Page 9

CHAPTER 9

E cho huddled under the shelter Rip, Bandit, and Ace had hurriedly constructed, supposedly for all of them, but she’d been the only one in it since it was finished. Her comm device was silent. No one had spoken a word since they’d returned. The men in the camp were pursuing Deacon and Ranger, and they were trying to lead the people from the camp away from the rendezvous point. She’d heard all that on the comms before Deacon and Ranger went silent. But that was the only thing that was silent. The rain came down harder than any storm she’d ever seen. The shelter was holding, but she had to lift the poncho once every other minute to dump the rain out so it wouldn’t collapse on top of her.

Her little perch and shelter were on top of the same rock Bandit had patched her feet on. The same rock where Deacon had told her she wasn’t going into the camp. She’d been sitting on the same rock the entire time the team was gone. She wasn’t moving now, either. From under her little shelter, she could see maybe five feet in any direction before the water curtain enveloped everything else.

She dumped the water again, worried that Ranger and Deacon had been caught. Glancing at her watch, she finally broke the silence. “Has there been any word? It’s been over four hours.”

“Nothing,” Ace said. “No news is good news.”

“So you say,” Echo grumbled and dumped the water again.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get your machine.”

Ace sounded smug and condescending, and she didn’t like that tone. She snorted. “Excuse me, did I say I was worried about the damn device? No, I don’t think I did. Is it okay that I’m worried about Deacon and Ranger? Or should I just pretend it doesn’t bother me that we haven’t heard squat from them in the last four hours? Well, I can’t do that, so freaking sue me. Don’t be a jerk, Ace.”

Click laughed, the first sound she’d heard from him in a long time.

“Yeah, don’t be a jerk, Ace,” Bandit added, chuckling a bit.

“Can’t help myself.” Ace mused. “I am who I am.”

“Yeah, a jerk,” Rip added.

“I concur with that.” Deacon’s voice over the comms made her jerk and almost slide off her perch.

“Are you okay?”

“We’re good and almost back at the rendezvous point.”

Echo closed her eyes and said a quick prayer of thanks. That horrendous pit in her stomach that ached while he’d been silent closed and filled with warmth just from hearing his voice.

Still, the script in her brain that had been playing for the last four hours continued to fill her mind.

You’re making too much of what happened. He’s a player and probably has a girl at every port.

Yeah, well, then, why did he give you his number?

So you’d be the girl in the States, like Ace has.

He’s not that type of man.

He’s a man .

Oh, shut up.

Great response. Let’s go with that.

No, he’s different. You could tell that the first moment you met him.

Oh, you mean the moment you decided to jump his bones and he let you? Yeah, that helps your argument.

What about the way he treats me? With him, I feel special. He treats his team with respect and dignity even when they’re messing around. He’s different. He cares.

Does he?

Yes. He does.

She didn’t know why, but she could feel it. He did.

Echo sighed, saw the bulge in the poncho, and lifted it again to dump the water out. The internal monologue started at the beginning again until she saw the shadowed forms of Deacon and Ranger come out of the rain. He walked over to her and handed her the device, secure and dry in a plastic bag. He, however, was soaked to the skin, and his face was scratched, bloody, and splattered with mud.

“What happened to you?” she asked as she took the bag.

“The jungle. Get that information to Click. Do you need help?”

She shook her head, lifted the poncho, and dumped the water. Deacon frowned and walked over to a nearby patch of saplings. He took out his knife, cut one, and then returned to where she was. He lodged the sapling between the rock and the poncho, creating a continuously tented roof.

“Thanks.”

“I’m going to speak with the guys. I’ll be right back.”

“Okay. I’m good here. No worries.” She pulled the metal out of the bag and went to work. She pulled a small screwdriver out of her pocket and unfastened the screws that held the casing on. Once she slid that off, what looked like microcircuitry was on three sides. Using her thumb, she moved a silver chip and depressed underneath it, unlatching the side. After carefully sliding the fake board out of the way, she lifted the device to her eye and pushed the red button. A scan of her retina was initiated and then, after a pause, initiated again, validating both eyes, not just one.

The device cleared, and a small screen flickered to life. “Click, you ready?”

“You’re being recorded. Send it as fast as you like,” Click answered.

Echo read the information, carefully enunciating the latitude and longitude numbers and other information stored in each file. A horrendous roar from the direction Deacon had come from startled her. She spoke faster and louder. There were only three more entries.

“Echo …” That was Deacon.

She didn’t stop. She had two more lines.

“Echo, we’ve got to go. Get off the rock! Come this way!” Deacon yelled, and it sounded like he was running.

“One more line.” She started the last line and yelled it to Click to hear herself over the roar.

“Echo!” Deacon shouted from somewhere behind her. She wouldn’t have heard the concern in his voice if not for the comm device in her ear.

Echo’s voice trembled as she recited the last string of numbers, her eyes darting from the device in her hand. The rush of the water around her was deafening, a blast of chaos that made every word less important. The water around the boulder she was on was rising. She glanced up, her breath hitching as a deep rumble reverberated through the clearing.

The wall of water came out of the veil of rain and hit without warning, crashing over the rock she clung to. It slammed into her, wrenching the device from her grasp and spinning it through the air.

“No!” she screamed, but the word was torn from her mouth and swallowed by the roar of the floodwater.

She reached out blindly, her fingers scrabbling against slick stone, but there was nothing to hold onto. The water dragged her under, a violent power that spun her like a doll. Water pummeled her from all sides, savage and merciless.

Her lungs burned as she fought for control, kicking and thrashing in the churning depths. Her foot struck something solid—a jagged rock—and lodged there. For one fleeting moment, it stopped her tumbling plunge. Relief was short-lived. The current roared around her, pressing her deeper, pinning her beneath its relentless flow.

She struggled, twisting and pulling at her trapped foot, but the rock held fast. The water’s grip stole her strength, numbing her limbs as her chest screamed for air. She clawed at the ground. Her nails scraped uselessly against stone and silt—there was no escape.

Panic clawed its way up her throat. Her lungs convulsed, her body demanding oxygen she couldn’t provide. The pressure built, a vise tightening around her rib cage until, finally, it broke. Her instincts overrode her will, and she gasped—water flooding into her mouth and down into her lungs.

The pain was immediate, burning like fire as her chest heaved uncontrollably. Her mind screamed against the suffocating invasion. Her body betrayed her, pulling in more water with every desperate attempt to breathe. She jerked, her movements slowing as her strength ebbed away.

God, is this how I die? The thought came unbidden, cold, and final, cutting through the chaos around her. Echo forced her eyes open, the murky water swirling in shades of green and brown. Her vision blurred as the current whipped her hair around her face like a shroud. She tried to focus, searching for light, for something, anything—but all she saw was darkness closing in.

The tightness in her chest gave way to a numb, eerie calm. Her limbs felt heavy and distant. The world around her dimmed, the water's roar fading into a dull hum. She felt herself slipping, her consciousness leaving.

The pain peaked, sharp and excruciating, and then it was gone.

A strange peace took her, wrapping her in its embrace as the edges of her vision dissolved into blackness. Her final thought lingered like a whisper, soft and bittersweet: I’m not ready.

Deacon watched in horror as the surging wall of water struck the rock Echo had been perched on, sweeping her away as if she weighed nothing. His heart lurched in his chest, and his mind screamed her name. Without hesitation, he launched down the ravine, his boots skidding over loose vegetation and his pulse pounding in his ears. The flash flood had transformed their small clearing into churning chaos, and the roaring of the water drowned out nearly all sound.

For one agonizing moment, she vanished beneath the foaming surface. His breath caught. Then he saw her hand clawing for a hold about fifteen feet ahead.

“Fuck!” The curse erupted from his throat as he pushed himself harder, legs burning with effort.

“Cap! Ten feet farther!” Ace’s voice came through the comms. He’d spotted her from his elevated overwatch position.

Deacon didn’t slow, didn’t even respond. Ranger and Bandit flanked the other side of the raging current. Every step felt like an eternity. He scanned the rushing water, praying for another sign of her. Please. God, please.

An explosion tore through the air, the force reverberating in his chest. “Diverting the water!” Rip’s shout echoed across the comms, followed by the rumble of shifting rock upstream. The flood began to slow, its ferocity easing but not fast enough.

“Anyone see her?” Deacon yelled, his voice hoarse, desperate.

“There!” His eyes locked onto a flash of red—a hair tie, spinning in the current before it floated past him. Past him?

“Shit, Cap! Go back!” Ace’s voice cracked with urgency. “I can see her hair—she’s underwater!”

Deacon pivoted without hesitation, his feet splashing into the water as he surged upstream. His eyes locked on the faint gleam of her hair, barely visible beneath the surface. Without a second thought, he dove in. Ranger hit the water at the same moment from the opposite bank.

The current tugged at him, but he forced his way forward, his arms slicing through the water. Don’t stop. Don’t stop. When he reached her, he froze. Her eyes were open but lifeless, her foot pinned beneath a jagged boulder. No. No, no, no. This isn’t happening.

He surfaced. “Ranger, she’s pinned!” Deacon shouted, his voice raw with panic. Together, they dove, braced against the current, and strained against the rock that trapped her foot. The weight was immense, and the water fought to drag them both down. Deacon’s lungs burned, but he shoved harder, his muscles screaming in protest. Finally, with a sickening scrape, the boulder shifted, freeing her.

Deacon yanked her to the surface, her limp body heavy in his arms. He fought the current, his vision narrowing as he focused on Bandit waiting at the bank. Ranger was at his side, helping steady them as they pushed toward safety. When they reached the edge, Bandit and Ranger helped him to haul her onto the muddy ground, their movements precise and practiced despite the storm raging around them. Dear God, please …

“She’s not breathing!” Bandit’s shout cut through Deacon’s haze. “Clear her airway—now!”

Deacon dropped to his knees beside her, his hands trembling as he tilted her head back. Pinching her nose, he delivered two sharp breaths, his lips barely brushing hers. “Come on, Echo. Come on.”

Bandit’s hands moved to her chest, compressing with ruthless efficiency. “Stay with us, dammit,” he growled, his focus unshakable.

Deacon hovered, his gaze locked on her pale face. The rain pelted down, cold and unrelenting, but he didn’t notice. “Don’t you dare give up,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “Fight, Echo. Fight.”

Her body convulsed suddenly, a wet, gasping cough tearing free as water spewed from her lips. Deacon twisted her head to the side, his heart leaping as she retched and choked. Bandit didn’t pause, moving to stabilize her as her breathing hitched unevenly.

Deacon sat back, his body trembling from exertion and sheer relief. For a moment, the world blurred, his vision clouded by tears he hadn’t felt in years—not since his sister had been found, battered but alive. He swiped at his face, pretending it was the rain. No one was watching him anyway. All eyes were on Echo, her chest rising and falling in shallow, ragged breaths as Bandit continued to work.

Ace and Rip appeared beside them, their faces grim but determined, as Bandit continued working with Echo. Every moment stretched, each shallow rise and fall of her chest an agonizing reminder of how close they’d come to losing her. And then it came—the sound that shattered the tension like a lightning strike.

Echo cried.

The small, broken sound was the most beautiful thing Deacon had ever heard. A strangled sob escaped him as he held her hand. His own hand trembled. He didn’t care if his tears mingled with the rain cascading down his face. “It’s okay, babe. It’s okay,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion.

She reached for him, her fingers clinging weakly to his arm. He bent closer, wrapping himself around her as much as he could while Bandit worked. Her shivering was almost imperceptible but unmistakable against his skin.

“She doesn’t have a distended stomach,” Bandit muttered, his tone shifting into diagnostic mode. His steady professionalism was a lifeline. “Okay, sweetie, what’s your name?”

Echo’s body jerked as another coughing fit wracked her. When it subsided, she managed to rasp, “Echo.” Her voice was raw, barely audible over the rain, but it was there.

Bandit nodded, his expression softening a fraction. “Good. That’s good. Where are you?”

Deacon’s stomach clenched when she responded, barely above a whisper, “I don’t know.”

Bandit’s gaze darted up to meet his. Worry etched in his features. “Cap, we need to get her out of this weather ASAP. She wasn’t without oxygen for long, but she’s at risk for complications—pneumonia and pulmonary issues. She needs chest X-rays and observation.”

“There’s a village not far away. About ten miles east.” Click’s voice cut in through the comms. “I’m already working on an exit strategy. Let her know the information she recovered has been sent out.”

Deacon tightened his hold on Echo, pulling her closer to shield her from the relentless rain. She shivered against him, her frailty a knife to his chest. “Did you hear that?” he murmured, his lips close to her ear. “The information on the device—it’s been delivered. You did it.”

She coughed weakly, her face pressing against his chest. “I’m cold,” she murmured, her words barely audible.

“I know,” he replied, his voice thick. “We’re getting you out of here. Just hang on.”

Ace jumped, his rifle lifting into his shoulder in a fluid motion. The crack of a distant branch snapping echoed through the torrential downpour, lightning illuminating the drenched jungle in brief flashes. Ace’s movement activated the entire team. They moved without thought. Deacon, Ranger, Bandit, and Rip spun in unison, weapons raised to shoulder level, eyes scanning the dense foliage for threats. The rain lashed at them, soaking their gear and making visibility nearly impossible.

“Ace, move forward!” Deacon barked, his voice cutting through the storm like a whip.

Ace advanced, his boots squelching in the mud. “Stop where you are!” Ace yelled, his tone sharp and commanding.

Bandit echoed the command in Laotian, his voice steady despite the chaos. The rain fell in relentless sheets, hammering the leaves and creating streams of water that snaked through the uneven ground. Deacon’s sharp gaze caught movement—a shadow separating itself from the trees.

The figure emerged through the rain. The man was soaked to the bone, his clothes clinging to his wiry frame. Slowly, palms out, he raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. Lightning struck again, briefly illuminating his face. He looked gaunt but determined, his expression unreadable beneath the curtain of water streaming down his face.

“You shouldn’t be down here,” the man called out in English, his words laced with a faint British accent. “You’re going to be swept away. The flood waters are coming fast.”

Deacon hesitated for a fraction of a second, his training warring with the instincts screaming at him to lower his weapon. Finally, he nodded, lowering his rifle slightly, though the others maintained their aim. “Who are you?” he demanded, his voice firm.

The man took another cautious step forward, water splashing around his ankles. “My name is Father Ralph Clarkson. I’ve been in this country for almost twelve years. I’m with a mission group.” He eyed them carefully. “What are you doing here?”

Deacon swiped rain from his face with a gloved hand, the leather slick against his skin. “We’re trying to get out,” he said bluntly. “One of us is injured. Do you know of a safe place for us to stay?”

Ralph pushed his wet hair out of his eyes, his features etched with concern. “We have room, but we need to move—and move now. The water is rising, and it’ll sweep through here like a freight train.”

Deacon turned to Bandit. “Can she move?”

Bandit sighed. “She’ll have to be carried.”

Deacon’s jaw tightened as he turned to Ranger. “Find two poles we can use.”

Ralph pointed to the east, his hand trembling slightly. “There’s a bamboo grove over there.”

Ranger nodded, yanking his machete from his pack in one swift motion. Deacon glanced at Rip, who silently fell into step behind him, their movements taking them out of view in moments. In the chaos of the storm, the team’s coordination was like clockwork, each member instinctively knowing their role.

Bandit crouched beside Echo, who lay still beneath the poncho. He quickly pulled another from his pack, ready to thread it through the bamboo to create a makeshift stretcher. Deacon joined him and rummaged through his pack for his extra poncho, their hands moving quickly yet steadily despite the slippery conditions.

Ralph stepped closer, his expression darkening as he surveyed the scene. “People who don’t understand this country—and its dangers—shouldn’t be here,” he said, his tone accusatory.

Deacon’s laugh was sharp and bitter. “And people who don’t know what they’re talking about shouldn’t make assumptions.” He met Ralph’s gaze, his own cold and unyielding. He didn’t owe this man an explanation.

Ralph crossed his arms, the rain plastering his shirt to his chest. “Are you mercenaries?” Bandit snorted a laugh, but Ralph’s eyes shifted to Echo. His expression softened as he took in her pale face, half-covered by the poncho. “What happened to her?”

Deacon glanced at Bandit, who waited for his approval before answering. “She drowned. We brought her back. There was a flash flood—one of our team diverted the water, and we managed to pull her out.”

Ralph’s brows shot up. “Diverted with an explosion? I thought I heard one. That’s why I came down this far. I was hoping a plane or helicopter hadn’t crashed.”

Deacon gave a curt nod, refocusing on his team as Ranger and Rip returned with two long bamboo poles. The mud clung to their boots with every step, the sound nearly drowned out by the roaring storm. Bandit and Deacon worked swiftly, threading the ponchos through the poles to form a stretcher. Ralph lingered nearby, his concern shifting to frustration. “What guarantee do I have that you won’t harm me or the people I’m with?”

Deacon’s eyes narrowed. “The only thing I can give you is my word. We’re here for a mission. It’s done. We’re waiting for extraction. We won’t bring trouble to your camp.”

Ralph studied him for a long moment, the tension between them palpable. Finally, he nodded. “Follow me.”

The trek through the jungle was brutal. The rain had turned the trail into a muddy mess, each step a battle against the drenched earth. Tree roots jutted from the ground like jagged teeth, threatening to trip them at every turn. Ranger slipped, landing hard on a rock that tore his knee open. He swore under his breath but pushed forward without hesitation. Deacon’s hands burned as blisters formed on his palms; the wet leather did little to stop the friction, yet his grip on the bamboo poles never faltered.

Ace and Rip alternated between point and rear guard, their eyes constantly scanning the dense underbrush for threats. The jungle was deadly. The sound of rain blending with the rustle of leaves and the distant roar of the swollen flood water testified to its brutality.

Echo laid beneath the makeshift tent, her shallow breaths visible only when the poncho fluttered with movement. Deacon glanced down at her, the weight of what could have been hitting him like a punch to the gut. The thought of losing her was a possibility he couldn’t entertain.

As they climbed higher, the jungle opened to reveal a small clearing that had a village of thatched huts standing silhouetted against the stormy sky. People emerged cautiously, their faces wary but not unkind.

One elderly man stepped forward, his frame hunched but his eyes sharp. “We have room. You are welcome,” he said in broken English. “Me know American long time.”

Bandit spoke in Laotian, and the man’s face lit up in recognition. After a brief exchange, Bandit turned to Deacon. “Cap, this hut is for you and Echo. The larger one is for the rest of us. I’ll come by to check her out once you’re settled.”

Deacon nodded, and he and Ranger carried Echo into the smaller hut. The structure was simple but sturdy, made of thatched grasses and leaves. The sound of rain pounding on the roof was a constant reminder of the storm raging outside. But it was dry, which was a Godsend.

As Deacon laid Echo down and adjusted the poncho over her, he allowed himself a moment to breathe. The storm wasn’t over—not by a long shot—but for now, they had shelter.