It had taken
Callie a good hour to get used to the flat, two-dimensional display of the NVGs she wore. Beau had a more advanced set that gave him three-dimensional capability, and he was doing his best to lead her so she wouldn’t stumble or fall. The rain was constant, with more gusts coming their way as they threaded in and out of hilly areas along the river.
Beau had set a good pace, but not as fast as before, and for that, Callie was grateful. Rain ran down her face, but there wasn’t anything she could do about it. Sometimes it blurred her NVGs. Her fingers were permanently cramped into a clawlike position around his web belt. The gravel was often thick, making her feel as if her sore legs were slogging through peanut butter. She could see everything in grainy green, which buoyed her. They never spoke.
Beau had warned her that they could only use hand signals, and that if she needed something, she should yank on his belt to alert him. Her gloves were still soggy and her fingers had become numb hours ago. Callie could see white wisps of her breath in the frigid air. She fought back tears of frustration and gamely trudged on, trying not to think about Dara and Matt or their families. She was sure everyone was distraught over the news that they all were MIA.
Callie realized that going through this ordeal was changing her feelings about going off to Afghan villages. Now she swore that if she was lucky enough to survive this situation with Beau, she was
never
going to another village outside the wire. It just wasn’t worth it. She knew her family worried constantly about her working in Kabul six months of the year. Maybe she needed to take a step back and really look at her decision, and choose a different lifestyle for the future. She didn’t belittle the good she’d done in the five years she’d spent off and on in Afghanistan. But at what price to herself and her family? Death by the enemy, if caught? She wanted to live. She was seeing everything she’d done thus far in this country through another lens right now. There were choices, for sure. And right now she had to focus on surviving so she could look at them when her life wasn’t on the line.
Callie felt terrible that she’d tried to convince Dara that this would be a safe trip. How wrong she’d been! And what if Dara died? She shook off the thought.
Don’t go there!
she told herself.
Distracted, she stumbled over a stone and reached out as she fell to her knees on the sharp gravel. “Damn!” she muttered, excruciating pain coursing through her.
Instantly, Beau halted and turned, dismayed at the sight of Callie on the ground, her knees bleeding freely through her jeans, her face white.
Callie sobbed, biting back most of the sound as she rolled over and tried to sit up.
“Don’t move,” Beau rasped, crouching beside her, his hand gripping her shoulder. “Tell me where you’re hurt.”
Groaning, she clutched her left leg. “Oh, God, Beau, it hurts . . . the pain, it’s so much!”
“Where?”
His voice was low, quiet, and calm, and it moved her away from impending hysteria as she breathed raggedly, her fingers gripping her lower leg. “M-my calf . . . it’s on fire!”
“Okay, let me look,” he said soothingly, moving to her knee, leaning over her, running his hand knowingly down her left calf. The moment he encountered a huge knot of muscle, Callie cried out, the agony intensifying.
“Hold on . . . ,” Beau said, and slipped his hands beneath her back and knees, lifting her up in his arms. It wasn’t going to be the most pleasant ride for her because she was crushed against his rifle, not his body. Whimpers of agony jammed in her throat as she threw her arms around his neck. “I’m taking us deeper into the woods. There’s a nearby cave, and we can rest there. You’ve got a bad leg cramp, Callie, but we can fix it. Just hang on . . .”
She collapsed against him, biting down hard on her lower lip as she felt the sudden, unexpected knifelike pain ripping through her leg.
“I-I’m sorry,” she sobbed, pressing her face against his wet neck.
“Hush, it’s all right. You’re going to be okay, Callie. Just a few more minutes and we’ll be there . . .”
The cramp in her leg seemed to multiply like angry, writhing snakes twisting her muscles, and all she could do was whimper, her lips tightly shut because she knew she had to be silent.
Oh, God! Had her cries alerted any nearby Taliban? Panic surged through Callie as Beau carried her into a narrow cave, the opening partially visible, the rest covered over with thick brush.
He moved quickly behind what he termed “a wing of rock” near the entrance. It was a wall of limestone, about five feet long. Behind it was a small room, which gave them a place to hide from possible prying eyes. He knelt on the dry dirt, placing her gently down and positioning her back against the smooth stone surface. Leaning close, he said, “Don’t move and don’t make a sound. I have to clear this cave first. I’ll be back as soon as I can . . .”
He was gone like a shadow. Callie kept the NVGs on, watching him pull up his M4, unsafe it, and disappear. She tried to lean down and touch her cramped calf, but as soon as she touched it, more pain erupted around it. Teeth clenched, she leaned back, breathing raggedly, trying not to cry out in agony. She had never experienced anything like this before. It felt like knives repeatedly being thrust and twisted into her balled-up calf muscles.
For a while, she lost track of time, gripping her upper left thigh as if holding it with both hands would stop the pain from drifting up her leg. It didn’t do any good. When Beau reappeared, she had no idea of how much time had passed. She watched as he placed his rifle against the wall, got rid of his ruck, and quickly opened it up.
Callie could hear herself breathing raggedly, the sound carrying around them. Guilt ate at her. She wasn’t being quiet at all. She was putting them at risk because she couldn’t gut out the pain. What must Beau think of her now?
“Here,” he said quietly, “take your glove off and open your palm.”
Stymied by this request, she did as he asked, and with her NVGs, she saw he had, of all things, a small saltshaker. What the hell? He shook the salt grains into her opened palm.
“Okay, pop the salt in your mouth. Now,” he ordered.
What good was this going to do? She did as he asked and popped more salt into her mouth. By the time he’d put the saltshaker back into a plastic bag and dropped it into his ruck, the pain in her leg had started to reduce. Shocked, she stared at him.
“The pain is leaving,” she managed to say. “What did you do?”
“Good! I’ll tell you in a minute. I want you to lean back and relax. I’m going to get the rest of that charley horse worked out of your calf. And listen: try not to scream, okay?”
Beau quickly pulled up her damp pant leg up to just below her knee and gently wrapped his hands around that fist-sized knot in her calf. This kind of leg cramp was the worst you could get, and he knew just how painful they were. He felt her flinch as he brought his hands lightly around the knot.
“Is the pain still going down?” he asked her.
“Y-yes.”
“By how much? Give me a percentage.”
Her mind was swimming with the shock of the pain and she could barely think. “At least half,” she gasped.
Beau said, “Good,” and explained, “You’re dehydrated, and this is what leg muscles do when they don’t get enough water. That salt is replacing what was lost from your sweating, Callie. I’m going to give you more salt in another minute to continue to help reduce the knot, and then I’m gonna have to massage the rest of it out of your calf by hand. And it’s going to hurt like hell and you’re going to have to
not
scream. Okay?”
Callie gave a jerky nod. “I can’t imagine it hurting any more than it does now.” She saw Beau’s mouth thin. His hands radiated heat. The skin was so sensitive that his callused hands around it made it hurt even more. But she didn’t pull her leg away. “W-will it go away?”
“In time,” he said soothingly. He gave her more salt and waited a few minutes. “What’s the pain level now, Callie?”
“Umm, maybe forty percent compared to a hundred percent before I put the salt in my mouth.”
He nodded. “That’s good. Okay, hang on and jam your fist into your mouth.”
He made a movement, and a scream tore up through her chest. Callie bit down on the fist she’d placed against her mouth. Her back arched, her nostrils flared, and a sob erupted from her as his fingers, long and kneading, began to work on the last of that angry, twisted knot.
For a moment, Callie thought she’d black out from the pain as it rolled up through her in wave after wave. And then, after the initial reaction, Beau’s knowing fingers began to loosen those tight, gnarled muscles and got them to start relaxing.
Feeling the pain exploding within her, then going away minutes later made her breathe in ragged sobs, her hand still against her mouth. She opened her eyes to slits, watching as Beau leaned over her leg, his mouth set, his whole attention on the damned cramp.
Finally, the pain began to dissolve each time he nudged and forced another muscle to let go, to untwist and lengthen. She dropped her hand into her lap, breathing harshly, her head tipped against the rocky surface, eyes closed, shaking internally from that gutting agony.
“There,” he murmured, beginning to smooth her muscles, stroking them, kneading them until they behaved once more. “You did good, Callie. Just try to relax now.”
“Easy for you to say,” she grunted.
Beau smiled, understanding how she felt. “You’re going to be okay now, gal. I’ll give you more table salt in a minute, and then you’ll drink a couple of pints of water. We’ll hole up here until you’re stable again.”
Closing her eyes, her breathing began to steady. It was not as explosive and harsh sounding as it had been, and she tried to ease her fingers out of a fist resting on her thighs.
“God, that was horrible, Beau,” she gasped.
“Yeah, I know. I’ve had a couple of those myself. Everyone on my team gets them from time to time. They’re no fun.” He continued to smooth her calf, his hands firm, trying to get the muscles to remain relaxed.
Shaking her head, Callie muttered, “You guys really do go through hell.”
“Sometimes,” he agreed in a drawl. “But it’s not always like what you’re experiencing. We do a lot of good out there in the badlands, and when we nail an HVT, it’s like Christmas to us. Makes everything we have to endure out here to find the sonofabitch worth it, believe me.”
“I just never realized,” she began lamely. “You guys suffer so much . . . so much . . .”
“Now, don’t you wander down into that box canyon,” he counseled, amusement in his tone. He gave her calf one more gentle stroke and then pulled her trouser leg down over it. “There, good as new.”
She snorted, watching as he moved to his ruck. Callie held out her hand toward him and he shook some salt grains into it again. “What is this? The latest secret for dealing with charley horses?” she asked wryly, tipping her head back, allowing the salt to slide into her mouth and dissolve. She was starved for the taste of it, figuring it was a symptom telling her she was deficient in the mineral.
“Oh, just a little country medicine my ma gave me,” he offered. Pulling out a quart bottle of water, he opened it and then handed it to her. “Sip, don’t glug. We’re gonna rest here for at least thirty minutes. You’ll need to get water into your system, so go slow but sure.”
Right now, Callie would do anything he asked of her. “Can I take off my NVGs?”
“Sure, go ahead.”
“Beau, how are you doing?” she asked, concerned about him.
“Fine.”
Callie’s mouth twisted. “Would you tell me the truth?”
He chuckled again, that rumble through his chest. “I have never lied to you, gal. I’m not starting now, okay?” He moved his head in her direction after he pushed up his NVGs.
She couldn’t see his eyes, but she could feel that invisible embrace again, and she hungrily soaked it up. “Okay,” she whispered. “You just seem . . . well . . . indestructible—at least, in comparison to me.”
“I am. I’ve had many years at this work. My body is primed for it. Yours isn’t.”
“I guess I’m slowing us down.”
“I was getting ready to call for a rest anyway.”
“Are you
sure
about that?”
“Yep. Now, keep sippin’ the water, because you have to hydrate, or that charley horse will come back with a vengeance. I don’t think you want another session with that, do you?”
“God, no!” she agreed.
“We’re going to have to stop about every thirty minutes and hydrate you from now on. Even in cold, wet, rainy weather like this we lose a lot of water to sweating because of the pace we’re keeping.”
She dutifully continued to sip the water. “Tell me about the table salt, Beau.”
He sat crouched in front of her, his long arms resting over his knees. “Baylee Ann Thorn’s mother is a homeopath. She’s our hill doctor up on Black Mountain. One time when I was home on leave shortly after joining Delta Force, I was telling her about the cramps I kept getting in my calves on long marches. She said to always carry a shaker of table salt because of the loss of salt in our sweat. If we took some salt grains, it would not only ease the cramp, it would get our electrolytes stabilized until we could get proper hydration. I found that to be true. Our whole team, including Matt, carries a saltshaker. They found out it works like magic.”
“It sure did on me,” Callie whispered gratefully. “It took that pain level down to nearly bearable until you started massaging that knot out of my calf.”
“Yeah,” he said softly and apologetically, “but this experience teaches you to hydrate, and we’re just gonna have to be more watchful and stop to get you to drink more often.”
“I’m a liability,” she groused, unhappy.
Beau reached out, gripping her glove. “Hey, understand this, Callie. You’re never a liability in my world.”
She knew Beau was trying to stop her from feeling guilty and appreciated his low, warm response. Beau enclosed her hand, giving it a squeeze of reassurance. His courage was unflagging. “Ever since meeting you,” she said, “I wanted to know what the rest of you was like.”