Eighteen

Hill whipped the steering wheel to avoid the roadblock. The van fishtailed. Jessie did her best to do as Hill commanded, but conditions dictated otherwise. A loud bang rang out, and Hatch felt the front passenger side dip down.

The van had barely managed the treacherous terrain with four wheels and was now losing control. Jessie spun as the front right wheel well dug into the soft earth as it spun. A flat tire brought them to an abrupt halt and left them facing in the opposite direction.

"Looks like we're walking." Hill threw the van into park and looked over at Hatch.

"You've come far enough.” She placed her hand on his wrist. “I can't ask you to risk more than you have."

"You didn't ask. And this isn't up for a debate. I told you I was in. And when I'm in, I'm all in."

"You're speaking my language." Hatch opened the door to a blast of ice pellets. "Now, let's go get my friend before Wendy gets any other ideas."

Hill stopped and got on all fours, just like he had done when inspecting Jessie's undercarriage moments before the quake that swallowed half the road and nearly killed them while they were parked in front of Old Man Gentry's place. He put his ear close to the ground with the flap, protecting it from touching the ice-coated mud. He closed his eyes and nodded to himself. Hill stood a moment later. He dusted a fresh layer of wet snow from his flight jacket and gave a thumbs up. "Good to go. At least for the time being. Wendy’s quiet, but I’m not sure for how long."

"Thought you said you didn't listen to the ground?"

He patted the wet mud with his hand. "I listen when she talks. Chivalry is not dead with me. Truth be known, me and this ole' girl go way back. Wendy's the yin to my yang. That doesn't mean she can't have her bad days. Like in '64. In the years since Wendy took my mother's life, I have come to look at it differently. We can't control the earth and sky. They don't belong to us. Even if they did, they’ve got a mind of their own. The titans of old awaken from time to time to remind us how truly small and insignificant we really are."

Hatch thought of the powerful hold her father's death had on her, and the cataclysmic fallout from her exposure to the truth. "Doesn't mean we lay down and die."

"Never crossed my mind. I fight tooth and nail with Wendy. Have been my whole life. And as you've seen, she's got a hell of a temper."

"Then let's try not to piss her off."

Soft mud hardened underfoot. Each step forward was a step up as they set out in the direction of Cruise and his team. As the distance between them and the van increased, the precipitation lightened until it was nothing more than a flurry.

Hatch shook off the cold. Her jacket had done a decent job repelling the water. A nifty button she found on the inside of her right sleeve had three wavy lines. She pressed it and within minutes she was not only warm, but dry. Not much she could do about her lower extremities, but a little creature comfort went a long way on the battlefield. And she was definitely on a battlefield.

The trail snaked back around to the right and up ahead was the Land Rover. Hatch understood why Cruise hadn't been able to give status on Hertzog when he'd messaged. A massive boulder had sheared the SUV in two.

Hertzog's enormous torso hung halfway out of the Land Rover’s rear window. A large chunk of glass was sticking out of Hertzog's left forearm. He'd lost a lot of blood, as evidenced by the dark pool formed beneath him.

"He's alive." Hatch pressed against Hertzog's thick neck and located a faint pulse.

"Hardheaded, I guess." Hill stood beside Hatch.

"He's not out of the woods yet. That glass is in deep. We're going to have to pack it and wrap it tight before we move." Hatch dipped her head into the rear compartment. It was barely recognizable. She thought of Cruise's message, I'm pinned . Hatch pushed her worry from her mind. Battlefield triage was necessary. Hertzog was first up, and she deemed his situation critical. Hatch held a small med kit in her hand. "Got any more of that Baywatch rescue in you?"

Hill tipped his trapper cap and took the med kit from Hatch. "He's in good hands."

Hatch was already on the move. Rounding the boulder, more of the landslide’s destruction confronted her. Outside the demolished front end of the Land Rover was Brady Taylor. His body was twisted into an unnatural position. The light orange of Taylor's hair was darkened with his blood. His neck was turned one-hundred and eighty degrees. Hatch never assumed and pressed her fingers alongside his neck. Cold to the touch. No pulse.

Taylor stared up at her with lifeless eyes. She was back in Afghanistan looking at her ginger-haired teammate and best friend, Graham Benson, who'd been killed by a suicide bomber during an ambush. One fraction of a second hesitation detoured Hatch's path in life and branded her in the snarled branches of scar tissue.

"Rach?" Cruise's voice was weak, and barely travelled beyond his confines. He was fighting for consciousness in the prison of jagged steel that used to be the front passenger compartment. Hatch peered in through the driver's side. Cruise’s upper body stretched across the center console and onto the driver's seat. His lower extremities were pinned by the folded passenger side door. He was trapped.

The same metal tubing used to reinforce the Land Rover, which saved Cruise's life, was now working hard to take it. A thick steel rod running horizontal along the center of the door bent inward, and the point of it penetrated deep into Cruise's upper right thigh.

"Hang on." Hatch yanked hard at the driver's side door. It opened a few inches and then stopped. Hatch gripped the door's frame along the window. She arched back, pulling with all her might. The door dug into her fingers, but wouldn't budge beyond its initial movement.

The snapped branch of a Black Spruce lay across the hood. Hatch grabbed it. She made eye contact with Hill, who was still on the other side of the boulder at the severed back end tending to Hertzog. He had managed to get Hertzog out and onto the ground. Hill knelt beside the unconscious Talon operator and gave a bloody thumbs up.

He shouted over the howling wind. "I've got the wound packed. Tourniquet is set. But he's got to get to a hospital soon or none of it is gonna matter."

"That's the plan. FBI will be arriving at the landing zone soon. I want to be there to greet them when they do. I’ll need your help once I get this door open, but in the meantime, think you can grab some of those boards from your van and rig something together so we can haul our load?"

"Consider it done." Hill jogged off, heading down the muddy trail toward the van.

Hatch slid the branch between the gap in the door and the frame of the SUV's b-pillar. Loud crunching and popping sounded as she worked the piece of timber back and forth. After putting up an exhausting fight, the door yielded to Hatch's relentless effort and opened.

Cruise looked up at her. His eyes glossy and distant. The brightness of the cobalt was all but gone. She bent in. Her face hovered over his. "I'm going to get you out of here. Understand?"

He blinked. His lips were moving, but no sound reached Hatch. She leaned in close. His breath tickled her ear. His words came in short inconsistent bursts. "I want…you…to meet me…where…the…moon meets…the sea."

Hatch felt a pang in her heart. "Hang tight. We've got helos inbound. I'm going to get you out of here."

"Promise me." His voice just above a whisper. "I lost you once. Not again." Each blink was slower and more pronounced than its predecessor. And with each blink, Cruise's eyes remained closed longer and longer.

Hatch pressed her lips against his. She was met by the cold flesh of the man she'd once planned to marry. He spoke again. This time there was no sound. Hatch felt the word through vibration of lips. Promise .

"Promise."

The clacking of wood alerted Hatch to Hill's clamorous approach. He had three wood planks lashed together by the cargo net used to hold back the paint cans. A rope was secured to it as a harness. "Should be wide enough. And with you and me pullin' together, should be doable."

"Was there another tourniquet in that med kit?"

"No. I can rummage around and see what I can find."

"No time." Hatch snapped a smaller branch from one she'd used to pry the door. "Bring me that roll of gauze."

Hatch climbed inside. She bound Cruise's leg above the wound using the long strip of sterile bandage provided by Hill. Hatch's hands were slick with blood as she slid the six-inch branch under the knot. Hatch turned it to the right until the resistance was too great. She then locked it into place. Using her bloody finger as a pen, Hatch marked a T on Cruise's forehead, making a note of the time underneath.

"This is going to hurt like hell. But it's the only way."

Cruise blinked once and then closed his eyes. The color continued to drain from his face.

Hatch then turned to Hill. "We're losing him. On three we're going to pull him free."

Hatch gripped Cruise by the left arm. Hill took up the right. The two worked together to yank Cruise clear of the metal pinning him. Cruise's eyes never reopened, despite what must have been agonizing pain as his leg ripped free.

The two then worked fast to get all three Talon men, including the deceased Taylor, aboard the makeshift sled. Hill ran a rope around the three men, securing them to the boards like a seat belt.

"What about all that gear? Don't want to be leavin' it out here for those white supremacist assholes to find."

Hatch looked around, desperate for a way. "No way we can make good time with all that extra weight. Once we get them to the chopper, I'll come back for it."

"We'll come back for it." Hill gave a wink and then took up his end of the rope.

The sound of a helicopter could be heard just above the wind. Renewed with the hope of salvation nearby, Hatch and Hill led the sled away from the wreckage and began making the mile long trek toward the landing zone.