Lindsay McKenna - Wolf Haven

Gray leaned against the counter, arms across his chest. Right now Sky appeared vulnerable. He knew the look because he’d seen it in other SEALs and had gone through it himself. It was when a person had chronic sleep deprivation, was stressed to the max and had no downtime to recoup. “Listen,” he said, “your first order of business is to get rested up. That’s number one. We’ll take your days ahead one at a time, Sky. Fair enough?”

“Yes.” She worried her lower lip and started to turn away. Then she halted and forced herself to meet his shadowed gaze. “Gray? I might have nightmares—”

“Don’t worry. I have them, too.”

“I might wake you. I scream...”

He wanted to kill the bastards who had done this to her. Forcing his reaction deep so she couldn’t possibly sense it, he rasped, “I’m here if you need me. Okay? You don’t have to go through this alone anymore, Sky. Got it?”

CHAPTER FIVE

THE NIGHTMARE BEGAN INSIDIOUSLY, like it always did. The blackness surrounded Sky. She felt the icy coldness of the Hindu Kush night as the Taliban dragged her and Dr. Aaron Zimmerman from the crash to a nearby cave. Everything was so dark. Sky was semiconscious, blood running down from beneath the helmet she wore, blinding her left eye. She heard the enemy speaking in Pashto, the words angry and sharp. Felt the men who half dragged her tighten their grip like talons around her upper arms until she cried out in pain.

She was thrown into a cage, barely large enough for a small bathroom. The doctor was dropped beside her. Gasping, pain in her head, unable to see anything, Sky heard the rattle of a chain and then what sounded like a padlock being closed. And then the Taliban’s voices drifted away. Fear rolled through. Her whole body ached from the crash. The Black Hawk had autorotated down a thousand feet, dropping out of the black night. Something happened as the bird hit the earth, suddenly flipping, the screech of metal tearing through the cabin.

Sky was thrown to the ceiling, blacking out for a moment. She vaguely remembered the sounds of shrieking metal being torn around her, a roar entering the cabin. One moment she was in the chopper; the next, she felt herself flying through the air. She’d landed outside it, slammed into the earth, knocked out.

“Aaron!” she rasped, finding his shoulder. God, if only she could see! “Aaron! Answer me! Where are you injured?” She wiped the warm blood away from her left eye, blinking, trying to see, but it was pitch-black. Her heart was pounding, and she was shaking with adrenaline.

Aaron groaned. “M-my leg. Busted...”

“Which one?”

“L-left... Shit...we’re in trouble, Sky....”

Didn’t she know it. “Be still,” she said, her voice shaky as she swiftly ran her hands as if she were reading braille down his body to his left leg. Her heart stopped when her fingers ran into his femur, which was sticking out of his pants. This was bad. Really bad. He had an open fracture, the bone broken and splintered, tearing through thick thigh muscles and breaking out of his skin and the material of his camos. Sky felt the warmth of blood pumping strongly out from beneath her fingertips as she tried to get a mental picture of how bad the injury was. Breathing in gasps, Sky realized Aaron would never survive if she couldn’t get him medical help right away. Without light, she couldn’t find the artery that had been torn and was pouring blood out of his body.

“Hold on,” she whispered. Quickly, she took off her heavy jacket. Sky always kept a small Buck knife in the pocket, just in case. Her fingers were shaking so badly, she could hardly pick up the knife. Finally, she did. Blindly, Sky cut her jacket front open so that she was able to create a canvas strip of cloth three inches wide.

“I’m creating a tourniquet, Aaron. Hold on...” She found his upper thigh, shoving the strip of cloth beneath it.

Aaron groaned.

“I’m sorry,” Sky whispered brokenly. If only she had some morphine to stop his pain, but she had nothing. Their medical bags had been in the helicopter and there was no telling where they were now.

Quickly, Sky pulled the strap of cloth as tight as she could around his thigh. Aaron groaned. But it was weaker-sounding. He was bleeding out. She had to save his life! He would die in less than three minutes if she didn’t get the tourniquet in place. With all her strength Sky pulled the strap hard, knowing it would cause Aaron more pain.

He made no sound.

Her breath hitched. No. Oh, God, no! Tightening the tourniquet even more, trying to stop the flow of blood from his torn artery, Sky fought back a sob. Her hands shook as she held it as tightly as she could. She was gasping so loudly she couldn’t hear anything else. Her heart jumped in her chest. She held the tourniquet tight, praying it would work. The muscles in her arms were shaking now, not used to such brute physical demands on them for so long. If she let the tourniquet go, Aaron would bleed out and die.

Sky blinked. Someone with a small lantern appeared out of the utter darkness. The shadow of the Taliban soldier, his bearded face, the turban he wore and his narrowed eyes upon her, sent a sheet of terror through Sky.

“Help us!” she called, her voice breaking. “He’s bleeding out! I need medical help. Please?” Her shaking voice echoed and reechoed in the cave. She watched as he set the lantern down. Soon two other men joined him. Their deeply shadowed faces were filled with hatred. She felt fear as never before. Hunched over Aaron’s leg, Sky sensed they were both going to die.

The one soldier, the tall, thin one, opened the wooden door. Their prison was makeshift at best, nothing but thin tree saplings bound together with rope every foot or so to create the cage. If she’d realized that, Sky could have thrown herself against the structure and maybe escaped to get help. But it was too late now.

The soldier leaned over her, curving his fingers like a painful claw into the shoulder of her uniform. He snarled something and yanked her upward. Sky was slammed into the rocky wall behind her, breath whooshing out of her. Dazed, she tried to get up as the other two soldiers entered. To her horror, one of them put a gun to Aaron’s head.

The pistol barked.

Sky screamed. She lurched to her feet, attacking the soldier who had murdered Aaron.

In one swift motion, the soldier backhanded her. Sky saw stars behind her closed lids, felt herself flying through the air. And then she lost consciousness.

* * *

IT WAS DARK. Sky whimpered. She was somewhere else, not in the cave. She could feel a mud wall as her fingers moved through the darkness across the rough material. Her body ached. Her head felt as if it would split in two. Where was she? What time was it? And then, remembering Aaron’s murder, she began to cry out softly in grief. Aaron had saved hundreds of men’s lives with his dedication as a surgeon at Bagram. Sky crouched on her knees, her face buried in her hands, sobbing.

Light suddenly flicked on overhead.

Jerking her head up, Sky held up her hand to shade her eyes from the sudden light. It was a lone, naked electric lightbulb hanging far above her. Wildly, she looked around now that she could see her prison. It was a mud room. She saw what looked like a narrow wood table, water buckets nearby, and chains piled at the four corners of the table. There was a heavy wooden door to her left. The only escape. There were no windows. Her mouth was dry. She was so thirsty that she crawled over to the one wooden bucket, quickly sluicing water into her cupped hands, drinking noisily.

The door pushed open.

Sky gasped, crouched over the bucket, her eyes widening as two men entered. These were different men than her original captors. One of them, a short, pudgy man with a well-trimmed black beard, entered first. He wore typical Afghan clothing, a rolled wool cap over his long, matted hair. The second man, taller and with hatred in his eyes, shut the door behind them.