Drake Sisters 04 - Dangerous Tides

thought of home and his brother from his mind, but it was impossible. Ken's body—so bloody, so raw. There hadn't been a place on him that wasn't bleeding. Had he been too late? No way. He'd know if his brother was dead, and if it was at all possible, Ken would come for him. Even now, he might be close. Intellectually he knew better—knew Ken's wounds were too severe and he was safe in a hospital thousands of miles away—but he couldn't stop himself. Jack reached out along their telepathic path, the way he'd been doing since they were toddlers and called his brother. Ken. I'm in a fucking mess. You there, bro ?

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    Silence greeted his call. For one terrible moment, his resolve wavered. His gut churned and fear swamped him—fear for his own situation and something nearly amounting to terror for his brother. He held out his hand, saw it shake, and shook his head, forcing his mind away from destructive thoughts.
    That way lay his own destruction. His job was to escape, to survive, to make his way to Kinshasa.

    The soldiers tramped through the forest, using bayonets to thrust into the thick shrubs and ferns. They stabbed the vegetation on the floor and walked along the banks of the stream feeding into the river, blades pounding the damp embankment. The Jeep slowly began to move, only the driver and soldiers surrounding it vulnerable as they made their way past the wreckage of the first vehicle and into camp.

    Jack lowered the rifle. It was going to be a long night for the soldiers. In the meantime, he had to plan his way to freedom. He was west of Kinshasa. Once in the city he could find Jebediah and hide until they found a way to call for extraction. It sounded simple enough, but he had to work his way through the rebel encampments between Kinshasa and his present position. He wasn't going to kid himself, he was in bad shape. With so many open wounds, infection was a certainty rather than a possibility.

    Weariness stole over him. Loneliness. He had chosen this life many years ago, the only choice he had at the time. Most of the time he didn't regret it. But sometimes, when he sat thirty feet up in a tree with a rifle in his hands and death surrounding him, he wondered what it would be like to have a home and family. A woman. Laughter. He couldn't remember laughter, not even with Ken, and Ken could be amusing even at the most inopportune times.

    It was too late for him. He was rough and cold and any gentleness he may have been born with had been beaten out of him long before he was a teenager. He looked at the people and the world around him, stripped of beauty, seeing only the ugliness. It was kill or be killed in his world, and he was a survivor. He settled back and closed his eyes, needing to sleep for a few minutes.

    He woke to the sounds of screams. The sound often haunted him in his nightmares, screams and gunfire and blood running in dark pools. His hands curled around the rifle, finger stroking the trigger even before his eyes snapped open. Jack took a long deep breath and looked around him. Flash fires came from the direction of the camp. Several of his traps had been sprung, and once again chaos reigned in the rebel encampment. Bullets spat into the jungle, zipped through leaves, and tore bark from trees. The ghost in the rainforest had struck again and again, and fear had the rebels by the throats.

    On and off over the next few hours, some hapless soldier would trip a trap, probably trying to get rid of it, and the camp would erupt into pandemonium, confusion and panic nearly leading to rebellion. The soldiers wanted to head for the base camp and Biyoya refused, adamant that they would recover the prisoner. It was a tribute to his leadership—or cruelty—that he was able to rally them—after each attack. There was no sleep for anyone and the fog crept into the forest, blanketing the trees and mixing Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
    with the smoke from the continual fires.

    Through the haze, Jack saw the camp on the move, abandoning their position. Biyoya screamed at his men and shook his fist at the camp, the first real indication that the long night had taken its toll on him.
    He'd lost more than half of his soldiers and they were forced to group in a tight knot around him to protect him. They didn't look very happy, but they marched stoically through the forest on the