Escape to Morning (18 page)

Please, God, protect— Movement in his peripheral vision turned him. He stilled, scanned the forest.

A twig snapped behind him. He whirled, gun drawn.

Line drive, right to his chin with the butt of an AK-47.

Pain exploded in his brain. He caught a glimpse of his attacker—dark hair, darker eyes, and enough anger to make him very, very dangerous.

Yeah, well, me too
.

Will sent his shoulder into his attacker's gut. The man fell backward, kicked out, caught Will on his knee. Will's eyes crossed in a second of white pain. He lunged just as the man rolled to his knees. They went down in the wet, spongy loam.

Will drove his arm against the man's neck. The man looked painfully like himself—black BDUs, a face full of mud. Only this version came equipped with a terrorist-identifying Russian-issue submachine gun. Yep, Hayata.

The man drilled his elbow into Will's ribs.

Will gritted his teeth, pushed the man's face farther into the dirt. Around them, rain sliced the trees and the wind howled. Will felt nothing but the heat of fury in the center of his chest.

A shot pinged just past Will's face. He even felt the burn as it whizzed by him. He launched back off his attacker and dived for a trio of birch trees.

He studied the forest, saw nothing as the wind picked up and swirled the leaves and blurred his vision with rain.

Another shot.

Will ducked behind a tree and searched for his Beretta.

He'd dropped it in the tussle, and there it sat, an inconvenient five feet away, on the other side of the tree. He was pinned down, and the terrorist in the mud had vanished.

A thousand fitting words filled his mind, but a roar, loud and full of fury, rumbled through the sky. What—?

A storm wave rolled in, blackening the sky. As Will debated his options, the sky cracked open and heaved. Water, no—
bullets
—of rain shot out of the darkness, followed by a rush of wind that bowed the trees. They broke near the top, toppling over. Around him the sky rained branches, a barrage of litter. Old trees, already dead, exploded and launched themselves across the forest, shredding other trees.

Will clamped his hands over his head, tightening into a ball as a dead birch landed five feet away, spraying broken branches like the debris from a grenade.

The roaring swelled. Deafening, it swept over Will, lashing him with horizontal rain, heaving sticks and trees from its path. Another tree cracked, landed on the old birch.

In all his years in the Green Berets, in the sandstorms of Desert Storm, in the hurricanes on the southern shores of America, in the earthquakes of the Middle East, he'd never seen such violence. Will protected his head as a tree branch arrowed toward him. He closed his eyes, waiting to be speared, and felt his breath rush out fast when the branch landed just above him, lodged in the vee of his now very favorite three trees.

The howling wind diminished slightly, as if it were passing to its next victim. Still, the wind bent the trees side ways, stripping away buds, feeble branches. Will heard nothing above the lash of rain, felt nothing but his heartbeat in his mouth, the clamp of ice needling his skin, tasted only panic.
Please, God, protect Dani!

Dannette tucked Missy in beside her, nearly lying on top of the dog as the animal whined and pressed her wet nose into Dannette's chest. “Shh,” she said, but she too wanted to whine. She saw the frenzied waves of her tortured tent, heard the roaring, felt the
thwump
of trees and branches. She'd lashed her tent down but now felt as if the only thing holding her to the ground was her own body.

That thought sent a chill right to her toes. She buried her face in Missy's head. Closed her eyes.

It felt too real. Too close to
then
.

The noise, the violence, the chaos rushed her back to the past. Missy continued to whine, to wriggle in her arms, as her mind flashed back to the past.

Shh, Ashley, don't cry
.

Why, oh why, hadn't they listened to Mama not to go far? not to venture out into the cornfield? Dannette buried her face in her sister's hair, enduring her questions, pleading with God to see them down here, to send an angel to find them, protect them. But how could someone find them when Dannette, set on adventure, had packed a knapsack and set out through the tall furrowed corn, dragging her timid little sister in her wake? It had been a bright, sunny day. And she'd planned to go as far as the road, then hike home. After all, she was six years old. She took the bus to kindergarten. She knew how to get home.

Only the road didn't appear where she'd left it. Not even after the fun died and heat settled into their skin, driving the Iowa dirt into her pores, her eyes. “I'm thirsty,” Ashley had complained, and Dannette snapped at her. She felt bad about that now as she held Ashley and listened to the wind howl, felt the cold rain pelt them.

“We'll be okay,” she whispered, but even she could hear the tremor in her own voice.

The growl started across the field, like a freight train, but they didn't have a train near their property. The corn began to bend, to twist as the train came closer. Ashley started to scream. Over and over. And Dannette shook with white-hot fear.

“Please, God.” She looked up in time to see the cornstalks shredding around her. “Get down!” She pulled at Ashley and dived into the furrow, her hands over her head. But Ashley pushed away from Dannette and stood up, screaming.

She was gone.

Ashley? Dannette's breath swiped out of her chest for an eternal second.
Ashley?

And then she screamed.

Dannette wound her fingers into her dog's fur, shaking, tears burning her cheeks, fighting that same scream.
Please, God!

She heard it now, as she had then, the freight train, the rush of wind, the past hurtling toward her. The world spun as her tent writhed. She held Missy, but the dog pushed against her, clawed her way out of Dannette's grip. She felt a toenail slice her chin, but the world had turned orange, her tent cocooning her as it collapsed.

She flailed, fighting it.

Heard her voice screaming.

Felt herself falling, as if the earth had dropped out from beneath her.

Then something hit her, blinding her with a spear of pain. She tasted blood and fell into darkness.

Twenty minutes passed before the rain subsided enough for Will to edge out toward the last known position of his Beretta. No sign of the terrorists who had pinned him down.

Maybe the finger of God's storm had taken out the terrorists as well. Will crept toward his weapon and found it buried under leaves and some heavy branches. His heart still lodged in his chest, disbelief waging war with reality.

The forest looked as if it had been hit by an atomic bomb. Leveled, except for the trees that had been cut off at the top by the first attack. Will was counted among the living because his three-pronged birch grouping had withstood the assault. Still, he had to extricate himself from the labyrinth of debris. Ears perked for gunshots, he climbed over broken, once towering birch trees, contorted pine, and stripped balsam.

What was that—a tornado in the middle of the forested north woods?

More than that, what had happened to the man he'd tackled and his cohort who had fired the shots?

Had they found Dani and Sarah?

“Dani!” Will wrenched himself through the tangle and raced down the cliff line to the shore.

His heart stopped dead in his chest.

Forest debris had pummeled the rocky enclave he'd so carefully chosen for its protection. He climbed over the rocks, adrenaline thundering in his veins. He could make out their tents. One orange, one purple. Both had been pinned by trees, yet the orange one lay scrunched up against the rock wall.

His throat dried and he couldn't make out movement. “Dani?”

As if to mock him, the sun peeked between two clouds.

“Sarah?” He holstered his gun, ran over to the purple tent, relief shaking out his muscles. It wasn't pinned after all—a boulder had protected it from being flattened. Sarah unzipped the flap, stuck her head out. “You okay?” he asked as he helped her out.

She nodded, but her face turned ashen when she saw Dani's tent. “Oh no.”

Will surveyed the scene, trying to keep his thoughts crisp, tight. A tree had landed right above the tent, propped up by the wall of rock. Still the tent looked as if it had been thrown by angry hands. Will rolled the log away and stood for a moment, his hands shaking.

Sarah moved in front of him. “I'm an EMT.” She reached for the zipper, and he swallowed for the first time in minutes. He recognized combat mode in Sarah's movements. Mechanical. Determined. She pulled down the zipper of the one-man tent.

Dani lay huddled inside, sobbing. She had her arms around her dog, her face buried in Missy's fur.

“Dani?” he said and heard how panicked he sounded.

She looked up, pain in those hazel eyes, a trickle of blood down her chin, her lip fattened.

Will felt something inside him rip from its moorings. “You're hurt.”

“I'm fine,” she whispered. Her face crumpled as she fought for words. “It's Missy. I think she's … dead.”

Chapter 11

DANNETTE STOOD OVER Sarah, rubbing her hands on her arms, feeling hollow and weak.

Please, Lord, no
.

Missy lay still as Sarah checked her eyes, felt for her pulse. Will had extricated Dannette from her K-9 and helped her out of the tent before going back for Missy. The fact that he crouched next to Sarah, concern knotting his brow, somehow kept the scream contained deep inside Dannette's chest.

Please, Lord, no
.

Sarah leaned back, her steady, calm eyes on Dannette. “She's not dead. I found a thready pulse. She may have internal bleeding or just be in shock. Whatever the case, we need to get her to help soon.”

Dannette felt her world sway, reached out, and felt strong hands supporting her as she crumbled to the ground. Will had appeared out of nowhere, and suddenly she was in his embrace, tight against his wet sweater.

She gulped a shaky breath, trying to sort through Sarah's words. “We're miles from the nearest vet hospital,” she whispered.

Will nodded. His arms tightened around her, and for the first time since she met him, she felt profoundly grateful for his naver-say-no presence. She closed her eyes, nearly giving in to the temptation to grab onto his sweater and hide in his arms.

He was just a friend. A very nice friend.

“We have a couple of options as I see it,” Sarah said as she knelt before Dannette. Sarah herself looked pale and scared. “We can carry Missy out on a litter.” She glanced at Will. “Or one of us can hike out and send back help.”

“No.” The tone of Will's voice, curt and without room for debate, brought Dannette's head up.

“No,” he repeated, looking into Dannette's eyes. “I'm not leaving you ladies here alone, and I'm not letting you or Sarah hike out by yourself.”

“I'm a big girl,” Sarah said, her eyes darkening. “I don't need your permission or your protection. Besides, what about the girl we're tracking? She's … she might be hurt.”

He gave Sarah a look that he must have learned at boot camp. The guy could be a drill instructor with no practice whatsoever. “No. We can't find her without the dog.”

Dannette glanced at him, then back at Sarah. Sarah was right—what about the girl? Dannette remained on her knees, feeling weak. “We have to keep looking. …”

Will's eyes widened.

“But what if I'm wrong?” Dannette said. “Oh, Sarah, what if you're right? What if … maybe she's not even out there … and now Missy's hurt—”

“Stop.” Will rounded on her, wrapped his hands around her arms. “Stop. You're not to blame for this. Breathe. Slowly. We'll take Missy out. And then I'll come back and keep looking.” His eyes locked on hers, held them.

Breathe. Slowly
. She felt his words more than heard them, saw the compassion, even strength, in his eyes. “Will, she's probably not even out here. I've probably made up the entire thing.”