12. Knives

TWELVE

KNIVES

I've checked and rechecked, but the metal manacles are locked tight and the lock is too small for any makeshift lockpicks to fit in. We either need the key—still on Slim's body, probably—or real tools.

I find more shells for the shotgun and reload it, although everything takes longer since Maddox's arm is in the way.

"If we keep going straight, we have to get out eventually, right?" I ask. "Either we hit land or we hit open water, but anything's got to be better than this."

"I don't think open water is better than this," he says, his voice a little surly. "But sure, fine."

Annoyance wells up inside me, although I know he's in pain from the bullet wound and lashing out because of that.

In pain is better than dead, though.

"You have better ideas?" I snap. "Because we've got one shotgun, no food, one single bottle of water in that mini-cooler, and I don't like our chances of surviving long term out here."

"If I had better ideas, I'd be telling you," he retorts. "So no, I don't." He looks at the dashboard of the boat. "They couldn't have something newer or fancier? No, of course not," he answers himself.

"It's an airboat," I say. "Hell, they probably stole it from somewhere." I grip the handle to direct the boat around a fallen log. It took a while to get used to pulling and pushing the handle to change the boat's direction, and I still don't like my odds of doing it correctly if I need to make a quick turn.

Something moves in the water. I stare at it, unsure if I should mention to Maddox that the possibility of alligators is more than theoretical at this point.

Gators don't usually go for big prey, right?

Yeah, I don't want to bet on that.

"Let me guess," he says, almost deadpan, and I realize he's followed my gaze. "It's an alligator. Or a snake. Or something else that would be equally happy to eat us and kill us." He shifts in the uncomfortable seat and grimaces, settling back down into his previous position. "Fuck, man."

"Snakes don't eat humans," I say. "Not most of them. We're too big for them to swallow."

Maddox makes an disgusted sound. "Doesn't have to eat us, just bite us. They're all venomous down here."

"Don't step on any snakes, then. They won't bother you if you leave them alone." I direct the boat away from the alligators and toward a part of the swamp that looks slightly clearer.

"I'm not planning on—" He grits his teeth. "Jesus, are you this thick all the time? Or is this a recent development?"

Anger flares up inside me. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what it sounds like," he snaps at me. "‘Don't step on any snakes, then,'" he mocks. "Like I'm going to jump out of the boat and find the first snake I can to trample. Like I actually want to fucking die out here!"

"Yeah, keep yelling and attract more attention," I say in a low voice. "It wasn't fucking literal, you idiot. But the way you keep acting, it sure as fuck sounds like you want to die."

"I'm not the idiot here," he says, glaring at me, but he lowers his voice. "Following your lead is how we ended up here to begin with."

"My lead?" I clench my hand on the steering handle. "The only lead! I got us to the weapons. I saved us from getting fucking murdered. If it were up to you, we'd still be twiddling our thumbs in NewVa, or worse, getting fed to gators."

"I fucking found who sold us out! And look what your lead got us!" Maddox looks away from me. "We're going to die of dehydration, or some flesh-eating bacteria will attack my open wound, or the blood can attract the gators and mosquitos and either fucking way, we're dead, only in this version we go out slowly!"

I turn to glare at him. "This way we have a fucking chance. But I guess condemning others is your fucking M.O., isn't it? You'd rather give up than try to salvage anything."

"Shut the fuck up!" Maddox shouts. "I fucking swear, if we weren't attached at the wrist I would fucking push you into the swamp and just be done with all of your bullshit."

The familiar anger fills my belly, and I revel in it. Anger, at least, feels more productive than despair.

"You're so done with my bullshit that you keep coming right back to me. Couldn't stop yourself from?—"

The boat suddenly lurches and stops—but Maddox and I keep going, flung forward into the mudbank that stopped the airboat.

The surprisingly cool mud buffers our impact, but there's no way around the fact that our clothes are now completely and utterly filthy.

I gasp and scramble to get out of the mud. "Fuck. Fuck!"

He slips, dragging me down with him, and he curses under his breath as he brings his hand up to wipe his face. He only ends up dragging more mud across it, and he grimaces as he finally gets up to his feet. Looking down at his shoulder, he grimaces. "Oh, great," he says. "Now I really will get some disease and die. Then you can drag my fucking corpse around with you."

No .

I grab his good arm and wrest him upright. "You are not fucking dying here. I didn't go through all this fucking trouble keeping you alive just to get literally dragged down by you—again."

Maddox lets out a harsh laugh. "Yeah. You just can't resist the urge to make a dig at me even when we're about to die, can you? Fuck you, Nayeem. Just… fuck you." He takes a step forward, his jaw set stubbornly.

I look away and shuffle toward the airboat. "Let's get it unstuck and keep fucking going. The sooner we're out of this swamp, the sooner we can shower." I eye the water and wonder if I could take a quick dip to remove the mud, but I don't know that I want to risk attracting the attention of any deadly creatures.

Maddox doesn't argue—but it doesn't matter, because the boat is on its side, stuck fast in the mud. We try to get it upright again, but we slip on the mud and end up toppling again.

"Like this fucking day couldn't get any worse." I get up, and automatically extend a hand to Maddox.

"It can always get worse," Maddox says with a dark laugh as he accepts my hand. I don't think he'd have taken it if the situation wasn't as dire, but here we are.

I stare at our joined hands. Maddox notices and quickly lets go, although it's not like he can actually move far away from me.

I can't see the shotgun anywhere, and I realize with a sinking feeling that it must be lost underneath the mud somewhere. I do spot the cooler, and I take the single bottle of water from it.

I start walking, only to get jerked back when Maddox tries to go in the opposite direction.

"Where are you going?" I growl.

"I don't know! I wish I could just walk away from you," he says. "But I can't, and that looks like the best direction to go."

Part of me wants to argue, just for the sake of arguing. There's mud all over my beard, my shirt and pants are clinging to me, and I want to be done with this shitshow of a day.

"Fine." I start walking in the direction Maddox had chosen, which looks the same as the other one. It's all green and brown and water.

The only saving grace is that it's shallow enough for us to walk in. I'm not sure if we could swim chained together like this. The shore looks like it's mushy and difficult to traverse, but even that's better than the goddamn water.

We both trudge through it in silence, neither of us in the mood to talk any more now than before.

There's mud in my boots. I can hear them squelching, when the bugs and birds and frogs aren't announcing their presence. The terrain is uneven and slippery, and with the sun getting closer to the horizon, it's harder to see where we're stepping.

Maddox falters a few times, and I slow down. His shoulder is probably killing him, but he isn't complaining.

At least there's that.

"We can't walk forever," he says after what feels like an eternity of walking through the swamp. "What are we going to do when we have to stop for the night?" He swats at a mosquito, but more bugs buzz around us to take its place.

"I don't know. Climb a fucking tree." I look at the nearby trees, and I don't think I'd be able to climb any of them even if I weren't chained to another person.

"Yeah. Because that's going to work real well," Maddox snipes at me.

"I wasn't being serious," I snap back.

"Well, with all the good ideas you've had today, I just wasn't fucking sure," he says.

"Like you're some sort of fountain of good ideas, Mr. I-let-myself-get-tied-up-on-enemy-turf?" I point out with irritation.

Maddox goes still, and we miss a step. I stumble, and he grabs my arm to keep me from falling. "Yeah? What's that supposed to mean? Seeing as how you were more than happy to help with the tying instead of telling me what a bad idea it was."

"I did tell you it was a bad fucking idea," I say. "And I stepped in so that at least it wasn't a total stranger potentially getting you helpless."

Liar.

I couldn't stand the idea of anyone else tying him up. I wanted to see him vulnerable and open to me and…

I don't fucking know why. This is the real Maddox. The one who's petty and stupid and cowardly and doesn't give two shits about me. It's good that I got this reminder.

He snorts in derision. "Yeah, okay. That's what you keep telling yourself. You could've just stood guard, if I was making a stupid decision, instead of getting involved. And you shouldn't have?—"

He cuts himself off, shaking his head.

"Shouldn't have what, Maddox?" I demand. "Shouldn't have fucking what ?"

"You know," he says, but he doesn't sound steady or sure.

It's so fucking hard to breathe, with the humidity and the damp clothes and the anger.

That's what I tell myself, anyway.

We go back to walking in silence, but the tension is as high as ever. I know it's only a matter of time before one of us explodes.

"This is all your fucking fault," he says, suddenly his exasperation as palpable as the humid air. "I was going to attack. You signaled for me to stop and take your fucking lead while you did absolutely fucking nothing."

"Walk me through your version of it then." I step over a log and almost slip on the other side. "The one where you somehow Rambo'd your way through all five of ‘em in an enclosed space and didn't end up with ten bullets in you in the first second."

"You mean as opposed to the bullet I did end up taking?" He shoots a glare at me. "Yeah. I really got out of this unscathed in every scenario."

"Well, fucking sorry I managed to get us out alive!" I raise my hand to show annoyance, only for Maddox's arm to get jerked with me.

" You didn't get us out alive. We both figured into that, thank you very fucking much," he says. "And watch all your fucking gesturing before you yank my other arm out of its socket. Which would be exactly what we need right the fuck now, don't you think?"

We're going around in circles. In the swamp, probably, but also with these arguments. I should be the bigger man, but the resentment festers inside me, and I refuse to be blamed for doing my fucking job and protecting him.

"Don't worry," I growl. "Once we're home, I'll tell Silvano I'll fucking quit rather than keep working with you. I'd be comfortable at home right now if it weren't for you."

"I wish you were," he retorts. "We'd have already been done if it was anyone else. But no. You had to make this difficult. You had to be so fucking secretive about everything because you don't trust me over something that happened when we were kids . Do you understand how fucking immature you have to be to still be holding that against me?"

And here we are again, back to what it always comes down to.

"Yeah, it's so easy to get over it when you got out unscathed!" I sneer at him. "I sat in jail for nearly eight fucking years, and I was a ‘kid' too! You think any of the guards cared? You think the other inmates cared?" I jab him in the chest. "So yeah, I'm not over it, because you fucking ruined my life."

"Because I was a stupid kid!" he yells, losing control of his emotions. "I was scared, and I panicked, and then the longer I went without visiting you because I was so afraid of what you thought of me, the harder it got to go, until you were out and you hated me and fuck, I don't think you hate me half as much as I hate myself for not being there with you!"

The confession—and the pain in Maddox's eyes—makes my chest tighten uncomfortably. I feel my resolve crumble, but I don't want to give in just because he's pretending to care.

"No fucking wonder you were ready to go out in a blaze of bullets," I snap. "Glad I didn't let you drag me down with you."

Maddox's expression morphs into a glare, but he shakes his head. "Fine. Think what you want." He glances at the sky. "We've got a few minutes of daylight left. Let's just find some fucking place to hunker down where we won't get killed by gators."

We're probably more likely to get devoured by mosquitos, but I don't argue. At least the mud on our skin provides a layer of protection against the bugs.

Now if only I could get something protecting my heart, too.