Cooper
Sunlight streaming through the uncovered window wakes me, and I snuggle closer to Sam. I don’t ever want to sleep without him in my arms again. Those three months that he spent in Dayton nearly killed me. Now that he’s back, I won’t ever give him a reason to leave again.
I carefully extricate from the tangle of our arms and legs and head to the john to empty my bladder. I wash up and brush my teeth, then head back into the bedroom to dress quietly.
He looks so damn young when he’s sleeping, it kills me. I’ll never understand what he sees in a grizzled old bear like me. But at least he looks well rested, and I know he’s well fucked. I must be doing something right.
Once I’ve got my socks and boots on, I leave sleeping beauty to his well-deserved rest and head to the kitchen to make coffee. Then I’ll think about fixing us a hearty breakfast to tide us over through the long morning trek ahead.
On today’s agenda is a ten-mile hike through pretty rough terrain. The first couple of miles are easy, but after that, it’s an uphill hike for about eight miles to the ranger station in the adjacent state forest. I’ll pack some sandwiches for lunch, bottles of water, and nuts for some much-needed protein and fat. It’ll do us both good to sweat a little and remember what it’s like to work hard.
I make a quick call to Shane on the sat phone to get an update on Roger Stevens.
“There’s nothing new to report,” he says, sounding less than thrilled.
“Something’s off,” I say. “Stevens isn’t skilled enough to evade both the feds and the local police department for this long. Not if he’s still living rough in the woods outside Sweetwater.”
“Check in with me after your hike. I’ll let you know if I’ve heard anything new.”
“Will do.”
The sausage is done, and I’m frying up some eggs and potatoes when my baby staggers out of the bedroom dressed only in a pair of black boxer briefs, looking like he’s still half-asleep.
“Good morning, sunshine,” I say, reaching for my coffee mug.
He runs his fingers through the long strands of his hair, which came loose in the night, and gazes at me with bleary eyes.
“How many beers did I drink last night?” he says, groaning.
“A few. Sorry. Suck it up, buttercup.”
He laughs. “Hey, that’s my line.”
I nod toward the stool at the breakfast counter. “Have a seat, and I’ll pour you some coffee.”
Sam drinks his first cup of coffee black, while I finish preparing breakfast. Then I fill two plates with food, grab my second cup of coffee for the morning, and join him at the counter. With him sitting there half naked, I have a hard time concentrating on my food.
We both eat our fill, because we know we have a long day ahead of us. Sam nurses his second cup of coffee as I wash the dishes.
“I’ll dry,” he says, indicating the dishes sitting in the dish drainer.
“No, you go get dressed. I’ll finish up here.”
* * *
Twenty minutes later, Sam comes waltzing out of the bedroom, dressed in jeans, his red plaid flannel shirt, and a black leather jacket. His hair is freshly washed and pulled up into a top knot, and he looks raring to go. I’ll carry a pack filled with our food and drink for the day. He’ll carry his gun pack.
“Looks like we’re good to go,” I say. After a quick trip to the bathroom to freshen up, we’re out the door.
It’s still early, not even nine o’clock yet, and we set off with a map, compass, and a GPS device. Besides the handguns, just for precaution, we have our cell phones, even though we probably won’t get a signal in the woods.
We hike the easy first two miles to the falls, which border on the state forest, and stop to admire the view. From there, we pick up the trail that leads into the state forest and hike due west, deeper into the woods.
The weather is perfect for a hike—sunny, but cool enough that we’re not going to burn up the entire day. I take the lead, and Sam follows behind me, both of us happy to stretch our legs and give our muscles a good work-out. The farther west we go, the rougher the terrain becomes, and we face a steady incline in elevation. It should take us about five hours to reach the ranger station and visitor center, which is our destination. Then it’ll be about a four-hour hike back as we’ll be going downhill most of the way back.
While we’re hiking, I mull over the fact that Sam has a birthday coming up. He’ll be twenty-nine in a couple of weeks, and I want to do something special for him. I keep thinking back to when Beth organized a surprise birthday party for Shane at Rowdy’s. Shane was really touched by that, and I think Sam would like it too. And he’d like it even more if I arranged everything myself and surprised him. I’ve never planned a birthday party for anyone before, so I mull over my to-do list in my head. I’ll invite the whole McIntyre family, of course, as well as the McIntyre Security employees based in Chicago. I think that pretty much covers all of Sam’s friends in the Chicago area. I should also invite his mother and sister.
About halfway to the ranger’s station, we stop to drink water and each eat a trail bar for some quick energy. Sam takes off the gun pack and inspects its content.
I take a peek. He brought three Berettas and enough ammo for a small army. “Expecting trouble?” I say, laughing.
He shrugs. “No. But out here, it never hurts to be prepared.”
We are pretty isolated out here. We haven’t seen another soul all day. Lia and Jonah did have some trouble in Harbor Springs last year when they were staying at the cabin, but that was a separate incident. It has nothing to do with us.
Glancing deeper into the dense woods, I feel a frisson of unease crawl up my spine, and I shake it off. “Let’s get going.”
We collect our trash and continue on our hike, more than half-way to our destination. Twice on the trail, we hear rustling out in the deep undergrowth. The second time, we’re rewarded by the sight of a beautiful doe and her two adolescent fawns from the previous season.
We make it to the ranger station, which is currently closed—probably due to budget cuts—and climb to the top of the look-out tower to gaze out over thousands of acres of pristine forest. We eat our sandwiches up there and munch on more dried fruit and nuts.
Sam finishes his food first, and after disposing of the trash, he steps between my legs and puts his hands on my hips. “Have I thanked you for bringing us up here?”
“Yes, you did. Last night. You’re welcome.”
“Remind me to thank you again, tonight, naked in front of a roaring fire.”
I laugh. “That I will be happy to do.”
Having rested and caught our breath, we climb down from the look-out tower and start on our journey back to the cabin. The return trip should be a bit quicker as we’ll be going downhill, letting gravity work in our favor. The afternoon is wearing on and this deep in the woods, it’s already starting to look like dusk.
Sam takes the lead this time, and we’re a little more than halfway back to the cabin when fire tears through my right calf. My leg collapses, and I drop to the ground like a stone, gritting my teeth at what feels like a hot steel blade running through my leg. As I struggle to deal with the burning pain radiating through my leg, I hear the report of gunfire.
“Shooter!” I yell, rather unnecessarily, as I roll to my left side and shake off my backpack.
Sam’s at my side a moment later, grabbing me under my arms and dragging me and my pack deep into the dense underbrush, about a dozen yards from the trail. Dropping down beside me in the waning light, he whips off his pack, opens it and pulls out a first-aid kit. He holds a penlight between his teeth and shines it on my leg as he uses a retractable knife to cut away my jeans so he can inspect the wound.
“Through and through,” he says, sounding almost relieved. But the relief is short-lived when I start to feel blood streaming down my calf. “Shit. He nicked your fibular artery.”
He pulls a roll of gauze dressing out of the first aid kit and wraps it tightly around the source of the fire in my calf. Then he applies a pressure bandage over top, holding the gauze in place. “The bleeding is manageable. This should keep you stabilized until we can get you to the hospital.”
Reaching into his pack, Sam pulls out one of the Berettas, shoves in a magazine, then hands the gun to me, along with a spare magazine. Then he helps himself to the other two guns, loading them both quickly. One of them he tucks into the back of his waistband. The other one he lays at his feet. Then he shoves two spare magazines into his jacket pocket.
“Stay here and stay down,” he says in a clipped, low voice. “If you hear anyone sneaking up on you, shoot to kill. Do you hear me? Do not engage. Do not hesitate. You shoot.” Then he grabs armfuls of leaves and small branches and drags them toward me, using the foliage to cover me, providing camouflage. He reaches down and squeezes my shoulder. “Hang in there, babe,” he says. “I’ll take care of this asshole, and then I’ll get you back to the cabin. Just lie still for now. Try not to move.”
And just like that, he’s gone.
Jesus, Sam.
My heart is in my throat, my pulse pounding. My leg is on fire, and the pain is searing. Shock must be setting in, because I feel cold all over, even as I’m starting to sweat and shake.
Feeling increasingly dizzy, I lay my head back on the ground and stare up at the late-afternoon sky, which is barely visible through the dense branches. It’ll be dark in the woods in another hour, and I have no idea where Sam is, or what he’s facing out there. Was this a hunting accident? Or was it something more nefarious? Sam’s going into this blind, with no idea who’s out there. And I have no way to help him.
My worst fears are realized when I hear the crack of a rifle shot split the air, followed by several pops from a Beretta in rapid succession. This was no accident. Sam’s involved in a live gun fight, and I can’t help him. I’ve never felt so fucking helpless in my life. He’s out there, fighting my fight, risking his life for me.
My vision starts to darken around the edges, and I shake myself mentally, trying to stay conscious. I don’t know how much blood I’ve lost, or how bad the injury is. And it’s going to be dark soon, making it so much more dangerous for Sam to be out there with an active shooter.
As the sun drops, so does the temperature. The ground below me feels cold and damp, and I’m not sure how much of that wetness is my blood. If I bleed out here, I won’t make it back to the cabin. Thank God he didn’t hit my femoral artery, or I’d probably already be dead. At least with the fibular artery, I have a chance. And while I don’t care about myself so much, I can’t bear the thought of what Sam would go through if I bit it out here. I just can’t do that to him.
I hear another crack of the rifle, way off in the distance, followed by the report of the Beretta. It sounds like Sam is running him to ground. “Jesus, baby, be careful.”