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* * *
While we wait for the cover of night, we retreat further away from the camp to drink the last of our last water, split the remaining protein bar, and rest. We hide our backpacks in a thick bush and stand by until the jungle is coated in darkness.
Then, hiding in the shadows, we crawl back toward the assembly of tents. The camp lights provide just enough illumination for us to check on the state of things through the telescope.
“The prisoners are still in the same spot,” I say. “You think they’re feeding them? Giving them water?”
“I don’t know,” Winter replies. “But let’s focus on our mission right now. You have eyes on Smith?”
“Yeah, he’s with his minions having dinner under the tarp.”
The three of them are sitting around the table with a lantern placed in its center, eating and talking. Voices carry out to us, but not loud enough for us to pick up what they’re saying. The bastards are laughing, most likely discussing all the ways they’re going to spend their loot.
“What of the rifles?” Winter asks.
I squint against the darkness. At their feet, I catch a glint of moonlight reflected on black metal: the armory and ammunition box.
“They’re guarding them closely.”
“Good,” Winter says. “Just as we imagined. Smith knows we’re out here, weaponless. He must’ve figured that if we tried something, we’d go for the artillery first. What about the phones and laptop?”
As the moon rises higher in the sky, the scene before us becomes clearer still. “Smith has my phone case next to him. The laptop, too,” I say. “He’s literally keeping it under his arm.”
“What about Tucker’s phone?”
I search and search, but… “I can’t see it anywhere.”
“Could it still be in his tent?” Winter asks hopefully. “Did Smith know Tucker had a second satellite phone?”
“Let’s hope he didn’t,” I say grimly.
We crawl a few yards back, keeping out of sight.
Waiting.
Again.
I hate waiting.
Winter shuffles closer to me, and her lips find mine in the darkness. And for a second nothing else exists anymore. Just me and this woman. This fierce, brave, insufferable person that has stolen much more from me than Smith and his puppets ever could. She has taken my heart, and now it’s hers to do with as she pleases.
We find comfort in each other. Saying with tender kisses and caresses what’s too hard to put into words. Trying to cure the other of the fear we’re both feeling for Archie. For ourselves.
The sudden silence shakes us to attention.
“Have they gone to sleep?” Winter asks.
“Let’s go check.”
As stealthily as we can, we slither back to our vantage point. With the camp’s lights out, the half-moon provides just enough light for us to see that the camp is still. All is quiet.
“Looks like they’ve retired for the night,” I say.
“They didn’t leave anyone to guard the camp?”
My eyes go at once to where I spotted the armory box last. Poking out from inside the tent next to it, there’s a boot. And, judging from the angle the foot is at, it must belong to someone sitting on a chair.
“Someone is guarding the weapons and coms,” I say. “Just as you predicted. But I don’t know who it is; I can’t see their face.”
