Page 123 of Rescuing Ally: Part 2
The sinking RIB disappears beneath the waves behind us, taking with it some of the men’s weapons and gear. Our remaining boat sits dangerously low in the water with fourteen people aboard.
“We need to lighten.” Ethan scans the overcrowded boat. “Anything non-essential goes overboard.”
We dump spare gear, empty cases, anything we can live without. Carter coaxes a few more knots from the straining engines. We continue our desperate flight, everyone scanning the horizon for more pursuers.
Time blurs. I divide my attention between Hank’s deathly still form and Gabe’s barely conscious one. Both are losing blood. Both keep fighting. I won’t lose either of them. Not now.
The eastern horizon begins to lighten. The first hint of dawn breaks over the ocean.
“Contact ahead.” Ethan trains binoculars forward. “Hold positions.”
I tense, expecting more drones. Instead, the ghostly silhouette of a ship emerges on the horizon. A fishing trawler, weathered and unremarkable.
“Authentication protocols active.” Ethan checks through comms.
The trawler’s lights blink in a specific pattern. Ethan responds with a flashlight, matching the sequence.
“We’re clear.” Relief edges into his clipped tone. “Approach port side.”
As we draw alongside, figures move on deck—medics and security personnel. They throw down lines and secure our RIB.
We made it. Not intact. Not unchanged. But enough to fight another day. And that’s everything.
“Wounded first,” Ethan orders.
Hands reach down for Hank. I clutch his tactical vest, reluctant to let go.
“Ally.” Gabe stands somehow beside me. “Let them take him. Best chance he has.”
I release my grip. Watch as they lift Hank’s limp form onto the trawler. Medical personnel immediately surround him.
Rebel goes next, then Jenna. Gabe tries to wave off assistance but collapses when he puts weight on his leg. Walt and Blake haul him up despite his protests.
One by one, we climb aboard. Exhaustion hits me as my feet touch the deck—bone-deep, mind-numbing fatigue that makes my knees buckle. Someone catches me before I hit the deck.
The RIB is stripped of anything useful, then scuttled. No evidence left behind.
I move to stand beside Gabe as a medic cuts away his pant leg, revealing the full extent of his wound. Infection is already setting in. His hand finds mine, squeezes.
“You found us.” The words barely make it past the lump in my throat.
Gabe’s gaze locks on mine. Fierce. Raw. “I’d walk through hell to find you. And I did.”
His hand tightens around mine.
Dawn spills across the deck like a promise we’re not sure we deserve.
But we’re still here. Bleeding. Breathing.
And I swear to whatever’s left of the stars—I’ll never let them go again.
I look around at the survivors scattered across the deck. Soaked, bloodied, traumatized—but alive. The women I’ve come to see as sisters during our captivity. The men who came through hell to find us.
Not all whole. Not all intact. But alive.
Gabe’s eyes close as the pain meds finally take effect. I keep hold of his hand, watching his chest rise and fall. A medic calls out from Hank’s side—something about blood pressure dropping. More urgent activity.
I want to go to him, but the medics swarm him, fighting to save his life.
