Ashley
“STAY HERE. I’LL BE back.”
Before I could say a word, the man was off, dashing back towards the forest, but the opposite way we had come. I could see him breaking branches, tearing at leaves, and stomping on the ground before disappearing into the foliage.
What was he doing? Was he going to leave me here? Would he come back?
Crouching behind the rock, I felt tremors working their way up from my core. My mind was incapable of processing all that had happened in the past—how long had it been? It seemed both forever and only a moment all at the same time.
What time had it been when all this had started? I couldn’t even remember that. The sun was sinking closer to the horizon, casting much longer shadows than when I’d looked at it earlier. When had that been? On the beach, taking my samples. It seemed like an entire lifetime ago.
My head was still full of the panic, the fear, the death, the certainty I was going to die. I couldn’t even remember specific moments, just a blur of the explosion, the gunfire, yelling, and running through the forest. I could still feel cuts and bruises from the underbrush and branches, and the soles of my feet were sore from running over the rough, uneven ground.
But more than that, all I could see in front of my eyes was the image of my colleagues, their bodies half-hidden by the brush and leaves smeared with their blood.
I knew those people. I’d known them. I’d spent time with them in remote locations for weeks at a time. We’d had drinks together after work, talked about our projects, and written and published papers together. I’d been at Sophie’s apartment and shared a glass of wine with her while swapping the latest gossip or our latest lousy date, her cat curled up in my lap.
Who was going to take care of her cat now?
Who was going to drive with Dr. Erdogan’s wife and daughter to college next month? The same people whose dinner table I’d sat at, chatting about our research and the state of the world.
The view of the beach before me wavered and shimmered as my eyes filled. I swiped at them with my hand, smudging dirt and blood from a scratch on my wrist from where a branch had whipped back at me in our mad dash.
How was I going to tell anyone what had happened? How would I tell Dr. Erdogan’s wife and daughter he wouldn’t be coming home? That some unknown terrorist had shot him for—for what?
What had happened to them? Had the same people who had come after me found them as they hiked towards the research station? Maybe unlike me, they hadn’t been able to find anyone to take them by boat. But who had come first? My team or the terrorists?
Unwittingly, my mind formed an image of my team the moment it had happened, the terror in their eyes, their screams, the knowledge that they were going to die. Who had the terrorists killed first? Had they died instantly or lived through the terrible moments of their life draining from their bodies?
A sob worked its way into my throat, and I gulped it down, clapping a hand to my mouth, afraid the sound would alert someone following us.
The man suddenly reappeared, but from a different direction this time, his face drawn into a mask of resolve, but his eyes slightly wild. He waved me forward, towards the beach.
“Let’s go.”
“Go where?”
He pointed to a very small fishing trawler bobbing in the water about half a mile out to sea, the one I’d seen earlier.
“Yours?” I asked.
“Yes. Can you swim?”
I nodded.
“That far?” He gestured out at the water and the trawler.
“Yes, of course.” I knew I sounded certain and slightly offended that he wouldn’t believe I could. I was a good swimmer.
“What about further? Are you hurt at all?”
Surveying my body, I realized my head hurt, throbbed. My hand lifted to the trail of blood down my cheek, and I looked at my fingers when they came away sticky—the place where the laptop had smashed into my head. Did I have a concussion? Could I swim safely? Did I have a choice? I felt the moment my expression hardened into determination, and I nodded. “I’m not hurt, and I can swim as far as you need me to.”
“Good. Then let’s go.” Again, the Navy SEAL darted out from the cover of our rock before I could say a word, grabbing a large stick to take with him. I followed, staying right on his heels.
Halfway down the beach, I stopped and turned to find the man had fallen behind. He was still hurrying towards the shore, but backwards while making strange sweeps of the path through the beach sand with his large stick.
“Keep going,” he growled, with enough command in his voice that I listened instantly, turning and sprinting until the waves washed over my feet.