CHAPTER 4
THE ghosts invaded her mind. Her very soul. They murmured. Shared their sorrows, their pain, their insanity. The remnants of so much death and illness weighted her down, mixing with her own pain.
Grace wondered if her own sanity had been sacrificed, if she’d done too much, been broken by the repeated healings. Exhaustion and despair were every bit as prevalent as the pain, and she had no idea how to compartmentalize any of it.
She was an open book, broadcasting to the universe. No barriers. No shields. She was as vulnerable as she’d ever been in her life.
It was cold again, and she shivered but even so slight a movement sent more pain through her body.
There was a man nearby, speaking in low tones. Fear was her first instinct, but there was something familiar and soothing about his voice.
She searched her fractured consciousness for clues, something to tell her he wasn’t a danger to her. Then she remembered bits and pieces, it all coming back like some jigsaw puzzle that had been tossed into the air.
Rio. He’d said his name was Rio and he knew Shea.
He’d carried her a great distance, with her slipping in and out of consciousness the entire way. His men had disappeared, and Rio had placed her into a sleeping bag in an effort to keep her warm and motionless.
He had no worries on that count. She hadn’t the strength or desire to move.
She blinked some of the fuzz from her vision and stared up at the star-filled sky. Fairy dust against black velvet. Carelessly tossed across the sky like someone throwing jacks.
How many times had . Smshe stared up at the stars, silently wishing she was normal, that she and Shea could live a normal life. That they could have their parents back.
She closed her eyes again. No, they weren’t even her parents. She wasn’t sure who they were. She hadn’t had time to fully read Andrea Peterson’s diary. All she knew was that she and Shea were some lab experiments and that Andrea and Brandon Peterson were scientists who’d stolen Grace and Shea as very young children and raised them as their own.
“Grace, are you awake?”
Rio’s voice was quiet in the dark, barely a discernible whisper.
She nodded and then thought how ridiculous it was because he wouldn’t see the small movement.
She inhaled through her nose and then whispered back, “Yes.”
He moved closer, and when he did, she could see he held an automatic rifle, and though he shifted so he was against her, his gaze was still trained on the distance, watching, observing, never once looking down at her.
“We’ve got a problem,” he murmured. “We’ve been cut off from my men. I don’t want to engage. It’s too dangerous. You could be hurt or killed. I’ve told my men to stay put where they are. You and I will find an alternate route to where they are.”
“Cut off how?”
“There are men looking for you and they’re in between our position and where my men found cover for us. I sent them ahead to find a place where you could rest and hopefully heal enough that we could make it out.”
Some of the haze surrounding her lifted and she fought through the ghosts battling for control. She turned, searching out his profile in the darkness. Maybe he felt her gaze or it could be a coincidence that he looked down at the same moment.
“I can make it,” she said.
He shook his head. “You’re not in a good way, Grace. I won’t risk you.”
She pushed herself up to her elbow, ignoring the pain the movement caused. “I want out of here. You say you’re not one of them. Okay, I believe you. So I want as far away from here as possible. Nothing you can do to me can be worse than what’s already been done. I can make it.”
“I can’t carry you,” he said softly. “If it weren’t just you and me, I could take you like I did before. But I have to have my hands free to protect you, which means you have to walk.”
“I can do it.”
There was a fierce edge to her voice that reflected strength she didn’t have. It didn’t matter. She would find the strength. The will. If her choices were staying here and risking capture or crawling off the damn mountain, she’d do it on her hands and knees the entire way.
“Then we leave now and go through the night. It’s not going to be easy.”
She reached up and put her hand on his arm. He tensed beneath her touch and the muscles went rigid, giving her just a sample of the raw strength he possessed.
“I won’t die here and I won’t let them take me back.”
Rio put his hand over hers and curled her small fingers around his before squeezing. “You aren’t going to die at all.”
A tiny beacon of hope warmed her insides. There was such conviction in his voice. It sounded like more of a vow than a statement, and she grabbed hold of that promise.
“Do you feel any change yet?” he asked.
She glanced down at her arm, which was still splinted. She flexed her fingersy, her fi, waiting for the pain to shoot up to her elbow. Her fingers were stiff, but the pain had subsided to a dull ache. She wouldn’t know about her ribs until she attempted to get up.
“It’s better,” she said, not caring if it was a lie. It was her turn to give him a little hope.
“Okay then, this is how it’s going to go down. We’re going to move out together. You stay on my six no matter what.”
“Your six?”
“My back. You stay behind me. I want you to put your finger through the belt loop of my fatigues, and when I move, you move. I won’t go too fast and I’ll be careful. If I tell you to get down, you drop. No hesitation. If I tell you to run, you haul ass. Whatever I tell you to do, you are to do without question and without hesitation. Understood?”