Page 7

Chief Aiken Oakley

Oakley took ten- and fifteen-minute naps most of the night while Sawyer slept in his arms as if he were in a suite at the Holiday Inn.

Which might have been a good thing because if Sawyer had seen the massive eagle suddenly leap off his branch, dive into another tree, and grab the young sloth in its four-inch talons, he might have shit himself.

The sound of bones crunching and tendons tearing in the pitch dark even made him cringe.

It was probably the morphine because not many people could sleep so soundly with all that natural selection going on around them.

Sunlight began to filter through the canopy of trees and cast a mosaic of golden light on the forest floor.

The hundreds of species of birds sounded as if they had all woken at the same time, singing and chirping in a way that mimicked an unrehearsed choir of sopranos.

The fine mist that covered the ground prevented him from seeing which creatures were scurrying and rattling in the dense bushes.

The air was thick with the scent of rich vegetation, hints of exotic florals, and smoky musk from the man in his arms.

Oakley was able to get a better look at Sawyer’s burns, glad they weren’t as severe as he’d assumed, but his hair and beard were still singed, and clumps of blood matted the back of his head.

The skin beneath his jaw and along his throat was bright red and burned raw.

But somehow, he was still gorgeous.

What the fuck have I done?

He tried not to replay yesterday’s disaster in a constant loop as he’d done last night. He didn’t want to think of his crew, his friends he’d never see or serve with again.

It was pointless to think about it now, and it only proved to torture his conscience.

“Hey,” he whispered against the back of Sawyer’s ear.

Sawyer moaned and shifted against his chest, his right hand inching down the front of his pants.

Oakley chuckled, ignoring how his own cock jerked in reaction.

“I know the woods is kinda our thing, but this isn’t the right time, Chief.”

Sawyer slowly opened his eyes, then touched the side of his charred face, flinching when he brushed a patch of skin that’d blistered overnight.

“I’m sure it feels worse than before… Do you need more pain meds?”

“No. I need a clear mind.” Sawyer’s morning voice was deep, gritty, and tinged with discomfort as he groaned to get in position to climb down the tree.

Oakley wanted to go first just in case Sawyer lost his footing, but he didn’t press it.

Sawyer grunted hard when his boots hit the ground, clutching his right side.

Oakley’s stomach let out a rumble that was hard to ignore. Sawyer glanced back at him, then patted his own stomach as if he understood.

“You wouldn’t happen to have a couple of MREs in one of those pockets, would ya?”

“Afraid not. But I do know a way to feed us. You may not find it appetizing, but it’ll give enough energy for a hump.”

“If that loud-ass monkey from last night is still around here, I’d gnaw on his ass like it’s a turkey leg at Thanksgiving, so don’t worry about that. I’m not picky when it comes to surviving.”

Oakley quirked one side of his mouth. “In an hour or so, remember you said that.”

He let Sawyer have a minute to take in all that was around him.

The Amazon transformed into a different place during the day. Even the temperature was the opposite. The air was thicker, more humid, and the coolness dissipated with each passing minute.

Along with its changes, a host of new species appeared.

Insects of all classes, from butterflies to ants, littered the floor and danced around exotic flowers blooming no matter the season. Long vines hung down like nature’s curtains and would be a nightmare to move through without a twenty-inch blade.

However, when he stood still, it was a breathtaking sight.

The many different orchids and bromeliads could fool an unsuspecting backpacker into thinking this was a garden of serenity and Zen for one to bask carefree in its wonder.

But Oakley knew what it really was.

Death in disguise. One of Earth’s most dangerous environments that could kill a person within six hours. This was no place for sightseeing.

He pulled out his compass and pointed them in the direction opposite the river.

“This way.”

“Hold up, I gotta piss first.”

Sawyer walked a few feet away and undid his pants.

“Hey, don’t leave your junk out too long. There’s tons of micro-shit in the air and on the ground that love to burrow into any orifice.”

“What the fuck?” Sawyer scrambled, yanking his pants up.

Oakley chuckled. He didn’t know if Sawyer had even finished.

“Just a little FYI, Chief. Come on. Let’s hump.”

Oakley removed his tactical blade from within his boot and flipped it open. He’d kill for a machete right now, but something was better than nothing.

Sawyer allowed him to take the lead and followed him closely, this time without having to be told. And when he swatted at wasps and nagging mosquitos, he didn’t holler out or curse.

Good. Oakley hated complainers.

After a couple of hours, Oakley paused when he came across several bushes of Ageratum. He cut a decent-sized palm tree leaf, used some of the thinner strands to wrap chunks of the bright-lavender powder puff flowers around it, and gave it to Sawyer.

“Here, use this to swat away the insects. It’s a natural repellent. It’s not as good as lemongrass or sage…but trust me, it works.

“I do trust you,” he whispered, taking the leaf with appreciation gleaming in his light eyes.

Oakley tried not to get lost in them.

Sawyer was turning out to be the kind of man he not only admired but was very attracted to. His liking for him surpassed the triviality of looks and body type and moved toward personality, strength, and capability.

They walked at a moderate pace—Oakley didn’t want to overwhelm Sawyer, knowing he wouldn’t ask him to slow down—for another half hour before he caught sight of a rainbow boa balanced on the wide root of a walking palm.

He’d been easy to spot with his multicolored scales shimmering like polished emeralds.

And here he thought they would have to eat snails or frog legs for breakfast.

“Chief, look south-southeast.”

Sawyer stopped waving his makeshift flyswatter and whipped around in the other direction.

After scanning the area, he muttered, “What am I looking for?”

“Do you see that colorful snake wrapped around that branch?”

Sawyer jerked backward before he hissed, “No. Where?”

Oakley rolled his eyes.

“Look farther out, ’bout a couple of yards.”

Sawyer’s eyes widened. “Man, that looks cool, but I’m glad it’s over there.”

“What it looks like is chow.”

“Oh. Uh.” Sawyer cringed. “Um.”

“You said you’re not picky. And believe me, it’ll taste better than that monkey you suggested earlier.”

“I’m sure,” he muttered, still appearing mortified.

“Don’t worry…it’ll taste like under-seasoned chicken. Maybe a bit gamey, but not a lot since it’s a young one.”

Oakley began to walk that way until Sawyer grabbed his forearm.

“I know boas aren’t poisonous, but they do bite, right?”

“They’ve got tiny teeth, not fangs. I do have to grab it by the head.” He shrugged. “But if I get bit, I won’t die or lose a digit.”

“Shit. Fuck that.”

“You wanna eat or not?”

Sawyer produced his own knife and snapped the switchblade around his wrist a couple of times until the six-inch blade was out.

“And what do you plan on doing with that thin-ass blade, huh? At least mine will—”

Sawyer narrowed his gaze at the serpent. And in a fluid motion, he raised his hand and threw the knife.

Oakley watched it slice through the air like a silver comet, spinning with purpose and precision. The blade struck and embedded itself with a faint thud into the snake. Not in its body or tail but in the dead center of its head.

For a heartbeat, everything stopped before the snake’s body went limp, slowly uncoiling before it succumbed to gravity, fell, and dangled from the branch like an odd decoration.

“Holy-fucking-shit.”

Sawyer gave him a nonchalant look as if what’d he’d done was as simple as beginners’ target practice.

“Don’t sound so shocked, Chief. We play a lot of darts, that’s all. Sometimes, we’ll see how far back we can go and still make a twenty-five-pointer. I won a thousand-dollar bet a couple of years ago, hitting a bullseye nineteen feet away. None of them thought…”

Oakley realized he was speaking in the present tense.

They didn’t say anything else as they walked toward their first meal in the jungle.

But not the last.