Brotherhood Protectors: Soldier's Heart Part One (Kindle Worlds Novella) Page 13

  But I’ve never been psychotic. Depressed, yeah. The only reason the VA doc gave him the antipsychotic was for sleep, not because Gabriel’s buddies popped by once in a while. Come to think of it, the guys hadn’t shown up at all since he’d wandered into the Black Wolf—and what was up with that?

  Enough thinking. Try to sleep. Except the cold was really getting to him now. There’s no way I can stay out here. He shivered as a blade of wind cut his cheeks. The snow was picking up, too, not just pecks now but flying into his face like fistfuls of sand. Screw this. Pushing to a sit, he made sure the fire was banked then grabbed up his sleeping bag.

  As he reached for the zipper at the front flap to her tent, though, he hesitated. No way to knock. Should he call her? Probably best. If she was packing any kind of heat, and he wandered in, she might just blow his head off and ask questions later. She didn’t look like the panicky type, but it paid to be careful. On the other hand, if she did pop him, well…sure would solve a lot of problems.

  You are one sick dude. He would never lay that on her.

  “Mac?” He said it softly, the wind shredding the word to ribbons. When she didn’t answer, he tried again, louder. “Hey, Mac? Mac? It’s Gab...”

  “Oh, Jack.” Her voice was clear, unmistakable, and then she moaned. “Oh my God.”

  Oh, fuck me. Backing up fast, he nearly fell on his ass when his boots tangled in his sleeping bag. She was... He squeezed his eyes shut, struggling to banish the image springing into his brain before he could stop it. Mac, naked, back arched and nipples erect, a hand between her legs and...

  You’re pathetic, you know that? He had to get out of here. He couldn’t stay. What was he thinking? A woman like that didn’t need him. She clearly had a guy already. She pitied him, was all, because he was weak, a failure...

  Stopstopstop! Rounding on his heels, he quickly rolled up his sleeping bag then lashed that to his pack. Kneeling, he knotted up his boots then shrugged into his pack. As he ducked his head and a shoulder into his bow’s carry strap and settled his quiver on his back, he swept his gaze around the campsite. Had he left anything? His eyes fell on his bivy and, for a split second, he thought, Leave it. She might need it. But he stripped it down and took that, too. There wasn’t a thing he could give her that a woman like Mac would possibly want.

  And that was it. That was all he had...though his gaze lingered on the headlamp she’d loaned him. He really would need that. He didn’t have that far to travel, but he wanted to be far enough away, and for that, he would need light.

  As he strapped on the headlamp, he thought maybe he should leave a note. What could he say, though? Thanks? I’m sorry? Have a nice life?

  Screw this. Get out. Go now. He turned and left, walking as quickly and quietly as he could. If she was doing what he thought, she probably wouldn’t hear, but no use taking chances, and he needed to lay down distance.

  He walked, climbing steadily for what felt like a long time, though not as quickly as he’d wished. Even with the light, he could see only ten feet in front of him at any given time, the rocks and increasingly stunted trees suddenly jumping out of the darkness and then disappearing again as his light swept past. The snow came harder and thicker and on a slant, slapping against his face and body, spackling his thin parka. As the storm swelled, the snow began to sheet down in an eerie silver rain, and he thought of snow globes, the kind you turned upside down and gave a good shake. Ice built up on his eyelashes, and his nose was running, the snot freezing to the stubble on his upper lip. As the trees dwindled, the way grew more exposed and slicker with snow and even steeper. Soon, he was hauling himself upslope with his hands. Heavier and much wetter than he’d expected this high up, snow splatted against his body with a dull pluhpluhpluh. Blades of cold wind hacked the exposed skin of his face and neck. He was starting to shiver, uncontrollably now, one long continuous shake. That, he knew, meant he was almost at the end of his strength and endurance.

  But not here, not on the trail. He also couldn’t risk simply blundering off into the woods because she would come by, eventually, and her finding him like that...that was more humiliation than he could bear.

  Just a little farther. Come on, come on. With only fingerless gloves for protection—a set of mittens or good Gore-Tex gloves was something else he’d forgotten or just thought, you know, he wouldn’t need for long and so why go to the expense—his hands began to cramp, first burning with cold and then starting to numb. Breath hissing through his teeth, he huddled against the mountainside and blew some feeling back into his fingers. In his headlamp, the tips were oily and dark-maroon with blood.

  Get moving. It can’t be much farther. Swinging his head around, he probed the snow and darkness with his light, angling the beam so it strafed the edges of the trail—and then his heart gave a sudden, convulsive leap.

  There, just beyond a thin clutch of brush, he spotted a tumble of boulders, veiled in snow, spilling across the trail. The remnants of a relatively small slide on Gunny Peak twenty years ago triggered by a slight tremor in Dead Man, which was still a good ten miles away. Like Dead Man, the rock had sheared, taking a quarter of the eastern face and everything in its path with it. The granite boulder field was supposed to be good fun, a chance to clamber and take in the view on a steep slope that, if you weren’t careful, might take you next.

  Made it. Crabbing onto the rocks, he began working his way over to the edge. The way was worse than he’d imagined because the boulders were piled up at weird angles with wide gaps and chasms just begging for an unwary hiker to trap a leg or half his body. That wasn’t the kind of end he had in mind for himself.

  Suddenly, the shaft of his beam tripped over a cliff. Beyond was the snow and nothing else but space and the darkness—and, although he couldn’t see it, the bottom of the mountain, thousands of feet below.

  Scooching carefully, he got his legs over the edge. The angle wasn’t so acute here, and so he wasn’t going to slip off. That was a nightmare he wouldn’t want to live through, that fast but seemingly endless fall until his body broke against rock. That was likely the best he could hope for, too, because it was also possible a tree might snatch him on the way down or spear him straight through. With his luck, he wouldn’t die right away, and then he’d either freeze or bleed to death and then the birds would pick him clean. No way he’d let that happen.

  But he could let this.

  Still moving carefully, mindful of the slipperiness of the rock and the angle, he shrugged out of his pack and bow, his quiver. Setting aside the latter two, he squared his pack on his lap. Warming his stiff fingers with his breath, he labored over the buckles of the front flap. Took him a while. He was cold and still a little weak. Once done, he reached in, pushing past his change of underwear, that spare pair of socks he wouldn’t need—and then his fingers came to hard, cold metal.

  He’d chosen carefully. The revolver was a Smith & Wesson .357 Magnum: stainless steel, stippled black grip. He’d thought of a Glock. He’d used one in Afghanistan, but even good automatics might jam and that, he couldn’t afford because he might change his mind. The beauty of revolvers—they didn’t jam.

  It would have to be through the mouth, though, or under the chin. Even if he tried a temple, he was reasonably certain his body weight would ensure he’d fall over the edge and into the abyss. Shots to the temple were only really good in movies, though. From his MP training, he knew that, too often, people flinched, and then he’d only give himself either a half-assed lobotomy at best or—again, with his luck—simply a flesh wound. Bone was tougher than people thought. He’d likely still fall off the mountain, sure, but he kind of wanted to be dead before he hit, thanks.

  Do it right, and she’ll never know. Anything blown out the back or top of his skull would soon be covered with snow—or maybe lapped up by a wolf that had no business being out in the snow to begin with. His body would fall from the cliff, and he’d be gone. What was left would be bones by spring.

  He snapped off
his headlight. There was nothing more to see, and it wasn’t as if he didn’t know where the gun was. The darkness crashed down in an instant as if a black bell jar had dropped to seal him off—though, not completely, because he could hear the wind and feel the icy rock under his legs and, of course, the snaky hiss of the insistent snow.

  He thumbed off the safety.

  The barrel was cold against his lips, and his nose tingled with the light scent of oil. Steel clicked against his teeth. Closing his mouth around the weapon, he shut his eyes as his tongue found the bore.

  And he thought, The taste of gunmetal is bitter.

  Coming Soon!

  BROTHERHOOD PROTECTORS Amazon Kindle World Series:

  SOLDIER’S HEART: PART TWO (September 7, 2017)

  SOLDIER’S HEART: PART THREE (January 11, 2018)

  SPECIAL FORCES: OPERATION ALPHA Amazon Kindle World Series:

  TBA (November 7, 2017)

  About the Author

  Ilsa J. Bick is a child psychiatrist, as well as a film scholar, surgeon wannabe, former Air Force major—and an award-winning, best-selling author of dozens of short stories and novels. Her work spans established universes such as Star Trek, Battletech, Battlecorps, Mechwarrior Dark Age, and Shadowrun while her original novels include such critically acclaimed and award-winning books as The ASHES Trilogy, Drowning Instinct, The Sin-Eater’s Confession, and Draw the Dark. The first novel in her DARK PASSAGES series, White Space, was long-listed for the Stoker, and the concluding volume of the series, The Dickens Mirror, is now out in paperback.

  Most recently, Ilsa’s proud to be included in the launch of New York Times best-selling author Elle James’s BROTHERHOOD PROTECTORS Amazon Kindle Worlds Series. Ilsa’s book, SOLDIER’S HEART: PART ONE, will be available June 8, 2017 to be followed by Part Two (September 7, 2017) and Part Three (January 11, 2018).

  Ilsa will also be debuting in New York Times best-selling author Susan Stoker’s SPECIAL FORCES: OPERATION ALPHA (November 7, 2017).

  Currently a cheesehead-in-exile, Ilsa lives in Alabama with the husband and several furry creatures. On occasion, she even feeds them.

  Drop by for a visit at www.ilsajbick.com and check out her Friday’s Cocktails and Sunday’s Cakes and other assorted effluvia on Facebook (https://www.facebook.com/ilsa.j.bick and https://www.facebook.com/ilsajbickauthor/ ), Twitter (@ilsajbick), and Instagram (@ilsajbick).

  Other Books by Ilsa J. Bick

  THE ASHES TRILOGY

  ASHES

  SHADOWS

  MONSTERS

  THE DARK PASSAGES SERIES

  WHITE SPACE

  THE DICKENS MIRROR

  THE SIN-EATER’S CONFESSION

  DROWNING INSTINCT

  DRAW THE DARK