Renegade (Special Tactical Units Division 3)

She was right, of course, and they both knew it.

At noon, he spotted something on the horizon. Figures moving towards them. They had not seen another person since the dozing old guy they’d passed on their way to the sheepherder’s hut.

Dec eased his Glock from its holster, but kept it hidden behind the pommel of the saddle. There was no place to run. Besides, he knew they’d already been spotted.

The figures drew closer. Two men and a boy, one man riding a mule, the other man and the boy walking alongside.

Dec greeted them with a smile. They responded. It was all brief and polite, but it made him uneasy. If they were surprised to see a man and woman in camos riding a single horse, they didn’t show it. Well, the boy did. Just a little. His eyes widened; he looked up at the man striding along next to him, but the man didn’t acknowledge the child.

When they’d put a few yards between them, Dec glanced back. The men and the boy were staring after him and Annie.

Dec’s gut tightened. The smart thing was to eliminate them, but to kill a child…

“What?” Annie said.

Dec forced a smile, raised his hand in salute. The strangers did the same, turned and kept going.

“Nothing,” Dec said. “Can you go a little longer until we take another break?”

Annie said that she could and he pushed on for almost an hour before stopping.

She looked terribly sick. Her eyes were glassy. Her skin was dry and hot.

He sat her under the branches of a puny tree. It offered at least some shade, though not much. Then he tore a T-shirt almost in half lengthwise, poured water over what was now a long strip of black cotton, and tied it around her head. She touched her fingers to the cloth and gave him a wobbly smile.

“The newes’ fashion.”

Her words were slurred. He was sure she was running a high fever. He dug into his gear, came up with a small packet of antibiotic capsules, tore the packet open and brought a capsule to her lips.

“What’s that?”

“An antibiotic. It’ll make you feel better.”

Dutifully, she opened her mouth and let him put the capsule on her tongue. Dec held the water bag to her lips.

“Just a tiny sip, honey.”

That was all she took. A tiny sip. But she couldn’t keep it down. Not the water. Not the antibiotic.

“Sorry,” she gasped.

“Shhh, Anoushka. There’s nothing to be sorry for.” Gently, Dec cleaned her face. Then he wrapped his arms around her and drew her onto his lap. “You have some kind of bug, that’s all.”

“Rotten timing,” she whispered.

He couldn’t argue with that.

And what could he do to help her?

He’d taken intensive first aid courses. He knew how to stop heavy bleeding, how to splint broken bones, even how to stitch a wound, but what did you do when the woman you loved was getting sicker by the minute and you were in the fucking middle of nowhere?

She needed fluids and meds. He had water, ibuprofen and an antibiotic, but they were all useless if she couldn’t keep them down.

And they were running out of time.

They had to get to the extraction point. At most, there’d be a five to ten minu

te window for pickup. If Altair Amjad found them before then, there might not even be that much.