Page 113 of Shadowing You

She closed her fingers over the monkey. “I will be.”

“God’s got your brother in His hands. And your country.”

She leaned against Ethan’s broad chest, and he enveloped her in his arms. She was happy to be at the end of their escape. Even so, it hurt to say goodbye. She doubted she’d ever see Renshu, or China, again.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Ethan’s watch told him it was a quarter after one.

Back when he’d climbed out of that fish bin, every joint and bone in his body protesting the tight quarters, he’d thought that would be the worst torture of the day.

That was what he got for thinking.

The room hadn’t changed a bit since then. Same dim yellow bulb in its wire cage, same smell of diesel and fish guts and something else he didn’t want to identify.

The sun must be overhead now, perhaps already arcing toward the west, but in that storage compartment, he’d never know it. The lack of fresh air was the worst part.

Maybe the second worst.

The trawler pitched to the left, but his stomach stayed where it had been.

The little chalky pills Lao Wu had pressed into their palms hours before hadn’t helped much. Or maybe they had and this could be even worse. He couldn’t imagine.

Mei Lin shifted on the floor.

She’d curled on top of a green tarp he’d pulled off a crate, then pulled the excess over her, complaining of the chill. He’d been grateful when she’d fallen asleep. Or maybe grateful was the wrong word. He’d been relieved. She’d slept off and on in the truck the night before, but not enough.

He watched her now and felt the relief curdle.

Her cheeks were red, and…was she shivering?

Still wearing the oilskin jumpsuit the pastor had brought for her, lying under the tarp in a room that felt stifling to him… But somehow, she was shivering.

He slid off the fish bin he’d been sitting on for hours. Crouching next to her, he pressed the back of his hand to her forehead. He didn’t have a thermometer, but he didn’t need one to know her temperature was over a hundred.

His wife was sick.

“Okay.” Not that anybody was there to hear his whisper.

He peeled the tarp back slowly, watching her face. He didn’t want to wake her, but he couldn’t let her temperature go any higher.

She didn’t stir.

He bunched the tarp up away from her, then sat back on his heels.

He had nothing. No Tylenol. No ibuprofen. Not a single aspirin. He’d brought Tylenol with him to China, but like an idiot, he’d left the bottle in his suitcase in the hotel in Changsha.

It felt like months had passed since then, but it had only been… He counted the days. He’d been in China for a week?

Plenty of time to grab a bottle of Tylenol. Why hadn’t he thought of that?

All he had were a couple of water bottles. His phone didn’t have service, and even if it had, who would he call? Until they reached South Korea, there was nothing to do but wait and pray.

He wanted to sleep. But even if there were room for him to stretch out in the tiny space, he couldn’t. He needed to be alert in case something went wrong.

Because, so far, something always went wrong. And now Mei Lin was sick.

Lao Wu had come down about an hour after they’d cast off. He’d stood at the bottom of the ladder in his big rubber boots, hair flat from the wind, and started talking.