Page 70 of Constantly Cotton
“Where are you going?” Trina asked as he turned away.
“If we’re dodging out the back window and running through the woods, I’m going to want my cargo shorts and my wallet,” Cotton told her. “And maybe a hoodie.”
“Good thinking,” she said, and her face was soft. “Get what you need, kid. I have the feeling we’re hitting the ground in five.”
COTTON CHANGEDfrom his board shorts—which he wore in his loops around the lake in the morning so he could run and then swim—into dry clothes while Jason slid into jeans, his boots, and then his holster. He put it on over a camo T-shirt. Randy had bought it, thinking for some reason it was the only color Jason could wear. Cotton had no idea why, but suddenly, Jason looked very dangerous.
“You okay?” Jason asked as Cotton snagged his hoodie and got situated.
“Yeah, sure,” Cotton told him, and he couldn’t have stopped the betraying shift of his feet if he’d had a giant there to hold him in place.
“Aw, baby,” Jason said with a sigh, coming close to pull Cotton into his chest. “You don’t need to lie to me.”
Cotton laughed slightly. “Understood,” he said. “I’m scared. And I’m worried for you. And I don’t want it to end like this.”
Jason nodded and kissed his forehead. “Look,” he said softly. “I can’t tell you how I’ll do it, but… but if we get separated, my first priority is going to be to get you back to your real life. And after that… just look for signs, okay? Like secret-agent stuff. I’ll try to let you know I’m okay.”
A coldness that Cotton hadn’t wanted to acknowledge had been seeping into his chest eased up, warmed. “I’ll watch for it,” he said, smiling a little, “and hope.”
“Colonel,” Trina called from the guest room, which held their escape window. “We’re running out of time.”
“C’mon,” Jason said, grabbing his hand. “We’ve got to exfil, and we’ve got to do it now.”
Cotton had noted before that the smaller guest room had a decent-sized window, although it didn’t have the nice attached bathroom that made up the master suite. Trina was looking at the monitor, making sure their way ahead was clear, and talking on the phone with Jackson as Jason lifted the sash and scrambled out over the ledge, dropping heavily into the loam close to the house. As Cotton did the same, he saw that Jason had drawn his gun and was holding it facing the ground, eyes shifting left to right, sweeping the ground for enemies.
The road to the cabin angled down into the lake’s valley, and Cotton realized for the first time how steep the hillside was behind them. They were going to have to run overland without a trail, but more than that, they wouldn’t be running a level loop. They would be runningup,and Cotton wanted to beg Jason not to do this. It was too hard, too hard and too far, and Jason was barely recovered.
But they had no choice. Even Cotton knew that.
In another moment, Trina had discarded the monitor and hopped out the window as well, her weapon drawn, ready to bolt. She grunted quietly, then pointed to herself, pointed forward, and moved into the point position while Jason trailed up behind.
“We’re heading for Jackson’s car up on the road about a mile and a half,” she whispered, and Cotton and Jason both nodded. Then they heard a twig snap in the direction of the cabin itself.
“Run.”
Cotton was pretty sure that years later he’d wake up drenched in sweat, dreaming of running uphill through rough forest terrain, catching his toes on old roots, fallen limbs, and rocks, trying to keep his feet.
After the first couple of missteps, he locked his eyes on Trina, watching where she placed her feet, and for a few breathless moments, his life became following her, step for step, as fast and as hard as she was running, staying ten steps behind her, letting her sure footing and training lead them to safety.
And then a soft gasp far behind them caught his attention, and he turned his head for a moment.
“Jason!” he panted.
Jason was still running determinedly, but he was lagging far behind Cotton and Trina. “Keep going,” he breathed, waving his hand, and Cotton turned uncertainly, trying to trace Trina’s sure steps through the mountain. In the few heartbeats it had taken for Cotton to check on Jason, she’d gotten a good fifty feet ahead, and he gritted his teeth and took a few strides in her direction before he saw her stumble and fall.
He was racing to help her when the small pop of a handgun hit his ears, and he realized a giant red bloom was flowing across her back as she fell face first into the dirt and leaves of the forest floor.
“I’d advise both of you to stop moving,” came a precise female voice, “or I shall kill the unarmed boy first.”
Cotton’s first instinct was to jerk his head around to check on Jason, but another report jerked him to a stop. He swiveled his head wildly to see where she’d shot, only to determine her handgun—he had no idea what type—was aimed in the air.
“Nein! Do not check on him. Look only at me!”
Cotton swung his head slowly, searching the forestscape, until he saw the woman, possibly twenty yards away, almost directly up the hill, holding something black and lethal in classic shooting stance.
While he’d been lost a lot while Jason and the others had been discussing strategy, he definitely recognized this person. Karina Schroeder had black hair pulled tightly back, as well as severe features and a square jaw.
“Good,” she said, voice shaking. “You can follow orders.”
