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“Listen. You acted in self-defense, and you did what was necessary to survive.” Using his fingertips, Mark lifted her chin and gazed at her. “He was an assassin. Don’t waste a moment feeling guilty. If you hadn’t acted, we’d both be dead.”
The horrific event was too recent to apply any objectivity. Meanwhile, visions of Yuri sprang to her mind, turning her blood cold. If Yuri caught them, he’d exact sadistic revenge for Sergey’s death. The fear threatened to immobilize her, and she yearned to run to regain control. “I’m afraid Yuri will stalk us like prey. We’d better go.”
“Agreed. Let’s find the highway before daylight.”
Glad Mark didn’t need any extra encouragement, she led their trek through the dark woods. Endless obstacles slowed their progress. When the clouds cleared, the moon shone in filtered slivers and bounced off the dew-soaked pine needles lining the forest floor. She pressed a hand to where her shoulder cramped from Sergey’s beating and trudged ahead, dragging her legs like cement blocks. After plodding another forty-five minutes, she struggled with every step. Mutual fatigue demanded she and Mark slow their pace to a crawl, but she hoped they’d traveled far enough to elude their captors.
“Let’s find shelter and stop awhile. Rest a couple of minutes.” Chest heaving, Mark wheezed again and curled his left hand against his side.
“I need a break, too.” She let out an exhausted sigh. Luxurious images of London tantalized her, and she reminisced about the five-star hotel near Covent Garden, where she’d last stayed. Crisp white linens and a goose-down duvet had lined her heavenly cocoon of a bed, and piles of fluffy, cloud-like pillows graced the plush headboard. She longed for safety, followed by food, water, and a hot bath. Lacking all those things, she shivered. In the darkness, the woods grew ominous. The temperature dipped further, and the brisk air cooled her aching lungs.
As Mark hiked behind her, she traversed a dense patch and scanned for a hollow of foliage suitable for a hideout. She pointed at a heavily wooded section. “See the pile of logs over there? If we collect a few downed tree branches, we can prop them up and build a small fort.”
“Good. Let’s search for branches.”
Together, she and Mark plucked sturdy branches from the ground. In minutes, she stacked a mix of cedar and spruce branches to form a makeshift shelter against three fallen logs.
Mark brushed away the rocks and pebbles, then scattered handfuls of pine needles to soften the ground.
Tess piled on more fir branches to create a thicker cover. The hideout wouldn’t be warm, but it would suffice. Behind the logs in the shelter, Tess yawned and eased herself to the ground. Running in dress boots through the rugged terrain had left her feet blistered and raw. The constant throbbing in her shoulder and back from Sergey’s blows drained the last of her energy.
Mark foraged for more branches to shield them, then crawled on his hands and knees into the shelter and sat. He withdrew Sergey’s handgun from his waistband and placed it on a nearby log. Digging into his pocket, he extracted a handful of white capsules. “These are the last of the painkillers. Want some?”
“Please. The brute clobbered my shoulder.” She selected two capsules from his open palm and popped them in her mouth. The pills lodged in her dry throat, but she choked them down without water. Still wearing the oversized barn coat Mark found, she scavenged through the pockets. One contained a broken pen and loose birdseed. Moving to the other side, she grazed her fingers over a sizable glass bottle and held it up in the moonlight to read the label. “What luck. Tennessee whiskey, half full.”
“Yes!” Mark pumped a fist. “Better than half empty. Farmer Campbell swore he didn’t drink hard stuff, but luckily, he lied.”
“Drink?” She gestured toward the bottle and observed his face relax in profound relief.
“God, yes. You go first.”
Tess took a hefty drink and savored the peaty liquid. Cold, achy, and sore, she appreciated the immediate salve and warmth the alcohol offered. She handed him the bottle. “Ahh. I’ve never been so grateful for whiskey.”
“Skål, to Farmer Campbell.” He raised the bottle in a toast. Pressing the bottle to his lips, he took a long sip, then another. “Best shot of whiskey, ever.”
Taking turns, she and Mark quickly drained the bottle.
The whiskey warmed her throat and coaxed away her inhibitions. “Tonight, I figured out I want to live.”
“Well, survival is the strongest human instinct, followed closely by desire and fear.” Seated on the ground, Mark wrapped his arms around his bent knees.
The word desire piqued her interest, but she needed to release the weight she’d carried all year before acknowledging it. “The point is this—survival isn't enough. All I've been doing since Kyle died is surviving, but I want to live and experience things. I’m done with slogging through every day.” The nights she spent seeking sensory overload in London clubs failed to revive her spirits and only left her exhausted. Even her escapist adventure the night before Cedarcliff offered no solace. For an entire year, she failed to break through her grief and find joy again. Now, she hungered to restore the life force in her veins.
“Hmm. When we encounter death, it warns us we don’t live forever. After living in a war zone for three years, I know the only thing we can count on is the present.” He shifted his position on the uneven ground and smoothed a pile of pine needles. “Buddhists talk about it all the time. We can’t change the past or control the future, which leaves us—”
“Now.” After finishing his sentence, she gazed in his direction for a moment and then glanced away, self-conscious.
“Right.”
The lilt of his soft baritone soothed her. Amidst their harrowing escape, she sensed something brewing under the surface, something so unexpected and out of context given the attack that she couldn’t process it. Peeling off the farmer’s coat, she rotated it to form a blanket. Careful to coddle her shoulder, she settled onto the bed of pine needles, then groaned. “I can’t move anymore.”
The earthy smell of autumn leaves filled the air, and the icy edge of the night cooled her bruised cheek. The trek had decimated her physical reserves, but she remained wired, almost delirious. The temperature dropped toward freezing, and goose bumps covered her skin. She trembled and crossed her arms as a deep chill settled into her body.
Mark lay next to her, neither touching nor speaking.
He rotated to lie on his side, and leaves crunched as he rolled over them. “Your teeth are chattering.” After breaking the silence, he slid his right arm over her and pressed the length of his body against her back. Throwing the old barn coat over them, he created an insulated tent of warm air over the top half of their bodies. “Better.”
Despite the bristly pine needles and the uneven forest floor beneath her, Tess relaxed her tense body against the ground. Calmed by the warmth of Mark’s body, she gave in to fatigue as he murmured a few unintelligible Norwegian words and fell quiet. Seeking more heat, she stretched a hand to reach his hip bone, which rested square against her own.
