By now, she’d memorized what his footsteps sounded like, especially his hurried pace. They’d done so much running together that Sophia had found it helpful to focus on these small details. It was a little way of escaping her reality for a while. It was either that or let her fear overwhelm her. Declan had taught her that trick, to make up simple mind games, and to lose yourself in them while your body did all the stressful work.

She had needed none of these mental games while her body did another kind of work with Declan. Nothing about that was stressful.

But the waiting that came after, being alone again . . . That was an entirely different story. And she had to take it up again while listening to his footsteps, matching them in her head so her heart could settle. And it did settle.

When he came into view, Declan was wearing a backpack, his cargo pant pockets bulging.

“What is it?” She stood from her hiding place, taking a few steps toward him, looking up, and wanting to wrap her arms around the back of his neck. She wasn’t sure how to greet him, but at least with a smile. Her hunter, the provider, coming home with some goods.

Before she could get close enough, he swung around and got the backpack off his shoulders, sliding it in front of him, unzipping it. Three small bottles of water emerged, the water clunking around in the plastic and immediately driving Sophia’s thirst over the edge. She’d been sitting there the whole time, praying with parched lips for any type of moisture. How typical of Declan to answer her prayers.

He uncapped one and handed it to her. She grabbed it, too hard, almost squeezing some of the water out as she moved too hurriedly, too desperately for its contents. She tipped her head back, closed her eyes, and let the water course down. Something instinctual in her brain told her to start chugging as fast as she could, but Declan grabbed her arm.

“Slow down,” he said. “We might have to make it last.”

She reluctantly tipped the bottle away from her mouth. “Alright,” she said, capping the bottle with even more reluctance. Suddenly she found herself breathing heavily.

“I’ve got some more good news,” Declan said, fishing two food rations packs from his pockets. “Ever try these?”

“No,” she said, assuming they tasted horribly, but not even caring. She was about to start eating tiny bits of mud from the cave walls at this point. How bad could centuries-old dehydrated space food taste?

“It says here,” Declan said, inspecting the package carefully, rubbing away some dust and then saying, “Spaghetti and meatballs? And . . .” He checked the other.

Sophia said, “I don’t even care at this point. What else did you get from there?”

“An interesting exchange with Sajad.”

“What?” Her heart leapt into her throat. She stared at him, eyes wide, her mouth open, moving with no sound. Sajad? “What—”

“I still don’t trust him, but so far, it seems he’s trying to help us.” Declan shook his head with a disgusted look on his face. “I don’t know what he’s up to, but so long as he didn’t report me, or kill me, I’ll take what I can get.”

“How do you know he didn’t use you to track back to me?”

“No,” Declan said firmly. “I didn’t get any tails.”

“What? How do you know?”

“I just know. That, and how much I want you to never come back to Afghanistan. With or without me.”

“I won’t,” she said, not even giving it a second thought.

“Definitely not with me,” he said again with a chuckle, “or with me at any war-torn country.”

“How about the US?”

Declan looked at the backpack again, nodding quietly. “How about some place nice and quiet?” he said. “Where no one has to keep getting rescued.”

“I’d like that. Maybe we could just go out for dinner or something.”

“Or stay in,” he said. “Less chance of danger that way.”

“Sounds like more chance of danger to you.” She walked close to him, slinging an arm around his and holding on. “I’ll make you sorry.”

“I should be careful what I’m asking for?” He reached around her. She could feel his hand moving over her ass, giving her a little squeeze before leaving her to check the backpack again.

He was good to her. She needed these brief little moments, and he’d always help her with them, despite the ticking timer in his head and all the strategic necessity of moving on and acting quickly. He would throw all that aside every now and then and give her just a look.

Declan gave her a look of hope now, turning back from the backpack and saying, “It’s a little beat up, but it might still work.”

“Should we make a call to someone?”

“Yes, but not now. I need to get back to it when I have more time, and when I have some kind of a plan. I’d hate to screw something up and announce our position over the airwaves.”

“So, what do you say we do now? Get the hell out of this cave?”

“Exactly,” Declan said. “We’ll have to head back down the slope.”

“Okay,” she said, studying his face. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

“No,” he said, and then laughed. “Come on.”

They made their way out of the cave and into the fresh air. It was much hotter in the sun, which had begun its course to the horizon. In the air and the heat and danger, she remembered how unforgiving Afghanistan was, as was her whole situation. They again headed northwest, away from the mountain, away from their pursuers. It was deserted out here, like it must have been hundreds of years ago, only nomads passing through occasionally. No wonder. No water, no food sources, little shelter. Like usual, Declan had tried to get her to speed up. She picked up the tension in his voice, thinking that he was probably feeling the heat, too.

She felt it ease somewhat after they finally reached some cover near the base of the mountain where it flattened out into an open valley dotted with knee-high shrubs and rocks; some as big as a car, others smaller than a breadbox. Declan pointed the way toward an old, abandoned dump truck, sun-rotted and half buried in the sand. She eyed it dubiously, wondering where it came from and what it was doing way out here in the middle of nowhere. But there wasn’t much time to rest. The sound and then shock wave of an explosion rumbled through Sophia’s body. With a gasp, she fell to her knees, and in her scramble to catch her balance, she twisted her ankle. She cried out in pain as she heard a distinct pop, even over the sound of the muffled explosion behind them, perhaps a couple of miles away, its rumble echoing over the landscape.

Grimacing in pain, she twisted to look behind her, from the direction they came, eyes wide as she watched a huge whitish-gray cloud rise high into the sky. What the hell?

“Declan? What the hell was that?”

His mouth set in a firm line, but he didn’t so much as glance backward. “You okay? We have to make for that next group of hills . . . they’ll be watching—”

“What was it?” she cried, trying to stand, but her ankle wouldn’t take her weight. She sagged to the ground, fighting back tears of frustration. “I can’t . . . my ankle . . .”

Now she clung to the rock, hearing Declan’s footsteps not too far behind. Only it didn’t sound like his steps at all, him running downhill through sand in a frantic hurry to get to her.

Declan said nothing as he slid his hands beneath her and scooped her up, cradling Sophia against his chest as he hurried down the slope toward the abandoned dump truck. He carried her to the shadowed side and lowered her to the hot sand, it oozing through the thin layer of her increasingly shredded pajama bottoms. He didn’t even ask if she was hurt. He must have just assumed.

Then he swore about something instead, picked her up again, and headed for the hills, moving as fast as he could without spilling them both to the ground.

“There’s a ravine over there . . . about a hundred yards away . . . we’ve gotta make it over there, and fast.” He shifted her then, flipped her up and over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. She didn’t even have a chance to gasp as he took off running.

She didn’t have to ask who or what that meant, just feeling his speed pick up, Sophia trying to get her vision to focus on the bobbing horizon to see what it was that made him run so fast. Her head and shoulders dangled, every step forcing the air from her chest. She tried to lift her head, to brace herself against his waist, but realized she was making it harder for him. She forced herself to grow limp. She heard his breath grow heavy, and it worried her. This was the first time—well, second time—that she’d heard him so out of breath. The first time had been for much better reasons.

She looked out again and saw that they had bottomed out on the flat plain and were now entering a dried riverbed of crushed stone, Declan’s feet crunching over top. Then she heard the roar of truck engines, and Declan’s cursing—the latter likely the result of the former.

Sophia lifted her head again, and could see, barely, a line of trucks winding along the base of the hill. Long trails of dust rising into the air.

Declan spoke. “Here,” he said, and stopped, reaching down and placing her in the dirt behind a row of dried-up shrubs at the edge of the riverbed. He took off the backpack, hiding it quickly in the shrubs, and then returned to Sophia, digging with his hands in the sand nearby. She joined him without question, no idea what he was doing, but the speed and ferocity of his digging swept her hands away several times, enough eventually for Sophia to figure out her help wasn’t needed. So what else could she do?

“Lie down and stay still,” Declan said, removing the last handful of sand and dirt from her shallow, impromptu grave. “In here,” he said. “Get in here and lie still, and I’ll cover you.”

She did as he said, rolling into the little hole and pulling the dirt over her legs. He pressed her shoulders down and finished the job until she had a thin blanket of earth over her.

“I mean it this time, Sophia, lie still. Right now.”

“I am.”

“And stay that way,” he said. “Not one single move, no matter what.”

“Okay,” she whispered, her heart pounding against her rib cage. She said it again, “Okay,” and she obeyed.