Page 5 of A SEAL's Protection
Before I turn the camera on, I run a hand through my hair, smoothing down the wind damage. I don’t bother with makeup or worrying about whether the angle might make my face look fat. This is for scientific purposes, not for social media. Besides, the media has enough of my image, stolen from any time I’m out with my dad at charity events and red carpet premieres. It’s amazing what money gets you invited to.
In the media, I’m just the daughter of a wealthy man, but for this audience, I’m Allegra Simpson, environmental scientist.
“I’ve paused at…” I check my GPS and hold it up to the camera as I read off the coordinates. I pan the camera around the landscape, talking all the while about my observations.
Then I pause the camera and set it on the mini tripod, adjusting the angle so it will see me taking the sample.
I hit record before putting on my gloves and pulling out a glass beaker. I talk about what I’m doing as I take the water sample, then dip my pH reader into it. Within a few seconds, the reading comes back. It’s way higher than what’s acceptable to maintain the biodiversity of a mountain stream. I contain my excitement as I stick to the facts, showing the reading to the camera.
Next, I run the test for iron levels, a classic sign of mining runoff. As suspected, the water turns a burned orange. I slot the vial into the palm-sized meter, ensuring it’s facing the camera.
The meter blinks with the reading, and I note it in my logbook. I’ll type the reading up tonight on my laptop, but I like to keep a written record too.
I keep the camera running as I slide out the padded sample bag. I label each vial in neat writing and put today’s time, date, and coordinates. As I’m sliding the vial into place in the sample bag, the prickle at the back of my neck returns. I spin around, expecting to find a fellow hiker watching me.
But behind me is empty trail. There’s nothing but boulders and undergrowth and the soft burble of the stream.
A breeze catches my hair and makes me shiver.
I take a few deep breaths, trying to calm my racing heart.
You’re alone out here, I remind myself. This isn’t the time to get jumpy at wind and wildlife. I’ve got twenty more days; I can’t get paranoid now.
I turn back to my sample bag and slide the vial into a padded pouch. I repack quickly and slide the pouch and sample kit carefully into my backpack.
Before I leave, I take one last lingering look over my shoulder. The trail is still and quiet. Almost too quiet, like it’s listening.
I shake the thought out of my head, adjust my straps, and move on. But the feeling that I’m not alone never leaves me.
3
MARCUS
The vibration of my watch jerks me awake. My eyes fly open, and my body is immediately alert. I glance at my watch and find a red flashing dot. It’s sector three, set up to cover the widest gap leading from the main trail to Allegra’s camping spot.
It’s probably another curious animal. But two tripped sensors in two nights makes me uneasy.
I slide out of my bivy and check that my gun is in its holster. There’s a knife strapped to my thigh and a smaller one tucked into my wrist strap. I don’t know how good they’ll be against a bear, but force of habit has me armed more than I need to be for keeping one woman safe on a mountainside.
Day two’s camp is a clearing in the forest with the stream on one side and thick trees surrounding the area. Keeping low to the ground, I move slowly and silently with deliberate movements, pausing to listen to the still night around me.
There’s the faint crackle of leaves, the distant trickle of water, and the slow inhale-exhale of my own breathing.
I move again, slowly making my way to section three. I crouch by the laser emitter and check my wristwatch. All is set back to normal, but something definitely crossed the invisible laser wire.
Moonlight peeks through the canopy, giving me a shattered picture of my surroundings. There are no obvious tracks on the path, and the foliage appears undisturbed.
I scan the campsite. Allegra’s tent rustles in the breeze. She set it up with the door facing the stream, and I can’t see the opening from here. There’s no movement and no light, so I assume she’s fast asleep.
There’s a sound behind me, a shift in the rhythm of the night. My body tenses as I listen. It’s a shift in the soundscape so imperceptible most people wouldn’t notice. But I’m trained to notice such things.
I pivot slowly on my haunches as my ears strain for the noise again. I hear it to my right, the soft crunch of dry leaves. Then a sharper rustle—closer, more purposeful.
My body tenses, and my training kicks in. I spin around and step into the sound. A shadow moves in the undergrowth, and a figure emerges from the shadows. I lunge forward, coming to my full height as I sweep my left arm up in a hook. My upward trajectory connects with their center of gravity as I drive my shoulder into their stomach.
They go down easier than expected. They’re lighter than I expected too, and the momentum takes us both by surprise. They let out an ‘oof’ sound as they hit the forest floor.
I slide the knife out of its sheath at my wrist and land on top of the perpetrator with one arm pinning them down and the other holding my blade at their throat.
