Page 38 of Deadly Strain

This anthrax would consume everyone it came in contact with.

Everyone.

It could make the latest Ebola outbreak in northern Africa look like a minor blip on the world’s heart monitor.

Sharp leaned forward and put his hands on her shoulders.

She stilled, her gaze on his, her emotions balanced on the edge of a knife made slick by blood of their dead lying in the husk of the helicopter they left behind.

“We reach our goals by putting one foot in front of the other,” he said with a voice as solid as steel. “Staying calm and remembering who we are.”

She wanted to grab hold of him and never let go, but was he all talk and no substance? Would he dissolve into a mist at the first sign of trouble? “Who are we?”

“I’m Special Forces Weapons Sergeant Jacob Foster, and you’re Dr. Grace Samuels, trauma surgeon and infectious disease specialist.” He leaned forward until his forehead touched hers. “We’re the best, the very best at what we do. We’re going to figure out our shit and we’re going to complete our mission. Right?”

She swallowed. “Right.”

One of his eyebrows rose. “Convince me, Doc, ’cause I’m not feeling it.”

She narrowed her eyes, bared her teeth, and spit the word at him. “Right.”

He leaned back. “Much better. For a second, I thought I was going to have to slap you out of your hysterics again.”

“Ha. Stay out of my back pockets, soldier.” She sucked in a deep breath, pulled the backpack beside her over and began digging in it. The words were superficial, but safe, and they soothed something frayed and hurting deep inside her chest. She didn’t want to lose her friend, and he’d figured out how to give her what she needed again. “Guess we should take stock of what we have.”

He grabbed the other backpack and opened it up, laying out its contents. Three bottles of water, medical supplies, granola bars, two MREs, two magazines for a Beretta, rope, knife, matches, emergency blanket, plastic sheeting, standard survival tin, and a compass.

Her backpack’s contents were very similar, but with two unopened bottles of water, one opened, and two bandages less than Sharp’s.

“If we stay in this cave,” he said. “We’ve got enough water for a couple of days.”

“We can’t stay that long for a lot of reasons.”

He nodded slowly. “We’re going to grab a few hours of sleep then, try to get to the most likely place they’d extract us from.”

“Where?”

He pulled a map out of one of his pockets, and using the flashlight with the red tape, showed her a point on it circled in red. “I think we’re within a couple of klicks of this spot. There used to be a village there, but most of it was blown up back when the Russians invaded. Our intel says it’s deserted.”

“Can we get there before dawn?”

“If we push, yeah.”

“What’s our Plan B?”

“Run like hell.”

“Well,” she drawled. “As long as we know where we’re going.”

He folded up the map and put it back in his pocket. “You know me, always looking ahead.” He pulled an emergency blanket out of his backpack and spread it on the sandy bottom of the cave. “Bedtime.” He lay down, leaving what looked like room for three other people.

She lowered herself carefully onto the middle of the blanket, her back to him. “You don’t snore, do you?”

“Not allowed.” He scooted a little closer. “Too noisy.” His arm went over her and he inched closer until he spooned in behind her completely.

He was big, warm, and his arm curved over her waist in a way that made her feel protected. “Another one of those things that puts thespecialin Special Forces?”

“Now you’re catching on.” His lips whispered the words against the sensitive skin behind her ear. “Sleep. I’ll wake you when it’s time to go.”

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