Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 84266 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84266 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
“I’m fine.” Ben looked away. Why won’t you let me care for you?
“Ben. We need to talk.” Maddox tried again to engage Ben in the conversation they absolutely had to have. He patted a rock next to him. “Sit.”
“I’m not leaving you.” Ben’s voice was firm as he took a seat next to where Maddox lay, bum leg stretched out in front of him. “We’re in this together.”
“You need to make the clearing. The chopper will be coming back, and you need to be at least that far, if not to the rendezvous. If you get to the clearing, there’s a chance. And we need that chance.”
“We’ll make it together. You just need some rest. Give me more of your gear. That’ll help too. And drink your water.” Ben drummed his fingers against his leg. He was nervous, and Maddox didn’t blame him.
“I can’t.” Maddox had never said those words to him before—not on the hardest days in training, not on impossible missions, not even when asked for favors big and small over the course of their friendship. He’d never once said no when it really counted. But right then he just wanted to close his eyes and drift. Walking seemed out of the question, and he was far too woozy for water.
“You can’t sleep.” Ben’s voice had a hard edge to it, a panic Maddox had never heard before. “You’ve got a likely concussion. Tell me about what dinner you’re going to make when we get back. I’m going to get you a stool for the kitchen, make it easier for you to cook while your leg heals.”
“Coq au vin.” Maddox named Ben’s favorite chicken dish, slurring the French name, tongue feeling like he’d had three glasses of the red wine he used in the recipe. “Mashed potatoes.”
“With garlic?” Ben could likely give a shit about ingredients and was only trying to keep him awake, but Maddox’s heart contracted at the effort nonetheless.
“Yeah. Roasted garlic in the potatoes.” Maddox’s head throbbed. “Something chocolate for...”
“Dessert? Tell me about it.” Ben reached for Maddox’s hand, and this time Maddox was too weary to fight him over it, and it felt too damn good anyway, Ben’s strong grip massaging his weak fingers.
“Cake...” Maddox’s breath came in shallow pants. Talking was too hard now. “Sleep.”
“No!” Ben’s voice echoed from far away, right before everything went dark.
* * *
“Don’t do this to me,” Ben demanded, shaking Maddox’s shoulder.
“Tired.” Maddox moaned softly but didn’t open his eyes.
“Tell me more about what you want to cook in that new mixer of yours.” Ben’s voice was as unsteady as Maddox’s hands had been on the gun. God, that had been hard to see, the best marksman Ben knew, unable to even hold the SCAR.
Maddox didn’t answer, mouth going slack and breathing deepening from the uneven shallow pants he had been making. Ben had no idea whether that was a good sign or a bad sign.
“Okay. Time for plan B, big fella, because I am not leaving your ass behind.” Ben stood. Maddox was sturdy, no doubt about it, but Ben had bench-pressed more, plenty of times. He tried to lift him, aiming for a fireman’s carry, but recoiled in sudden, sharp pain.
“Fuck. Ow. Ow.” Ben tried to keep his voice down, but it was hard with the searing pain in his shoulders and ribs.
“Let...go...” Maddox muttered.
“Not a chance, buddy.” Ben tried again, almost throwing up from the pain, but he managed to get some purchase at least, and moved Maddox a few feet. But his shoulders refused to go for a third try, pain snaking all the way down his back.
“Sorry in advance about this next plan.” Ben set to work gathering branches. He used them plus duct tape and the fishing line in his emergency kit along with his uniform shirt to make a makeshift kind of stretcher or sled. He rolled Maddox onto it, hating how Maddox groaned with agony at the movement of his leg. Working painstakingly slowly, he dragged Maddox out of their hiding spot. “We’re gonna make the clearing by nightfall, Mad. Just you see.”
“Crazy,” Maddox murmured, and that was the last sound from him other than pained gasps as Ben trekked them out. His shoulders were screaming at him, ribs burning, and he’d done something to his ankle at some point, but no way on earth was he dropping Maddox now. They inched closer and closer to where Ben remembered the clearing being, light fading in soft waves.
Rain backing off, bird screeches filled the jungle and the insects had resumed their symphony while small monkeys scampered high above them, but there was no sign of the hostiles at least.
“Need to see if I can get the night vision goggles working,” he said to the unresponsive Maddox. He needed the excuse to rest too, but no way was he admitting that, not now. Maddox was pale and his skin was clammy to Ben’s touch.