Page 48 of Dead Ahead (Department of Defense)
Chapter 22
Ashley
THE FIRE FLICKERED in a cold ocean breeze that dipped off the water, sending sparks into the night sky. I shivered, pulling my legs more tightly into my chest and curling under as much blanket as I could, the chill rough against my skin.
I looked up at Tri beside me. At first glance, he looked relaxed, his forearms draped over the knees he’d drawn up as he looked out over the water. But I could see the tension thrumming through his muscles, as taut as the halyard on a sailboat with sails that had caught the wind. Never mind the gun he held in his hand and the two frighteningly large AK-47s laying in the sand on either side of him. More weapons sat in the sand behind him, a veritable armory.
Was he expecting another attack? Or just waiting for rescue?
Tri was optimistic it would come soon, even though no one had replied to his mayday over the radio. Nor had the radio, sitting in the pack we’d dragged back from the boat, made a sound since.
Had it really been a good idea to use the radio? Tri said the frequency was safe, but these were terrorists—who was to say they didn’t have access to this frequency and now had our location, as Tri had given it to our would-be rescuers?
My idea had been to try for Japan since we had a power boat now, but Tri had nixed that idea as a last resort. For one, he doubted it had enough gas for us to make it there. And two, we would have the same problem as before—with the terrorists still looking for us, there was a much greater chance we’d encounter them as we tried to flee this island.
So, now, all we could do was watch and wait. But unlike Tri, I couldn’t drag my eyes away from the water, because I kept expecting another black boat to power into view with more terrorists on board.
The terrorist’s strike had shattered the domestic bubble of peace we’d settled into, the one of hope and calm. Everything seemed dangerous right now, and tremors of fear that they could arrive at any moment kept me awake. Part of me wanted to find that cave high up the mountain, but the other half wouldn’t leave Tri’s side. He was still my protection.
But he wasn’t the man I’d come to grow so close to over the past few days. This was the soldier, the Navy SEAL, the dangerous warrior I had first encountered in the research station, blasting in with guns drawn to take down the bear of a man trying to kill me.
Somehow, being here on this island made the attack on the other island seem like a dream, like everything I’d seen had happened to someone else. Our creative survival had given me confidence, too. But what had happened earlier had shattered any ounce of confidence or sense of safety I’d had.
The terrorists could come at any moment, with guns and weapons and whatever brand of hatred or insanity they possessed, and we’d have to fight them off again.
Correction; Tri would have to fight them off again. I was a marine biologist, not a Navy SEAL, and just like the first time, when they’d come storming up the beach, I had been completely and utterly unguarded and useless. The rock that had killed the second terrorist, the one I’d thrown, had been a last, desperate attempt to save myself. I still couldn’t remember deciding to pick it up, or even picking it up, just that I had because the terrorist had shot at Tri.
The memory was seared into my brain, and I shivered again. But it wasn’t from the cold this time.
Beside me, Tri shifted, but his gaze was still out at sea.
We hadn’t talked much since that morning. Tri had hauled back the packs from the boat, which was now just a dark shape bobbing in the water, and we’d taken out anything that would serve us: protein bars, extra ammo, weapons, a digital compass, and the radio. Then Tri had gone to find the terrorists, returning with their tactical vests, gear, and clothing. I didn’t ask what he’d done with their bodies.
He had tried to give me some of their clothing, but I’d refused, disgusted. They’d been on dead men and were still visibly crusted with their dried blood. Instead, I’d wrapped myself back up in my makeshift canvas dress and curled up silently, miserably, in a blanket.
Tri had put on a pair of their pants and one of their tactical vests, and even though I was cold and in desperate need of comfort, I couldn’t bring myself to get too near him. Not with the large blood stain on the pants leg, a dark color on the black fabric.
But it was more than just a bloodstain—it was a memory about which I couldn’t stop thinking.
Over and over, I heard the shots ringing out, felt the rock leaving my hand, arching in slow-motion, and the sound of the impact with the terrorist’s skull. It had made a terrible crunching sound, and he’d dropped like a rock. He hadn’t screamed, hadn’t yelled, hadn’t made a sound, just dropped.
Strangely, I was grateful his hair had been too dark for me to see the damage, but a last panicked glance as Tri had dragged me away had been full of blood and gore spattered on the rock and sand. The image seemed branded to my mind, had kept me fidgeting and unable to relax, and had turned my stomach when Tri offered me the protein bars. How had he been able to eat them?
Practice. This was what he did for a career. It was nothing new to him. Hadn’t I seen that on our wild escape from the first island? When he’d ensured our survival?
We’d done what we had to do to survive. But how was I supposed to go on with the knowledge that I’d killed someone? Tri had tried to reassure me the terrorist would have died anyway with the stomach wound he’d given him, and I had saved the man hours if not days of an agonizing death. But it didn’t help—I’d still taken someone’s life.
I dozed fitfully through the night, echoes of the day playing in my head to send me into despairing wakefulness. Or a sound would jerk me awake, my body fully expecting an attack, only to find it was a snap of the fire or the movement of the canvas in the breeze.
“Ashley, wake up.”
I hadn’t even realized I’d finally fallen into a dreamless sleep until Tri was shaking me, tight excitement in his voice. I sprang up, looking for the terrorists storming the beach, my pulse beating so hard in my chest that I thought my heart might explode.
But no men in black were racing towards us, guns held at the ready. Instead, daylight filled the eastern edge of the sky, and a destroyer was moving toward us at a fast clip, flying a Japanese flag.
Tears were in my eyes without warning, a sob taking up the space in my chest.
They were here to rescue us. We were safe. I’d never felt such a rush of relief at the knowledge that we were going to be okay, so strong it almost knocked me off my feet.
They dropped anchor as close to the island as possible, sending a dinghy the rest of the way to collect us. Knowing we were safe, my mind seemed to seize up, and everything suddenly seemed to happen in a blur; Tri hurrying out to meet the seamen wading through the water towards us, talking in a mix of Japanese and English while gesturing, and the three of them coming back towards me.
Tri had to pull me towards the dinghy, and we motored back to the frigate in silence. I was still unable to believe this was really happening. Was it a dream?
The seamen waiting on the deck swarmed us, some breaking off with Tri while two came toward me—two women. One introduced herself as a nurse in broken English, then continued to chatter in Japanese. But my mind was too exhausted to translate, so I let her and the other woman lead me away.
All the worry, all the trauma, all the fear had left me entirely hollow and exhausted, and now that we were safe, my body seemed to shut down. I could barely walk the distance to the infirmary, the nurse supporting me on one side, a young female Self-Defense member on my other. The nurse gave me a cursory inspection, then helped me change into one of the blue Self-Defense Force jumpsuits before she took me to one of the beds.
The bunk was small and the mattress hard, and I laid down reluctantly, my tired body and mind confused from the change from island to boat. But as soon as my head hit the soft pillow, I was out.
