Then the man was beside me, stick gone, stripping off his gear and clothing, though I didn’t understand why.
“Who are you?” I heard the question come from my mouth before I could stop it. The man stopped to look at me. He seemed to consider me for a moment, thoughts moving behind his eyes before he answered. “I’m a ghost. And I will keep you safe if you do what I say.”
I didn’t respond right away, surprised by his words.
“Will you?”
After another moment’s hesitation, I finally nodded.
“Good. Now take off your clothes.”
I knew I must still be somewhat in shock with a possible concussion, but I didn’t think my hearing was spotty. And yet, I couldn’t have heard the soldier correctly.
Had he really just told me to take off my clothes? Not told—ordered. I might not have been in the military, but I knew an order when I heard one.
“Excuse me?” I stumbled, taking a step away from him.
“Take off your clothes. Now.”
What in the world was he after? We’d just been through hell and back, and I was pretty sure our ordeal wasn’t over yet. But before I could protest, he yanked me toward him, and I felt his fingers curl around the bottom of my shirt. I started to struggle as he yanked it up, panic washing through me, fighting to push it back down, but he was stronger than I was.
I’d thought he would save me, but I’d been wrong.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he snapped, his tone as rough as a slap, and I stopped struggling. I looked up to find his mouth twisted into an angry frown, his eyes narrowed and flashing. “We have to swim to the boat. Swim a lot, underwater. We can’t have anything weighing us down.”
I blinked, his words taking a moment to sink through the haze of my thoughts and the panic still sending adrenaline coursing through my veins.
“Oh.” The words sounded inane to my ears, but I took a step back and nodded, then felt an odd stick of annoyance. “Why didn’t you just say so?”
Something tickled my forehead, and I reached up to brush it away. When I looked, the tips of my fingers were red—I was still bleeding, blood dripping from the wound on my forehead.
I took a breath to say something about it when I raised my eyes from my hand to see the soldier had taken off his tactical vest and shirt, and I forgot entirely that I was going to speak.
The sun's angle threw his chiseled body into stark relief, muscles becoming rippling light and shadow. Silver lines marred the smooth surface of his skin, some so worn they were barely visible, others rough and knotty—scars.
But he also had a new injury on his side, the blood oozing out and spilling down his side. His vest, shirt, and movement had smeared red across his skin.
With a start, I realized he’d been shot. Or at least grazed. I couldn’t tell the difference.
The soldier seemed to notice the wound at the same time I did, surprise flickering across his face for a moment before he schooled his expression. It was one thing to miss a cut to the head that probably wasn’t serious, but how did you miss that kind of pain?
He grimaced ever so slightly and then turned to a pack sitting on the beach I hadn’t noticed, his movements stiff and careful as he knelt. He pulled out what looked like a lunch pail and yanked it open—inside was a collection of things that I realized was a first aid kit.
As the soldier pulled out various pieces, it occurred to me I should offer to help, but nothing would come out of my mouth. He finally produced a roll of tape, and it made a rough sound as he pulled one end to unravel it. He wound it around his stomach and side several times until he seemed to deem it tight enough and ripped it from the rest of the roll.
Discarding the tape, he started to unbuckle his pants, and all I could do was stare. He seemed to notice my unblinking regard because his head jerked up, and his eyes flashing to mine, anger in their blue depths.
“Take your pants off!”
The words, sharp and irritated, acted like a cattle prod, and I was undressing almost before I was aware of it.
Was he a drill sergeant when he wasn’t gallivanting around contested islands?
I kicked my pants away just as he yanked his off, tossing our clothes into the bag along with several heavy rocks, then zipped it up. The knowledge of what he was about to do reached my brain at the same time he heaved it up and out. It sailed several yards, then fell into the water with a loud splash. I watched it sink away with a similar sinking feeling in my stomach—my phone had been in the back pocket of my pants.
Before I could say anything, he was running down the beach, and I followed, suddenly afraid to be too far away. He dove in, and I dove in after him, the chilled water closing in around me, instantly cooling my sun- and adrenaline-warmed body as I followed him.