Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

Hunching his shoulders up to his ears, he flicked on his flashlight and crunched around to the back of the cargo container. Bypassing an ice-encrusted set of wooden stairs—a death trap waiting to happen—he started down the path he’d taken before, picking his way with care and using the guide rope to slow his descent.

If he were honest with himself, he’d known Davila was done back on the mountain, with Parviz’s body still warm, the big guy down, and the young guy with the bashed-in nose bubbling his last. Davila’s concussion and scalp wound wouldn’t necessarily have been the game-changers. He’d heard Vietnam stories from Dare of men who kept on after getting fragged or wounded. Arnold Schwarzenegger wasn’t the only guy who could handle a long weapon one-handed.

So, Davila might manage that. Except that cough really bothered John. So did the way Davila was splinting that left side. People tended to hold themselves gingerly after an injury like that for the simple reason that a cracked rib hurts like hell. Plus, the surest way to turn a cracked rib into a rib fracture is to go traipsing up and down mountains. While lying on his back all day was also a bad idea, Davila going on a forced march through rough terrain wasn’t exactly what the doctor ordered. That cot probably wasn’t doing the man any favors either; even John might be pretty stiff after lying on rickety springs with only a mat and sleeping bag for cushioning.

So, the only question now was, like that old movie, very simple: either-or.

Either he went on, with Davila or without him.

Or he packed it in and got them both the hell out of here.

Although there was also Matvey, the wild card, a random element but one that felt, a bit, as if he’d come full circle because the question now was as it had been then , during the evacuation.

What to do about a boy like Matvey?