Hung (34 page)

"
I
t looks
like we're on our own," I call down to Jake over the roar of the engine.
For now, anyway.

I
don't know
how to feel about that. I'm only one man – and half crippled at that. Can I really hope to save her? And if I don’t, what does that mean for our child?

I
’d feel
way more comfortable if I could see a rescue party getting ready, but I can't as the base starts to disappear from my view. As I get further away, I spare fewer and fewer glances over my shoulder, more than aware that I need every bit of my concentration available to pilot the bike across the rocky terrain.

I
slow
down to about five miles per hour, a pace that Jake can comfortably keep up with for hour after hour for a while at least, but kick myself for not at least attempting to steal a Humvee on my way out. At this pace, who knows how far ahead of me Katie's kidnapper will end up.

"
J
ake
, you go ahead," I command, trusting my partner's instincts implicitly. He turns to me for a brief half second, ears quizzically perked up, and just as quickly turns back, lowering his snout to the ground. I slow to a halt, waiting as he traverses the ground in a figure eight pattern – just as he was taught at the academy.

"
G
ood boy
," I mutter under my breath, knowing that now's not the time to interrupt him, but desperate to cheer him on nonetheless. He stops, sniffs the ground, circles a spot, and I wait with bated breath –
has he found something?

H
e barks once
, loudly, and raises his head up high – proudly.

"
W
hat’ve you found
, boy?" I call, gently touching the throttle and spurring the bike over towards him. I could have got off and walked, but I know from long experience that sparing every tiny morsel of energy this early in a mission will pay off a hundredfold in a few hours time when I'm dog tired and ready to collapse.

T
he bike jumps over
, covering the few yards between us in a second, and I bring it to an abrupt halt next to him. He looks up at me proudly, tongue hanging out the left-hand side of his mouth. There's a black oil stain on the ground, and I clench my fist in excitement, feeling my heart quicken inside my chest.

"
G
ood boy
," I say, reaching over and scratching him behind the ear. It's fresh, still glistening in the moonlight, and it can only have come from one source – the kidnapper's damaged dirt bike.

"
G
o on
, can you find another?" I implore, and Jake immediately stands up – recognizing my urgency – and bends his snout to the ground, repeating the same figure eight pattern as before. It's not long before he barks again with excitement about twenty yards away from me, and then again ten yards away from that. I fire up the engine, knowing beyond question that he's found the trail. If it keeps going in a straight line, which I suspect it might, then it leads to a dark, imposing mass of undulating hills and valleys far off into the distance – perhaps fifteen or so miles away. I know that that must be the kidnapper's target – it makes sense; you could hide in those hills for months and evade an entire army. It's the obvious choice.

"
W
ell done
, Jake!" I holler into the darkness, unafraid of anyone or anything who might hear me, because this time we're not playing defense.

W
e're coming for you
, Katie.

W
e're on the hunt
.

C
hapter Eighteen - Mike

"
W
hat is it
, boy?" I ask, keeping my voice low, not knowing who might be around the next corner. Jake turns around to look at me happily but dumbly, his tongue lolling out of his mouth like he's just had a dentist's appointment. To anyone else, he'd just look like any old German Shepherd – but I can read every expression on his furry face like a book. And right now he's looking like a flashing neon sign – he's got something.

"
W
e close to something
?" I grunt, trying to take my mind off the pain rampaging its way through my leg. If I'd known I was going to spend my evening chasing after bad guys in the middle of the desert, I'd probably have picked up some painkillers – hell, even a bottle of water would do. In fact, painful as my leg is, water's the thing we're going to need sooner rather than later.

J
ake's ears
are pinned back and narrowed to pinpricks. He's definitely got something. He raises his head to the air, cocking it to one side and taking a gusty sniff. I don't move, allowing the bike's engine to turn over – but no more, not wanting anything to get in my trusty partner's way.

W
hen he acts like this
, we're usually close.

H
e sniffs once
, then twice more, and then turns his head back to me and growls almost imperceptibly, so quietly that I can barely hear the sound over the gentle chugging of the dirt bike's engine. The thought strikes me that if I can barely hear Jake over the sound of the bike, then what else might I be missing? And what if whatever I’m missing is the same thing that might end up killing me? Killing us.

I
look
down at the handlebars, searching for the switch that will kill the engine, and press it without hesitating. I swing my legs over the saddle, hissing in pain as my foot jars against the ground and sends a signal of pain running through my body. I clench my teeth, ignoring it – it doesn't matter, not right now.

I
pat
the rifle slung over my shoulder, running my hand over the battered metal and wood AK-47 and caressing its contours. It might not be the prettiest of weapons, but it's sure as hell reliable – and that's all I care about right now. I swing it around so that the heft is sitting neatly in the crook of my shoulder. I feel more comfortable now that whatever's on the other side of the hillock we're facing, I'll be able to handle it.

I
whistle quietly
, under my breath, and Jake obediently pads over. I reach down and scratch him behind the ears, and he presses his head against my good leg, rubbing against me affectionately. "Ready, boy?" I ask, already knowing the answer. Still, I'm surprised when he growls quietly. Perhaps ‘growls’ isn't the right word – it's more of a purr, feline and comfortable.

I
pat
him jovially on his side. "Well as long as you're happy…"

I
trail just behind Jake
, just like we've practiced a hundred times. His haunches are low to the ground, and in fact, he does look incredibly feline right now – like he's stalking his prey. In a way, I suppose, he is.

W
e creep
over the small hillock in front of us, both well aware that we're about to encounter whatever Jake's smelled – and that it could be an encounter that neither of us will survive. Still, I grit my teeth and march forward, ignoring the tendrils of fear eating away at my courage and recognizing them for what they are – just weakness, and focus on my only goal, the thing that's driving me forward – saving Katie.

I
hunch
over into a crouch as we reach the crest of the small hill amidst the rolling landscape of the valley, making sure that I'm as small as can be, in case I'm about to become a target. Jake does, too, though for him it looks a hell of a lot more elegant, and more natural – after all, there's a whole yoga position named after it: downward facing dog.

H
e races forward
like a greyhound being released from the blocks.

"
W
hat the hell
are you doing, Jake?" I hiss quietly.

F
uck it
, I think to myself – I've followed the little pooch into worse situations before, may as well do it again.
Still, at least back then I didn't have a bullet wound in my leg…

I
head into the distance
, following Jake in a crouching half run, half shuffle, my legs screaming out to me every step of the way, and my brain filling in for those brief moments when my leg hasn't yet hit the ground – telling me to stop, telling me it's too dangerous, telling me to go back.

I
t doesn't
, I notice, have the good grace to
apologize
to me when, slightly unexpectedly, I see Jake standing next to an abandoned dirt bike next to a bubbling stream. All of that stress, all of that turmoil – for nothing. Still, I'll take not getting shot at over the alternative any day of the week.

"
G
ood boy
," I say with a noticeable hint of relief in my voice, "but give me some warning next time, yeah?" He looks at me happily. "Alright, alright – you did a good job. But don't give me a scare like that again, okay?"

I
close
the last few yards separating the bike and me, elated that we've found a trace of Katie, but terrified – because I’m suddenly, uncomfortably aware that now the real chase begins…

C
hapter Nineteen - Katie

R
ipping
the back of my hand open against the sharp, jagged metal of the dirt bike's punctured fuel tank wasn't the hard bit.

N
o
, the hard bit is deliberately scraping the bleeding wound against a rock every twenty minutes to reopen it and keep the blood flowing. And the hard bit is doing it over and over again in the vain hope that Mike's coming for me.

A
fter all
, what if he's not, and all of this is for nothing? What if I'm just making my last moments on this earth more painful and more miserable than they need to be?

I
shake my head
, forcing myself to snap out of that destructive spiral of negative emotion. I can't think like that. If I do, then I may as well fall to my knees and invite my kidnapper to kill me right here. No, I can't give up hope. And truthfully, I don’t believe for one second that a man like Mike wouldn’t come looking for me, not just to save me – but to protect our child.

H
e promised
.

"
F
aster
," he calls maliciously in his heavily accented English over his shoulder. I pick up the pace fractionally, deliberately dragging my feet against the ground to give off the impression that I'm exhausted and that I'm far weaker than I really am. It's believable; after all, we've been walking for two hours through the craggy, upright boulder fields of the Afghan mountains, and he might well think that I'm helpless – a woman brought over to help cook and clean for the male soldiers. That would certainly fit with ISIS's propaganda – the way captured women are sold into sex slavery as though they are somehow property.

T
he thought sickens me
, and I try to put it out of my mind by concentrating on the things that I can control – or if not control, then at least affect. I know that my kidnapper's wrong on at least one front. I might be a woman, but I know how fit I am. My early morning jogging around the base fencing to keep in shape for the endless sprints towards the hospital when my buzzer goes off to indicate another inbound casualty has left me as lean and as fit as I've ever been.

N
ot that he
needs to know.

I
pretend
to trip on something and fall to the ground theatrically, wiping my bleeding hand against a small, oddly horseshoe shaped rock to my left hand side. It's low enough to the ground that Jake will have no problem smelling it.

I
f he's coming
, that is.

I
f not
, then this is all for nothing.

"
G
et up
," I hear him shout from behind me, forcefully grabbing me by the scruff of my neck and pulling me to my feet. I don't min, because I accomplished my goal – there's another smear of blood, another crumb for Jake to follow.

"
K
eep moving
," my kidnapper barks, prodding me painfully in the kidneys. I wince, quickly pull a hand to my back and sigh with pain. It did hurt, but this is all an act – all part of the illusion that's allowing me to move at only half the pace I know we could be. If Mike's going to catch up with me, then he's going to need all the help I can give him.

I
know he's coming
. I don't know how I know, but I do. It's the only thing keeping me going, like a thread of strength running through my mind – not enough for me to hold on to, but enough to guide me and to keep me going.

H
e's going
to save me. I'm going to feel his arms close around me again, I'm going to feel him kiss me again, feel his short stubble graze my skin, raise a child with him, feel…

I
shake my head again
, not allowing myself to drift off into
that
particular fantasy. Not now. There will be plenty of time for that when I'm back to safety.