Buried Flames (13 page)

“Yes, it is a lot of blood,” the man concurred with a bit of humor. How was that even possible with that amount of blood loss? “Nothing a few sutures can’t fix though.”

Mason used the stopper on the bottom of the door to keep it open while taking another step inside. Brenna was wondering why he held out an arm to prevent her from entering further when she realized he was surveying the room for any threats. He finally shined the light back into the man’s face, who promptly rested his head back against the wall in exhaustion.

“Just me,” the man said, finally lowering his weapon with a wince. “Name’s Ace Fairfax. You’re military. Active or former?”

“I’d rather discuss why you’re in Special Operations BDUs,” Mason countered before lowering his arm and giving another directive. “Brenna, in my bag is a small trauma kit. Bring that along with any shirt.”

“Would you believe me if I told you that’s classified?”

Brenna quickly turned to gather the items needed, not wanting to miss any of the conversation. Classified? What did that mean? She double checked her surroundings and noted that nothing had changed. Their supplies were right where they’d left them and the horses were quite calm given the circumstances. How had this “Ace” guy been hurt?

“…wanted you dead almost got their wish.”

Brenna hastily crossed the small restroom to where Mason was already lifting up Ace’s undershirt. He’d been shot—through and through. Nausea promptly made her stomach lurch at the gnawed flesh the bullet had left behind. While she regularly treated wounds on her farm animals, she always left the serious injuries to the local veterinarian. Stitching up this wound? She hoped like hell Mason knew what he was doing.

“I’m sure it was just someone who panicked when the ash cloud came over the roadway faster than anyone expected,” Ace managed to get through gritted teeth when Mason prodded the area with his large fingers. Brenna didn’t want to lose what was left in her stomach and was grateful they’d yet to have anything to eat tonight. “Or else I’m sure they would have finished me off if they’d wanted what I carried.”

“Don’t worry,” Mason promised with a menacing half smile that made even Brenna wonder just how dangerous he could be, “I’ll do that job myself if you so much as flinch while I dress this wound. You got that, Spooky?”

M
ason didn’t trust
Ace Fairfax any farther than he could throw him or believe a damned word the man said. All of the Marines of Mason’s team had seen Agency pukes before and this guy sure looked the part. He’d yet to answer why he was wearing BDUs and his story about someone panicking during the chaos was sheer bullshit. It was probably more like someone resisted this douchebag taking something that didn’t belong to him.

The one thing Mason did know was that Fairfax had lost a lot of blood, so he wasn’t much of a danger at the moment to anyone. That could change at the flip of a coin, which is why he nodded to Brenna that she should keep her distance. For once, she did as she was told by keeping Mason between her and Fairfax, but all that meant was that she sensed the same threatening vibe.

“Brenna, have Sam guard the front entrance.”

“You have a third in your group?” Fairfax asked warily, watching Brenna closely as she back up a few steps toward the door.

“What branch are you with?” Mason countered, walking to the sink to soak the shirt Brenna had brought him with some bottled water. He never showed Fairfax his back, not wanting any surprises. He didn’t particularly like the way Fairfax was looking at Brenna either. “Your Sig P229 SAS is telling me a special forces unit or maybe Agency.”

“Classified,” Fairfax said with what was most likely supposed to be a smile, but ended up a grimace. His knuckles turned white when Mason returned to his side and started to clean up the blood around the open wound. “How bad is it out there?”

“About as bad as you can imagine.” Mason concentrated on patching up Fairfax’s side, while monitoring every twitch the man made. The few sutures he would need to close the two wounds wouldn’t be the first ad hoc field surgery this guy had seen. Of that, Mason was certain. “You won’t make it long if you decide to stay here. That vending machine out there will only provide you so much sustenance and the bottled water is all but gone. The soda can keep you alive for a few more days but then you’re done.”

“I don’t plan on staying.”

Mason didn’t bother to ask how Ace thought he would travel and neither did Brenna. She continued to monitor the front entrance from her position at the door while Mason did what was required of him. He held up the curved needle in front of the flashlight and guided the silk thread through the eye with a steady hand. He tore open a disinfectant wipe and rubbed down the needle, the suture, and then the wounds.

“Are you ready?”

Mason tucked his flashlight in between his knees so that the beam was directly on Fairfax’s wounds. It would have been easier had Brenna been able to hold the light, but he didn’t want her near Ace. A quick glance at the man’s face let Mason know he was as ready as he’d ever be.

“Where are you from?”

Fairfax’s question was meant for Brenna, most likely to keep his mind off of the pain to come. Mason took the opportunity to pierce the needle through the edge of his torn flesh.

“Nebraska,” Brenna answered cautiously. Mason could feel the heat of her stare, but he didn’t look away from what he was doing as he punctured the other side of the wound and then brought the edges of the skin together. Mason didn’t like their little conversation, but he also knew they were never going back home. The information she was giving was useless, but it kept Fairfax occupied. He scowled in pain when Mason drew the thread tight and tied a knot. “You?”

“I landed at NAS Glenview a few hours before the eruption.” Fairfax bit down on his gloved hand hard, apparently trying to alleviate the pain in his side. It didn’t seem to work. “Fuck!”

Mason wasn’t fazed by Fairfax’s pain level nor did he stop his steady pace. He’d been in this same situation more than a dozen times, and had even been on the receiving end more than once. He was well aware the pain Fairfax was experiencing…tenfold. He continued to suture the ragged holes.

“Why would you head this way instead of going east?” Brenna asked, most likely trying to draw out some information that would be beneficial. Mason mentally concurred, liking her strategy thus far. Something wasn’t right with Ace Fairfax and Mason didn’t want to deal with the trouble that was likely to follow him. “Didn’t you hear the President’s announcement?”

“I have friends that need my help, so I won’t be going east.”

Mason didn’t like the way that sounded and stopped his ministrations to give Fairfax a small break. The man started to even out his breathing. He was tall with a muscular frame, dark hair that was cut short, and most likely came across as intimidating to most people. Mason had dealt with many men like him and most of them were not good at sharing their toys. Fairfax’s demeanor reminded him of the NSA agents he used to deal with overseas—all bravado with weak moral fiber.

“Unless you have a dust mask and some kind of transportation that can travel through this ash, I’d say you’re pretty much fucked right here,” Mason advised, finally finished sewing up Fairfax’s wounds and making sure the area was wiped down with alcohol to keep the chance of infection low. It wasn’t the best work he’d done and there was sure to be a couple of ragged scars, but it would do considering the situation they were in. He reached into the small container of medical supplies he’d brought with him, pulling out a large square adhesive bandage. He used his teeth to rip open its package. “How far do you have to go?”

“Quite a ways.” Fairfax finally looked down after Mason had applied the protective sterile gauze. He arched his back and pulled down his shirt, which was covered in half-dried blood. He didn’t seem to mind and even managed to bring up his left knee, where he rested his arm. His gun was lying on the tile next to his hand, but he didn’t reach for it or threaten to point it at either of them. Smart, seeing as Mason had the ability to retrieve the weapon before Fairfax could ever have a chance to use it. “I appreciate the help.”

“Here are two pills.” Mason gave Fairfax the two Tramadol painkillers before taking the medical implements over to the sink to rinse them off and rub them down with alcohol. He washed his hands afterward with bottled water and used the paper towel dispenser, ignoring Brenna’s look of displeasure. She apparently thought he should have somehow produced a cup out of nowhere and filled it with their fresh water. Fairfax was more than capable of getting up and using the sink once they left. The water wasn’t contaminated yet, but he would leave the rest of the liter for him. “We’ll stay out of your way.”

Mason packed up the medical supplies, hoping he wouldn’t have to use them again any time soon. It wasn’t until he’d walked to where Brenna was still guarding the entrance that he accepted she’d seen his upper body when she had come to get him in the restroom at the start of this whole mess. He wasn’t ashamed of his scars, but he sure as hell didn’t want her to remember him that way—as some kind of disabled, broken man. There wasn’t a thing he could do about it now, but he wasn’t about to address the questions her blue eyes were throwing his way when he waited for her to move ahead of him out the door.

“Let’s go.” Mason gave the directive and again waited for Brenna to leave the restroom first. He wasn’t about to have Fairfax decide to finally take a potshot at them, only to have her be the one to take the hit. She glanced over at Fairfax and hesitated. “We did our part.”

Brenna pursed her lips, apparently not quite agreeing with Mason’s entire assessment. That was too bad, because they’d already wasted enough time. He’d forego sleeping on this stop and allow her to catch an hour or two of rest. He’d gone longer in worse conditions, but they still had two weeks of travel ahead of them. Squandering time could mean the difference between life and death.

“He’s right, sweetheart,” Fairfax called out, adjusting himself against the wall as he sought for a more comfortable position. “Your friend is only trying to keep you safe. By the way, I didn’t catch your name.”

Mason gritted his teeth with Fairfax’s use of endearment. He didn’t have the right to infer anything when it came to Brenna, but addressing her that way would only raise a red flag about this man who was keeping secrets.

“I didn’t give it,” Mason remarked, ensuring his tone was hard enough to get his point across.

With that, Mason all but moved Brenna back into the large foyer. He slapped his hand against his leg, causing Sam to heed his request and leave his post by the front door. They all three made their way back to their small encampment and Mason stuffed the medical supplies back in his leather satchel tied off to the saddle bags.

“I’m not saying we shouldn’t be cautious,” Brenna said softly as she sat down on her bedroll. She’d holstered her weapon and was now rubbing Sam’s neck. “There’s something not right with his story, but the man is injured. You don’t need to be so cold.”

Mason didn’t even bother to respond to Brenna’s observation. There were multiple reasons he’d acted the way he did and he didn’t need to explain his guarded demeanor. He silently left her with Sam, walking back into the other restroom with his flashlight where his toiletries still remained. He set the cylinder on the countertop so the beam cast the room in a dim golden hue and proceeded to pack up his stuff. They’d wasted enough time with their neighbor.

By the time Mason was back out in the foyer, it was apparent Brenna had checked on the horses. He finally joined her and settled down. He noticed that she’d eaten a protein bar she must have had in her bag. That would do for the time being and he positioned himself up against the wall, calling over Sam who’d gone over to the bucket for a drink. The dog came and settled down exactly where Mason wanted him to—in between he and Brenna.

“Get some sleep.”

Brenna sighed, although Mason couldn’t tell if it was from exhaustion or irritation. She lay back, using her backpack as a pillow and closed her eyes. He maintained a vigilante post, taking in the sights and sounds of their surroundings. Fairfax was keeping to himself and there didn’t appear to be any threats at the current moment.

“What happened to you, Mason?”

The question had been expected and yet it hit Mason like a fucking sledgehammer. A headache was starting to form from the tension in his jaw and her inquiry didn’t help the pain any. He never took his eyes off of the main area, mostly because he didn’t want to see the pity in Brenna’s gaze. Hell, she’d already told him outright she felt sorry for him.

“It’s nothing,” Mason shrugged off, taking an almond from the small bag he’d thrown in his pack for moments like this. He palmed a couple and put one in his mouth, chewing and swallowing before cutting off any more questions. “Happened a long time ago. Ancient history. Get some sleep, Brenna.”

“Is that why you sometimes seem like you’re in pain?”

Mason shook his head at Brenna’s persistence, amending his previous thought that she was just like she was in high school. She was worse now.