Page 32 of Legacy's Destiny

Echo laid beneath the makeshift tent, her shallow breaths visible only when the poncho fluttered with movement. Deacon glanced down at her, the weight of what could have been hitting him like a punch to the gut. The thought of losing her was a possibility he couldn’t entertain.

As they climbed higher, the jungle opened to reveal a small clearing that had a village of thatched huts standing silhouetted against the stormy sky. People emerged cautiously, their faces wary but not unkind.

One elderly man stepped forward, his frame hunched but his eyes sharp. “We have room. You are welcome,” he said in broken English. “Me know American long time.”

Bandit spoke in Laotian, and the man’s face lit up in recognition. After a brief exchange, Bandit turned to Deacon. “Cap, this hut is for you and Echo. The larger one is for the rest of us. I’ll come by to check her out once you’re settled.”

Deacon nodded, and he and Ranger carried Echo into the smaller hut. The structure was simple but sturdy, made of thatched grasses and leaves. The sound of rain pounding on the roof was a constant reminder of the storm raging outside. But it was dry, which was a Godsend.

As Deacon laid Echo down and adjusted the poncho over her, he allowed himself a moment to breathe. The storm wasn’t over—not by a long shot—but for now, they had shelter.

CHAPTER 10

The trip up the mountain was one Echo would never forget. She’d been in cold climates before. She’d grown up in Montana and knew subzero weather, but nothing had prepared her for the relentless, bone-deep chill she endured now. The rain was merciless, battering the stretcher as if the sky itself was determined to keep her pinned to the earth. Every drop felt like shards of ice slicing through her skin, seeping into her core. The jungle around her was alive with chaos, the sound of the downpour mixing with the rush of swollen streams and the distant roar of the flood water carving its way through the valley below.

Her chest and ribs screamed with every shallow breath, the aftermath of CPR leaving her bruised and tender. She could feel each point of her rescuers’ efforts like a knife pressing into her body. Every sharp movement of the stretcher, every slip of the men carrying her, sent bolts of pain lancing through her body like lightning. Her gasps were sharp and unbidden, triggering fresh waves of agony through her battered lungs that left her trembling. She hated being helpless, hated being a burden when the team was already fighting the unforgiving terrain to keep her alive.

Bandit’s presence by her side was a constant and a comfort. “How’s she doing?” Deacon called out. His tone was clipped but calm. Bandit would crouch beside her to check her pulse or press a hand against her forehead. Each time, he found her shivering uncontrollably.

Bandit muttered under his breath as he adjusted the poncho over her. “Cold, but hanging in there,” was his usual answer.

Echo’s thoughts, however, weren’t focused on the jungle or how cold she felt. Instead, they were tangled in something much more internal and mystifying.She’d drowned.

The saying that there was nothing after death but darkness was wrong. Or at least, she thought it was. She’d seen her aunt who’d been gone for over five years. The memory burned bright in her mind: the warmth, the light, the overwhelming sense of calm. Her aunt’s hug had been a sanctuary, and her smile had been bittersweet when she’d held Echo at arm’s length.

“You can’t stay here, sweetheart. You can’t stay,” her aunt had said, her voice soft and firm.

“What do you mean?” Echo had asked, confusion and disbelief swirling through her. “Why can’t I stay with you?”

Her aunt’s smile had deepened, sadness pooling in her eyes. “One day, we’ll hug again. But Deacon needs you now.”

The words had echoed through her like a distant drumbeat. “What?” she’d whispered, the warmth around her faltering. A chill had slipped through her, and her aunt had seemed to move away without either of them walking.

Her aunt’s gaze had locked with hers, full of quiet insistence. “Deacon needs you now.”

And then, her body had exploded with pain. The warmth and light had been ripped away, replaced by the icy grip of reality. Her lungs had burned as water surged from her chest, her body writhing as she gasped for air. The cold had been suffocating, the kind of cold that burrowed into her bones and refused to let go.

She’d clung to the hand beside her, her vision blurry, and found Deacon there. His face had been a mixture of relief and fierce determination and his voice low and steady as he coaxed her back to him. Bandit’s questions had been sharp and steady, and she’d answered as best she could, her mind struggling to separate the surreal from reality.

Had she really seen her aunt?

It had felt so real. The peace, warmth, and overwhelming contentment was unlike anything she’d ever known. She hadn’t wanted to leave. But now, there she was, shivering violently, her body wracked with nausea and pain. She clamped her mouth shut, grinding her teeth against the bile rising in her throat. The men were risking everything to save her. She wouldn’t make their task harder.

The jungle was relentless. She could tell the trail was a slick, treacherous mess, the mud thick and cloying, sucking at the men’s boots with every step. The sounds proved those facts. The dense canopy above offered no protection from the downpour. She peeked out of the poncho and watched the water cascade from leaves, turning the ground into a quagmire. Roots jutted out like forgotten fur traps, and vines tangled around everything. The air was heavy with the scent of wet earth and rotting vegetation. She should have been hot from the humidity and the sweltering temperatures, but she still shivered.

Deacon’s voice cut through the storm. “Keep moving! Watch your footing!” His tone was sharp, a reminder to his team to stay vigilant.

Ace and Rip alternated between point and rear guard, their movements precise despite the slippery terrain. Deacon’s orders would change their position at regular intervals. She assumed it was to keep the person on point sharp and give him a rest after being so attentive for so long. Ranger had slipped at one point, landing hard on a sharp rock that gashed his knee. She wouldn’thave known he was injured if he hadn’t sworn under his breath and bluntly answered Bandit’s questions. She could imagine Bandit’s hand gestures to the other man. A smile formed on her lips. This team moved like a single organism, their coordination a testament to their training and trust in one another.

Echo’s stretcher jolted as they navigated the steep incline, and she bit back a cry, the pain in her chest, or rather ribs, sharp and unforgiving. She wanted to tell them to stop, to let her rest, but the urgency in their movements told her everything she needed to know. The storm wasn’t letting up, and the rising water was a threat they couldn’t ignore.

When they finally reached the small shelter, Deacon pulled the ponchos off her with practiced care. The structure was crude but sturdy, made of woven grasses and bamboo. The sound of the rain on the thatched roof was a constant reminder of the storm raging outside.

Deacon kneeled beside her, his face still tight with worry. “I’m going to find you some dry clothes. Most of what we have is soaked.”

Echo’s fingers brushed his arm, her voice hoarse. “There’s a fireplace. Start a fire. We can dry our clothes.”

Deacon glanced at the stacked wood and nodded. “Let me get it started, and then I’ll help you out of those wet clothes.”

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