Page 17 of A SEAL's Protection
There’s relief in her voice, and I’m struck by how much this means to her. But I don’t want delayed shock to set in. Besides, we’re exposed here, and the sooner we get to safety the better.
“We need to keep moving,” I tell her.
She nods and regains her balance. I slow my pace and guide us up through the final two anchor points. Ignoring the throb in my arm, I haul myself over the top of the ridge, then reach down to help Allegra up.
Allegra ignores my extended arm and hauls herself over the ledge. She rolls onto her pack and lies panting at the sky for a few long breaths.
I unbuckle my harness, and when she’s ready, I remove hers.
“Are you okay? Did you get hurt back there?” I scan her body, looking for signs of injury. But aside from looking shaken, she looks good. Too damn good with her skin back to a healthy glow, a layer of perspiration coating her forehead, and a grin that comes from pushing yourself to do something you didn’t want to do.
I look away to stop myself from staring at her face.
Allegra leans over the edge of the cliff, peering into the stream far below. “They’re gone, aren’t they?”
“Afraid so.”
She stands up and dusts her hands off on her leggings. Her expression tightens. She’s resigned but still determined.
“Come on.” I glance up at the sky. “We’ve got a way to go before the next camp.”
I keep my tone light, but in my mind I’m running through the inventory of our gear. With Allegra’s tent and sleeping bag gone, we’re down to my meagre shelter. I’ve got a tarp tent and one sleeping bag. Enough to keep us both out of the elements, but if the weather turns, then things could get bad.
As we move on, I hold my hand firmly over my arm, stopping the flow of blood. The old injury hurts, and the scrape stings. But I barely notice as we move onward down the trail.
8
ALLEGRA
The sun is sinking behind the top of the mountain when the path leads us back to the river. The torrent of earlier has slowed to a calm burble, and I scan the water hoping to catch a glimpse of bright nylon. But there’s no sign of my tent or sleeping bag.
We clamber over rocks until we reach a pebbly bank with a grassy clearing next to it.
“We’ll camp here for the night.” Marcus scans the tree line with sharp eyes.
I slide my pack off my shoulders and let out a long, shaky breath as exhaustion from the day’s events hits me.
We’re half-a-mile short of the waypoint I was aiming for, but the shadows are getting long, I’ve lost a chunk of my gear, and my legs are still shaky from climbing.
I roll my shoulders and stretch them behind my back, hoping to ease the tightness from four days of hiking.
Marcus slides his pack off, and it lands with a thud next to mine. The wide straps and bulging pockets make mine look small by comparison. The loss of my tent and sleeping bag is glaringly obvious. I hate being dependent on Marcus, but the nights are chilly and I’m reliant on whatever he’s got for shelter.
He takes off to scan the perimeter or do whatever the hell he does, and I gather kindling for a fire.
By the time Marcus is back, I’ve got a fire going, and I’m typing up my notes from the day. There’s a scrape on my index finger and dried blood under my nail, and my hand shakes as I fumble over my keyboard. I’m more shaken up about today than I want to admit. I could have fallen. And if Marcus wasn’t here with his climbing gear, I wouldn’t have gotten up the rock face on my own.
I glance up at him as he scans the area. He hums to himself, but his sharp eyes are alert.
He chooses a spot away from the river next to a thicket, so no one will see us from the main trail. I pretend to type on my laptop, but I’m watching him out of the corner of my eye.
He moves efficiently, expertly rolling out his shelter and tying it to the surrounding trees like he’s done it a hundred times before. It’s not even a tent, just a camouflaged piece of nylon that he pins down on three sides, leaving one side open. My heart sinks as I watch him pin the sides down. It’s small for one person, but for two, it’s tiny. But it’s the only shelter we’ve got.
He tugs on the guy rope and winces as if in pain. My gaze rests on his arm, and I startle at the sight of dried blood under his rolled-up cuff.
“You hurt yourself.”
He glances at his arm, which on closer inspection I now see has a dark patch where the blood has soaked through his shirt.
