Chapter 11

chapter

eleven

Sawyer tried for hours to get another response on the radio, pausing only long enough to feed Zelda when she got antsy. Nothing worked. Eventually, his lack of sleep caught up to him. He was getting sloppy, his brain fuzzy. His head ached, and his back protested the long hours he'd spent hunched over the radio. He needed to close his eyes for a few minutes, but the prospect of sleeping now without Lucy here to watch his six felt dangerous.

God, he hoped she was having better luck than him.

Sawyer sat back in his chair, rubbing the bridge of his nose with a weary sigh.

The radio sat silently on the table before him. He had done everything possible to get it working again— everything that his knowledge and instincts told him to do— but it seemed the old machine had given up its last breaths for that one fleeting connection.

Maybe it was enough. Maybe Ash had already mobilized Redwood Coast Rescue, and his team was on its way.

He gave a bitter chuckle, running a hand over the rough stubble on his jaw. Wishful thinking. Too bad that never saved anyone.

Fuck, he really needed to sleep.

He laid his head back against the headrest and let his heavy lids drift shut…

The prick of pain at his neck startled him awake. Adrenaline surged through his veins, blasting away any traces of fatigue.

His hand instinctively shot up to his neck and found the point of a blade digging into the soft flesh over his jugular. His breath hitched in his chest as he processed the situation. Assailant—unknown. Weapon— knife. Objective—unclear. Chances of getting out unscathed? His weary brain couldn't calculate.

A hand snaked out of the dark, clamping down on his arm. Its grip like a vise, cold and impersonal. "Where is Pierce St. James?"

Pierce?

What the hell?

He didn't recognize the harsh whisper and couldn't even tell if it belonged to a male or female. The blade dug deeper, drawing blood. The metallic tang filled his nostrils.

Oh, God.

Zelda!

He still felt her weight on his foot. She hadn't moved.

Why wasn't she reacting?

"I asked you a goddamn question," the voice hissed.

He willed himself to stay calm. "I don't know."

The knife pressed down harder. "Liars bleed, Murphy. Just ask Maya. Now tell me where Pierce is."

What the hell did Maya have to do with Pierce?

"I don't fucking know," he spat out, the pain making it hard to control his breathing. The blade's pressure eased against his skin, and he exhaled in a rush.

"Bullshit," the voice whispered. "You're his best buddy, aren't you?"

"I am," Sawyer replied evenly, the sharp edge of the knife making his words come out more like a huff than actual speech. "But I haven't seen him."

There was a pause, then a soft, barely audible chuckle that made Sawyer's stomach twist. "Funny. You're a funny guy. You haven't seen anyone in years."

The grip on his arm slackened just a fraction. He took the chance, jerking free and lunging for the assailant even as pain ripped through his neck.

Everything was still for a moment, as if time itself was holding its breath. Then, without a word, his attacker withdrew the blade and vanished as abruptly and silently as they had appeared.

Darkness was everything and everywhere as Sawyer grappled with the shadowy figure. His fingers gripped onto a narrow wrist, the pulse beneath his fingertips erratic and thrumming. He was rewarded with a hissed intake of breath, and the figure recoiled, working to regain their balance on the uneven cabin floor.

Sawyer used it to his advantage, shoving hard against them, launching himself towards the table where he knew there were still two cans of bear spray. His hand slapped onto a canister just as a body hit him full force from behind.

The impact sent a jolt of pain through his already battered body, but he held tight to the bear spray. His vision was a useless morass of color and shadow, but his hearing, amplified by adrenaline, could pick up on the ragged breathing of his assailant. He twisted, aiming for where he thought they were, and pressed down hard on the canister's trigger. The spray burst forth in a cloud of pressurized liquid, and Sawyer prayed it hit its mark.

A guttural cry followed by violent coughing confirmed that it had.

"What the hell?" Joel wheezed between coughs. "Why did you spray that shit in here?"

Wait.

Joel?

No. The kid couldn't walk. There was no way he'd be able to attack a full-grown man twice his size.

Sawyer scrambled to his feet, his own eyes burning from the spray. "Did you see anyone just now?"

Joel coughed hard. "What? No! I heard you crashing around and woke up to find you spraying bear repellant like it was air freshener."

"Someone was just in here." He winced as pain radiated through his back. Fuck. He definitely pulled something. He raised a hand to check his neck and could feel the sticky warmth of blood smearing across his fingertips, but the wound didn't seem to be too deep.

Joel let out another violent cough. "Oh my God. Are you sure it wasn't just a bad dream?"

He held up his bloody hand. "When was the last time a dream made you bleed, kid?"

Footsteps pounded outside, and a second later, Chuck burst in. "What the fuck did you do to my boy?"

"I-I'm fine, Dad," Joel managed, still choking on the residual spray. "Sawyer just… he didn't know what he had in his hand. It was an accident."

Sawyer clenched his jaw and pulled off his T-shirt to press it to his bleeding neck. The kid was making him sound crazy. Or, worse, incompetent. Still, he kept his mouth shut. He didn't trust Chuck. Hell, for all he knew, the bastard had been the one to attack him.

Sawyer felt Chuck's glower, and, for a moment, he seemed like he was going to say something, but instead, his footsteps moved around Sawyer and went to Joel.

"Jesus Christ," Chuck muttered. "Your eyes. Let's get you cleaned up."

"I'm fine," Joel repeated, still coughing a little. "I told you it was an accident."

Two more sets of boots pounded up the tower's stairs. "What's going on in here?" Ethan asked from the doorway.

Chuck growled. "Sawyer's a fucking menace, that's what. He sprayed my boy with bear spray."

Guilt stabbed through him. Maybe it had been a nightmare. It had all seemed so real, but the nightmares he'd experienced right after he was blinded had been vividly real, too. For a long time, he hadn't been able to tell the difference between dreams and reality. "Joel, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to?—"

"Just fucking stop," Chuck said. "Stop trying to act like you're normal. You're going to get us all killed."

The words hit like a physical blow.

Sawyer let out a bitter laugh. "Trust me. I know better than anyone that I'm not normal."

"Okay," Grant said, drawing the word out. "Let's all take a breath. Fighting isn't going to help. Let's get Joel outside into the fresh air."

There was movement, Grant and Chuck lifting Joel from his seat. Sawyer watched as their blurry figures limped toward the door, then scrubbed his hands over his face. "Fuck."

"You're bleeding," Ethan pointed out unnecessarily.

He jumped. He'd forgotten the guy was in the room. "Thanks for the newsflash," he said dryly.

"We need to clean that. It could get infected."

"I'll take care of it." He felt his way back toward the desk and crouched, reaching out for Zelda. She still hadn't moved.

What was wrong with her?

When he felt her chest expand, he let out the breath caught in his lungs. At least she was still breathing.

He felt Ethan close in behind him, and dread trickled down his spine. He was pretty sure his attacker had been a man. It could've been Ethan.

"The dog okay?" Ethan asked.

"I don't know." His voice came out strangled, and he cleared his throat. "She won't wake up."

Ethan grunted but said nothing for a handful of beats. "You didn't spray that shit accidentally. I know a good soldier when I see one. Blind or not, you're a good soldier."

"Marine." He stroked his girl's soft fur and silently willed her to be okay.

Ethan made a sound that might have passed for a laugh. "Jarhead. Should've figured."

"You were military?"

"Army Ranger. Long time ago. Another lifetime."

"I have a friend who was a Ranger." He thought of Zak Hendricks and hoped like hell the guy was mobilizing a rescue operation.

If his S.O.S. call got through to Ash.

If there was even a team left to mobilize. What if they were all injured? Or tied up with other rescues?

Too many ifs.

Adrenaline began to ebb, replaced by a dizzying exhaustion that threatened to pull him under. He leaned his back against the desk and dragged his girl onto his lap. He wasn't moving until she woke up.