“How you doing up there?” Declan asked over his shoulder. He’d been carrying Sophia for the last few miles piggyback and needed to rest, but he didn’t dare stop. Stopping just made it harder to keep going. His back burned with fatigue. His leg muscles trembled with every step he took. But he couldn’t stop. They needed to keep moving. They couldn’t expect the team up ahead to wait on them forever.

“Falling asleep,” she mumbled. Declan could feel her voice through his body, vibrating down past his shoulders. “Wake me up when we get there.”

“Better me than someone else waking you,” he said, fighting to keep the strain out of his voice. His legs had been burning for the last hour. Arms and shoulders sore. She was light enough, but after a while, the weight had begun to gnaw at him.

He so badly wanted to slide her off his shoulders for a minute, lean over, and kiss her face. Or drop her to the sand to finally ease his back. He was almost that desperate. Desperate for a break, too. But there was no time. A break would be suicide. They’d likely not reach their rendezvous point. Or worse, the troops from the mine would reach their target. Then her weight would be gone. Everything would be gone.

“Declan . . .” Her voice had broken through his meditation. It was a firm voice. “I got this. You can put me down.”

It was like she’d just read his mind. But the truth of it was that he didn’t want to let her down.

“We’re back on even ground, off the hill. I can do even ground.”

He slowed to a stop. Yes, she could do even ground.

Sophia seemed almost relieved to have her feet back in the sand, even with the bad ankle. Declan gave her a pat on the ass and on they went into the night toward freedom. She limped, but she put one foot in front of the other and kept on going.

Aided by the rest, she seemed now to be going faster than he was, pushing the pace with her crutch. Declan sped up when he saw faint lights in the distance.

“What’s that?” she said.

He’d already registered them as headlights. “Get down,” he said.

They hunkered low, as if cresting the top of a ridge. Only now they were on flat land, no man’s land with nowhere to hide. Sophia tried to move like that, hunched down. But Declan just said, “Hold it. Let’s just let him pass, and we’ll continue on.”

Finally, he could get his break.

When their breathing died down, Declan heard a quiet, faraway rattling sound. Low and ominous, carrying in the breeze and off the rocky slopes, the sound of distant gunfire echoing through the valley.

“Shit,” was all he could say while his brain worked to figure it out.

“Think those are our guys?” Sophia said. “The good guys?”

“I don’t know, but it’s one or the other. Good guys or bad guys, and all I have is a friggin’ old rusty knife.”

“And I’ve got a crutch,” she said.

Declan walked behind her and helped slide the backpack down off her arms. He plopped it on the ground and knelt next to it.

Sophia said, “I guess now’s as good a time as any.”

He started playing with the dials. “I’m trying to call a special ops unit, or a FOB patrol, or a pizza place that delivers.”

“Let me know how it goes,” Sophia said, sounding mildly interested. Declan could hear her stretching out on the desert floor. A big long sigh came as she lay splayed next to him and his radio.

He was glad she wasn’t watching. His progress with the radio was going maddeningly slow. For some reason, that good connection he found earlier had drifted off somewhere. Maybe to another valley. It had been a constant fear in the back of his mind that some of the hills and ridges they’d been crossing would eventually cause a little trouble with the radio. Also, it was quite possible the thing just finally crapped out.

She wasn’t watching him, nor saying anything . . .

Thank God.

Armed with his trusty rusty knife, Declan tried unscrewing and retightening the plate in the back, trying to get a better connection for the wire. When he tried the second time, and tried to fire up the radio, all he got was desert silence. Not even static. Not even gunshots. Just wind.

With a “Fuck it,” Declan began digging another hole. This one not for either of them, but for the final resting place of the radio. It was more of a liability now than anything else. It would send a clearer message broken if the wrong guys stumbled across it.

Declan stomped the backpack into its hole, patted the top with fresh cover, and then threw another few handfuls of sand across it for good measure. Then he looked at Sophia. She hadn’t said a word the whole time. She hadn’t even moved from her spot, lying splayed out on her back, looking up into the brilliant stars of the desert night. Declan was desperate for something to say that wasn’t tragic. He kept looking up at the stars with her. They were indeed beautiful. He took a deep breath and tried, “They’re pretty out here, huh?”

“How fucked are we?”

“We’re not fucked,” Declan said.

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not; it’s a sincere observation.” He was still looking up. He just had to keep her gaze up. Keep her head up. Those damn stars were all they had right now.

“I can think of another sincere observation,” Sophia said.

God, just the thought made his blood surge. But as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t risk it. Couldn’t risk her. “We better get a move on.” He stretched out his shoulders, his back, rotating his torso, then slapping his thighs. He could already feel the urge to move and move damn quick, radio tragedy or not. Twisted ankle or not. Whether or not they’d survive the night remained to be seen, but they had to move. He walked over to Sophia, still lying on her back, and reached down his hand. He didn’t want to say anything more. He also didn’t want to grab her and force her up off the ground on her bad ankle. He wanted to believe in that fighting spirit he’d seen so many glimpses of.

She reached up and grabbed his hand, her grasp firmer than he’d anticipated. And he loved it. “Okay,” Declan said, “you got your rest.”

“No,” she said, “you got yours.”

He smiled and tugged her up to her feet. And they continued.