Page 32 of The Secrets We Left Behind
“Jack,” she said, giving him a gentle shake. “Jack, wake up.”
He grunted, but didn’t open his eyes. She pushed his shoulder more forcibly this time.
“Jack! Come on, wake up.”
His eyes opened a slither then, and she breathed a sigh of relief.
“I’m so tired.”
“I know.” She crouched down low, cringing at the mud squelching around her ankles. “It’s getting dark again, we’ve been here all day.”
They’d both managed to fall asleep after their pretend feast, her far more fitfully than Jack, who’d as good as been knocked out cold the past few hours—she’d checked him every time she’d stirred. The ground rumbling at times had woken her, as had yells and almost constant gunfire that came and went with varying intensity, but she’d still managed to rest. It was a miracle they’d survived so long, and she was determined to keep things that way.
“You look,” he said, grunting as he tried to move, “pretty.”
“Pretty?” She shook her head. “Trust you to say something nice even when you’re at death’s door.” But she shyly pushed her damp hair from her face anyway, blushing at the unexpected compliment.
“Death’s door?” He chuckled then coughed, shaking his head when she reached for him. “I’m alive and kicking, Cate. I’ll be just fine.”
She seriously doubted it, but she wasn’t about to say that. Instead she wrapped the blanket around him, tucking him in tight and hoping she was doing the right thing in leaving him. He was alive, and that was all that mattered to her.
“Should you come with me?” she asked.
“No.” His breathing was raspy now, wheezing in and out, all pretenses gone. “Patrols could be anywhere.”
“I’ll come back for you, Jack. I didn’t leave you back at the hospital, and I’m not about to leave you now.”
She went to stand then, but Jack caught her hand, stopping her. He pressed the warmest kiss to the inside of her wrist, and she shut her eyes, basking in their brief connection. She would have curled up to him and left the world behind if she could.
“Take the blanket,” he said.
“The blanket? No, I can’t leave you here with nothing! You don’t even have a shirt on!” She sighed.
“And you,” he murmured, coughing again, “are wearing a British nursing uniform. You need to wrap yourself in this blanket so no one recognizes you for who you are.”
Cate stared down at her clothes, then at him, knowing he was right. She reluctantly took it from him, hating that he was forced to wrap his arms around himself, his shoulders bare and exposed. Part of her thought he’d be dead by the time she returned, which made her think she’d rather give up than be alone in the midst of enemy territory. But she owed it to him, and to herself, to at least try to find help.
“I’ll see you soon,” she said, gritting her teeth to stop herself crying.
She turned away from him, unable to bear another glimpse of his pained face or shivering, half-naked body. Cate clambered out of the ditch, nails digging into the dirt as she dragged herself up and back into the field. It wouldn’t be completely dark for a while longer, but dusk had fallen and it seemed deceptively safer.
Cate focused on putting one foot in front of another, her ears pricked, jumping at every sound, eyes darting back and forth, certain she was about to walk into some sort of ambush or straight-out warfare.
Home,she told herself.Think of home. And she did. With every tentative step, she imagined her mother’s arms around her, imagined her eldest brother sitting in the coveted chair closest to the fire, smoking his pipe. She remembered hot cups of tea and laughing as she did the washing, chasing her brothers, them shooing her away when she tried to climb trees after them and keep up with their friends as they adventured around the neighborhood as kids. All of it, from childhood to becoming a young woman ready to leave home, came crashing back to her, wave after wave, and thememories settled around her like a warm embrace. And as the long minutes passed, so did the worst of her fears, and she started to relax just a little.
The only thing she still hadn’t figured out was what she was going to say if she was stopped. Why would a woman be out on a wet evening on her own, with only a blanket for protection? What reason would she give for being in the countryside as a war raged on nearby?
She was mulling her options over when something rustled. Cate started to walk faster, hoping to leave the noise behind. It could easily be an animal, she reasoned, ears straining now for any noise at all.
The rustle was louder this time, and she wished the moon would rise bright in the sky to illuminate the path ahead better. And then she heard the fall of boots, heavy footfalls, and as she spun to see which way she could run, she froze.
“Halt!”
Cate’s heart thudded all the way down to her toes. The thickly accented word rooted her to the spot. This was it. This was her last breath, her last moment, her last chance to do the right thing.
Run. The word was like a bullet being shot through her mind.Run.
No. If I run, they’ll shoot me.
