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“And then you and I will figure out what’s next.”
She nodded. “I love you, Gun. With all of me.”
“And I love you, hot stuff. Now, what do you say we snuggle up on that enticing bed of leaves and grass and get some shut-eye?”
“I say it sounds good.”
They lay down, her with her head on his chest, arm draped over him, her hand on his chest. “Thank you for coming for me, Gunner.”
Gunner smiled. “I’ll always come for you, babe. Don’t you worry. You’re not alone anymore.”
That statement brought a sudden epiphany. She might not be alone anymore, but neither was he. Gunner had spent his life as a solo act when not on a mission. Now, it seemed he was part of a new team. A team of many, trying very hard to find its way to being a team of two.
PART THREE: CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
THIS DECISION CHANGES YOUR LIFE. FOREVER.
Oakley sat on the bank by the lake, watching the wolves drink, play in the tall grass or sniff around, cataloging new scents deposited during the night. Gunner knelt by the water’s edge with a string in one hand.
She’d chuckled when he said he was going to catch breakfast. She understood spear fishing, or even just standing with her hands in the water until something swam close enough to grab. But a string?
Feeling confident she’d win the wager on who could catch a fish first, she snatched up the stick she’d sharpened and walked a few yards away from where he knelt. She’d already discarded her boots and rolled up her pants legs to her knees. She stepped out into the water, positioned the spear in striking position, and watched the water.
Just as she saw a fish dart by her leg, a shout came from Gunner. “Got ’cha!”
Having missed her shot spectacularly, Oakley turned to see Gunner standing there with a fish dangling from his string. A big fish.
“Well cut me off and call me shorty,” she said. “I've never believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.”
“Oh ye of little faith,” he walked over to her. “I caught, you cook.”
“Cook?” she laughed. “Brother, there isn’t any cooking out here. No fires in the forest.”
Gunner frowned. “I hate sushi.”
“Then don’t call it that.”
“Okay fine, what do I call it?”
“Raw fish.”
He looked up at her with an ill expression on his face, and she laughed. “Lighten up, big guy. With luck, we’ll find something edible on the trail.”
“An eighteen ounce sirloin would hit the spot right about now.”
“Don’t I know it. Well, hand it here.”
They discussed their route and went over what they’d do if they encountered the enemy. Both understood the necessity of having it not just firmly fixed in your memory, but also in knowing the routine so intimately in your mind that your body falls naturally into the physical aspects.
They’d practiced every morning and night, and at least once during the walk of the day. After four days, Gunner felt they had it down. What they needed was food. They’d eaten all his rations, and she only had a few packs of dried fruit left.
Thus the need to fish. Both drew the line at eating raw game. Fish was bad enough, but not nearly as indigestible as raw red meat.
Breakfast was fast, as neither of them wanted to eat the fish. It was only a way to survive, so that’s what they did, and then they hit the bricks. They’d been walking for about three hours when one of the wolves started to sniff and circle, chuffing and grunting.
Another animal or animals had been here recently. She wandered the area, flanked by Ba’Cho and Nashoba, and trailed by Gunner. “So, I’ve been reading up a little on the structure of wolf packs,” Gunner commented. “And recently read that wolf packs are socially structuredunder a strict dominance hierarchy and are controlled by an alpha male and female pair. The other pack members align in a pecking order. Is that correct?”
“Wolf scat,” Oakley said over her shoulder. “A couple days old. And that view is a bit outdated, I think since it was based largely on captive studies.”
