despite still being wobbly.

Bowie emerged from the foliage. He paused just inside the clearing, staring at me wide-eyed. “Church? Oh, thank fuck.”

“Oscar took Dante,” I blurted as he jogged up to me. “I have his phone. There’re some tracks here from a golf cart or an ATV or something, so they couldn’t have gotten far.”

“Slow down.” Bowie reached me and tugged on my arm like he was trying to get me to sit.

I pulled away. “There’s no time! Didn’t you hear me? Oscar kidnapped Dante! We have to go after them!”

“We will,” Bowie said, pulling a handkerchief free and pressing it to my head. “But you won’t help anyone if you wander off into the woods and pass out. Hold that there and we’ll get the bleeding stopped. Wattson and the rest are on their way.”

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