Jane Choate - The Littlest Witness

The gunmen trampled through the thickly wooded area, their voices loud in the otherwise still air.

“We ain’t gonna catch them now,” one of them said, disgust ripe in his voice.

“The boss isn’t going to be happy.” The second man swung his arm through the bush, coming within inches of where Shelley lay hidden. He was so close that she could see the brand of sneakers he wore.

“I’d like to see him do any better,” came the heated reply. “Are there snakes in these woods? I can’t stand snakes.”

“Suck it up. The boss wants the kid real bad.”

“Well, he ain’t gonna get him today.”

The two men argued back and forth for another few minutes. They made another halfhearted attempt at beating the bushes but eventually gave up.

Shelley didn’t let out her breath until the men had passed by where she, Caleb and Tommy were hiding.

Caleb motioned to Shelley and Tommy to remain where they were. “I’m going to follow them,” he whispered in her ear. “I wouldn’t put it past them to pretend to leave, then circle back.”

She’d had the same thought, but it was her job to protect Caleb and Tommy. “I’ll do it.” She couldn’t keep the stiffness from her voice.

With his face only inches from her own, Shelley made out the cold composure and resolution in his features, the anticipation of the hunter barely concealed beneath the surface.

“You know E and E?” he asked.

Shelley recognized the shorthand for the evasion and escape part of SERE’s training. Though she hadn’t had the same training in survival/evasion/resistance/escape that Deltas underwent, Jake had taught her enough that she wasn’t a total novice.

Not waiting for her answer, Caleb melted into the deepening shadows of the woods. He moved so quietly that she didn’t hear even the crack of a twig or brush of a branch. He was in warrior mode, she recognized, his instinct to defend, to protect, on full alert.

Alone with Tommy, Shelley took a moment to assess her condition. Her hands and arms were scraped and bloody, but nothing serious. More troubling was her ankle, which was beginning to throb.

Shake it off, she told herself. Except that she couldn’t very well shake off anything when she was supposed to stay as still as possible.

Though it caused her stomach to do a jittery dance, she drew Tommy close. He neither resisted nor welcomed her embrace. It unnerved her that he remained so unresponsive. Anger welled inside her at the men who had traumatized an innocent child to the point that he couldn’t even cry out in fear.

How were they supposed to fight an enemy with seemingly unlimited resources? A foe vicious enough to gun down a father and a mother in front of their son. How could such an enemy be defeated?

Shelley had seen her share of death, had witnessed the violence gang members visited upon each other with careless cruelty, but never had she encountered the scope of organization and communications network these killers possessed.

Every time she, Caleb and Tommy escaped one set of killers, another set popped up. It was time to try a different tack. She had an idea about that, if only they could get out of these woods alive.

All of this went through her mind as she huddled in the brush, praying that their pursuers had given up and that Caleb returned shortly. Much as she hated to admit it, she liked knowing he was close by.

Minutes ticked by.

Caleb returned, as silently as he’d vanished. “All clear.”

Shelley drew a silent breath of relief, not recognizing until that moment how anxious she’d been while waiting for him. That annoyed her more than she wanted to admit. She wasn’t some helpless damsel who needed a man to rescue her.

“It took you long enough.” The snap in her voice annoyed her further.

He slanted a curious glance her way but didn’t respond to her jibe.

“That was close,” she said at last.

“Too close,” he agreed.

His face was a scant inch from hers as he knelt to help Tommy and her from their crouched positions. Time hung for what seemed an eternity as Caleb held her gaze.

A shiver coursed through her.

“The van’s toast, even if we dared return to it,” she croaked, wanting, needing, to break the spell and bring some semblance of order to her scattered thoughts. “Which we don’t.” She squared her shoulders and resolved not to think about her injured ankle. Or the thing, she didn’t know what else to call it, that had just passed between her and Caleb.

She climbed out from the bushes, winced as her ankle gave way. It was most likely twisted, maybe sprained.

Fortunately, Caleb had turned away. The last thing she wanted was for him to know she was injured.

FIVE

If it had been only himself to consider, Caleb would have gone on the offensive, taking on the assailants, but he had Tommy to consider. His nephew had to come first. Evasion was the order of the day.

His mind sifted through details about the men who had run them off the road. They were clearly the second string brought in only because the first had failed to complete the mission. Everything about them, from their heavy aftershave to their constant bickering while searching, marked them as amateurs.

Pros would have left off the aftershave and maintained strict silence while conducting a grid search.

Caleb chafed at the knowledge that he couldn’t take them out, every fiber in him protesting the decision he’d been forced to make. He liked to hunt. He didn’t like to be the one who was hunted.

No Delta did.

He picked his way over fallen trees and vines that snaked over the forest floor, ready to trip the unwary. Out of habit, he walked on the balls of his feet, the spongy ground absorbing any sound. The pungent odor of rotting vegetation was ripe in the air. Birds cawed and chirped, sending out warnings of an intruder’s presence.

The smells and sounds took him back to conducting an op in Central America. Though the terrain was jungle rather than forest, the atmosphere was much the same: thick and damp and dark.

Caleb had worn a Ghillie then, a camouflage suit of burlap and Cordura. Each man in the unit had personalized his Ghillie, covering it with mud, dirt and whatever else he could find to mask not only his appearance but also his scent.

Nothing gave away a man’s presence more than the smell of deodorant or soap or aftershave. Once, Caleb had lain in the midst of a group of guerilla rebels, and not a one of them had seen him until he’d risen from the jungle floor, a green-and-brown figure ordering them to drop their weapons and raise their hands.

Tommy had given out after the first mile, and Caleb was now carrying him. He turned back to where Shelley was trailing farther and farther behind.

He frowned. “You’re limping.” It came out as an accusation. Why hadn’t she said anything?

“Yeah. So what?” With a few more steps, she caught up to him and Tommy and leaned heavily against the trunk of a tree.

He dipped his head toward her foot. “What happened?”

“I twisted my ankle.”

“When I threw you into the woods?” Why hadn’t he realized she’d been hurt?

She took a breath, tiny lines of pain bracketing her mouth. “Maybe.”

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“And accomplish what? We can’t stop. You can’t carry me. So we keep going.” She made a face. “Besides, complaining is for wimps.”

“You’re no wimp.” Why did everything he said sound like an accusation? “You’re going to fall on your face in another minute.”

“Give me some credit, Judd,” she snapped. “I’m not some Southern miss who’s going to swoon in your arms because I have an owie.”

He let out a hiss of exasperation. “I never said you were.”