Fugitive Spy Page 8

  They were through the door, their feet puffing up snow as they raced to the car, when a blast wave traveled through Casper’s body, jolting every internal organ. His body was falling before the flash of fire flamed over him like an inferno exhaling. For a few seconds, he was airborne, remnants of the cabin pelting him like a violent hailstorm. Ashley’s hand was yanked from his, and he moved his arms forward to break the coming fall. He landed, hard, on his stomach, his limbs coming to rest in the snow. Pine trees splitting cracked in small explosions. Casper rolled onto his back. A roil of black smoke shot upward to the sky.

  Someone had set a trap at Russell’s cabin, but for whom?

  He couldn’t breathe. Each small breath was like a popped flare in his chest. A tall tree next to him swayed threateningly, as if teasing that death could still claim him. Casper forced himself to take deeper breaths. Wiggling his fingers and toes, he confirmed that his nerves were still intact and operating under his brain’s central command. As he struggled to sit up, his previous injures ached and his vision tilted with a serious bout of vertigo. He placed a hand down onto the forest floor to steady himself until the scene before him was steady.

  Desperately, he scanned the ground for Ashley. Where was she? The cabin was disintegrating, its skeleton food for the hungry blaze. All that would be left was smoldering ash when its appetite was satiated.

  “Casper...”

  At first, upon hearing his whispered name, he thought his mind was playing tricks on him to convince himself that she was still alive because he couldn’t see her anywhere.

  A cough made him turn around. Still, he didn’t see anything.

  Until he looked up.

  There she was, seemingly cradled in a tree branch like a mother holding an infant. In disbelief, he settled on his knees and tried to come to terms with her predicament. His heart thumped wildly as he watched her closed eyes. His mind begged them to open—to see that blue lively and engaged.

  And then he saw it, the faint but rapid rise of her chest.

  She was alive.

  He scurried to his feet and raced toward the tree. She was not far up into the branches. Her hand dangled down at about shoulder height, and he took it between both of his. It was cold, her fingertips blue.

  “Ashley...” he said, as he sneaked his fingers into the groove of her wrist to assess her pulse. It was weak, barely palpable. Too fast.

  Her eyes opened and her gaze wandered aimlessly around her—the blue of her irises fractured by the heightened red trails of the veins against her sclera. What normally appeared white was now a spiderweb of red. Her inability to focus and engage him was a clear sign of shock—but from what? It was important for him to determine the injury to treat her appropriately.

  “Ashley,” he said with more conviction. Finally her eyes locked on his and he stepped closer to the tree. “What hurts?”

  She squeezed her eyes, her lips made a few motions, but no words were verbalized. He moved his hand up to her shoulder and brought the other one to her chest, feeling her breaths beneath his palm. He didn’t need a watch to know how fast they were. Briefly, he rested his chin against his shoulder to organize his thoughts.

  What do I do, Lord? If I move her without knowing the extent of her injuries, I could kill her. I don’t want her to die.

  Clenching his teeth against the thought, he looked back at her. “Ashley, wiggle your fingers and toes.” He could see her fingers move faintly and when he placed his hand over her tennis shoes, he could feel her toes wiggle under the canvas.

  There was a low branch on the tree that seemed broad enough to support his weight, and he stepped on it to get closer to her. With one hand, he reached behind and felt her neck, and he didn’t perceive any bony abnormalities. On gross observation, her spinal cord seemed intact.

  She tried to lift her head, but then it dropped back, her eyes closed. Everything about her body signified that she might be trying to leave it.

  “Ashley,” he called to her. Nothing. He pinched her fingertip, hard, to see if she would respond to the pain. “Ashley!” Again, no response. His heartbeat faltered, his throat was tight and he placed two fingers at her neck in search of a pulse.

  There was one, and she was still breathing, but her lips were dusky, and if he didn’t do something right now, he was going to lose her.

  With one hand behind her neck, and the other scooping under her lower back, he pulled her toward him.

  She didn’t come forward.

  Something tethered her to the trunk. Casper clenched his eyes. He knew in his mind every medical reason not to jerk her body from the tree, but he was running out of time and he couldn’t do anything for her medically while she was hanging from a branch.

  With all his might, he pulled again and she came free, her body falling into his chest. The momentum carried him backward and he quickly placed a foot on the ground to steady himself before he dropped her. Something wet trickled onto his hand that supported her back.

  Blood.

  Looking back at the tree, he saw what had happened. A short, spear-like branch had impaled her. But where? Had he just killed her by removing her from it?

  He went to his knees and set her on the ground. A faint moan escaped her lips, and though he was sorrowful for the amount of pain she must be in, he also rejoiced because it meant she was still with him.

  Turning her away from him, he lifted up the back of her shirt. A small stream of blood flowed from a wound just under her right shoulder blade. Now everything made sense. Likely, her lung was punctured and the only way to save her life was to put a chest tube in.

  Turning her back toward him, he picked her back up and ran to the car.

  * * *

  A hot poker seared Ashley’s side. Her eyes popped open and she felt a reassuring hand cup her cheek.

  “Shh, it’s all right. We’re safe. For now.”

  Her vision was blurry. Her hands reached toward her right side to feel what was causing the intense pain, but Casper held her hand tightly in his. “You have a chest tube.”

  If that were true, what should greet her clearing vision were the bright lights of a hospital room. Instead, a musty odor filled her nostrils. She could see rafters, a dark, cabin-like interior, complete with cobwebs and a mounted deer head on the wall.

  A hunting cabin?

  She turned her head toward his voice and he sat next to her on a wooden stool. She was lying on a threadbare floral couch. The colors were reminiscent of something from the ’70s that would most likely be found on the side of the road with a “free” cardboard sign perched on the cushions. She was half covered in an olive green wool blanket with holes in various spots. Small, anemic flames wiggled in a woodstove a few feet from the base of the couch.

  Beyond her was a table. On it were an old gas can and a few wire hangers. There were discarded bags of IV fluids. She felt the crook of her right arm and there was an IV in place, but nothing connected at this time. Somehow, Casper had jury-rigged together a chest tube from gas pump siphon tubing, likely the end set in something that held water. As if reading her thoughts, Casper picked up a large mason jar, where the end of the red tubing sat. Small air bubbles intermittently floated to the surface.

  Setting it back down, he grabbed a glass of water and held out a few pills in one palm.

  “You need to take these. It’s some of the penicillin we found. I can’t say I exactly used a 100 percent sterile technique when I put the tube in to help your lung reexpand. Sorry to say, there’s nothing stronger than Tylenol and ibuprofen in the kit for the pain. Want some?”

  She nodded. It was something she wasn’t going to disagree with him about. He shook four blue gel capsules from a bottle and helped her sit up, and she swallowed them. Her stomach began to cramp as he settled her back onto the throng of old pillows he’d scavenged from the cabin. His face was awash with relief. The d
eep creases in his forehead relaxed. An impish smile made his dimples prominent. It was relief but also pride. She’d probably feel the same way saving someone’s life under such adverse conditions.

  Slowly, the events that had brought them to this place came forward in her mind. The explosion. A tree. Not too much after that. Never again could she justify doubting a patient’s story when it came to traumatic injury. Being impaled by a tree after an explosion? She’d definitely have to cut her ER clientele some slack.

  Ashley glanced down at her chest and noticed her shirt had been cut up the side. Her fingers traveled up the row of black buttons, noting the top three were open, revealing the uppermost portion of her scar that was visible at the break.

  That meant he knew... He had to know.

  He caught her eye as she looked up. “Want to tell me about your heart surgery?”

  She gathered the shirt closer to her neck. “Two holes in my heart. I was in elementary school when they were repaired.”

  “Anything I should know...medically speaking?”

  Those had been hard days for her family. They were financially strapped for money. At the time, she’d heard her parents argue over words she didn’t understand. Debt. Foreclosure. Arguments over the right timing of her surgery and how they were going to withstand the medical bills. Ashley had felt guilty that her condition was causing them so much stress. However, none of those things had come to fruition. Somehow, they’d patched things together for Ashley to get her procedure—even moving into a larger house within the year.

  “No, it hasn’t been an issue.”

  He covered her hands with his. “That’s good to know. I’d hate to...”

  Lose you? Are those the words he meant to say but left out?

  “How many days have we been here?”

  “Two.”

  She inhaled deeply. How was it possible to lose so much time?

  “You haven’t been out the whole time, but it doesn’t surprise me that you don’t remember much. Now we’re two peas in the same pod...at least memory-wise, I guess.”

  His attempts at humor didn’t sit well. He’d said they were safe, but was that really true?

  “Where are we?”

  “Closer to the city than I’d like to be right now. A high school friend of mine’s family uses this as a hunting lodge, but I’m pretty sure they haven’t been here in more than a decade.”

  “You haven’t...seen anyone?”

  He shook his head. “Not yet. After I pulled you off the tree I hightailed it off the mountain. With your lung collapsed, I knew I’d never get it to reexpand at altitude, so I had to get you to lower ground. It seemed to work, but we’re too close to civilization. We probably shouldn’t stay here more than another day.” He reached for a small oxygen monitor and placed it on her finger. “Your oxygen levels have been good over the last twelve hours.”

  Reaching to the floor again, he grabbed a stethoscope, another item she recognized from her father’s kit.

  He placed the bell against her chest. “You know what to do.”

  She took a deep breath and was immediately racked by a coughing fit. The tube sitting inside her chest had saved her life, but it also irritated her lung. She held her hand to her side, stabilizing the tube. It felt like a snake worming its way through her. Remnants of iodine remained on her skin. A shudder ran through her as she thought about what had lived on the tree branch as far as microorganisms and what might plume in her body if given enough time. She looked at the knots that held the tube in place.

  It was not the standard tie generally taught to medical students. It was her father’s special variety.

  And Casper had used it.

  He eased her back. The worry that clouded his eyes seemed to be fading. She’d guessed he’d give the okay to stop digging her grave.

  “I think we should see if you can tolerate eating anything. I ran out of IV fluids twelve hours ago, so if you’re not able to drink we’re going to have another problem on our hands.”

  He left her to go to the kitchen, which consisted of a small gas stove, a sink and little else. Next to the stove was a small countertop with a waiting mug. He poured hot water into it, grabbed a few other items and headed back in her direction.

  “This time, you get the hot chocolate. Just try to sip it. You’ll need the sugar. I’m guessing you feel pretty weak. Hopefully this will give you the boost that you need.”

  She reached for the mug. He was more on point than she cared to admit. She’d never been this incapacitated before...forced to rely on someone else for her basic needs. In a sense, it was unnerving, but Casper’s thoughtfulness and care was filling a void in her. Her hands shook as she reached for the liquid, and Casper kept it steady as she sipped.

  All it needed was a splash of peppermint and she’d feel like something was right with the world again.

  After setting the cup on the floor, he handed her a few graham crackers with peanut butter—another favorite treat from her youth.

  “Take it slow,” he admonished her after she greedily polished the first cracker off. “There are no medications for nausea in your father’s kit.”

  She nodded. He was right, but her stomach was celebrating. She didn’t feel nauseated, just hungrier. The food was already making her feel better.

  “Tell me what else you’ve remembered,” Ashley said, taking smaller bites.

  Casper busied himself for a few moments before answering. “A lot. Just not anything important that will help us right now.”

  “How do you know?” She nestled herself into the crook of the couch after finishing the second cracker. Casper gathered the blanket and tucked it around her body. The back of his hand came to rest on her forehead, lingering there longer than she felt necessary to measure a temperature, yet her body responded to his touch as if she were feverish.

  He smiled. “Normal temperature. That’s good. Hopefully I didn’t give you a major infection.”

  “You’re not answering my question. Perhaps something that seems insignificant to you and something that seems insignificant to me—together could be the clue as to what we’re supposed to do next.”

  Reaching under the blanket, he pressed his fingers into her wrist to measure her pulse. He seemed to be doing everything he could not to answer her question or travel down his reestablished memories in order to help her. She grabbed his hand and pulled gently, coaxing him to look at her. “Casper, what are you afraid of?”

  “Maybe I don’t trust these memories and I don’t want to make a decision based on something that might not be true that will put us in more danger.”

  “It seems to me like not talking about this, living in ignorant bliss as they say, will do us more harm than good,” Ashley pressed.

  Casper settled his elbows on his knees and rested his chin on his hands. “Do you remember me at all? Ever remember us meeting before?” he asked her.

  The locked gaze in his eyes was almost dizzying, as if that look tried to pull forth some shared memory between the two of them.

  Her father had been known to bring a lot of people by the house. He was an extrovert, constantly needing to be surrounded by people. The energy from those gatherings renewed his strength. Ashley had found herself reacting quite differently. She wasn’t a wallflower by any means, but she needed solitude to get her bearings. Perhaps it was working in the ER, dealing with the range of mild accidents to horrible tragedies that caused her to be somewhat reclusive in her time off. Thinking back through some of these events that her father had insisted she suffer through, she couldn’t recall Casper being any part of them.

  “It was Christmas, maybe five years ago. You were just beginning your ER fellowship.”

  She rested her head back and closed her eyes. There had been so many of those parties that they all ran together in her mind. “I’m sorry. I don’t, but don’t take
it personally.”

  His eyes softened. “Easy for you to say.”

  Was her comment some kind of sucker punch to his ego? Was he disappointed because maybe he’d been crushing on her in the past?

  “All those parties may have gotten annoying to you, but for me, they were something I’d never experienced before. My family...just wasn’t into celebrating.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s just what it was. Families are different. Mine was more reserved. I guess I wanted something different—something more adventurous. Your father brought that out in me.”

  “I did like doing the white elephant gift exchange. It was always funny to see that what someone considered trash could be another person’s treasure.”

  “Did you know your father was working for the CIA?” Casper asked.

  The question jolted Ashley. A chill ran through her body. How could that even be possible? He was a doctor, not a spy.

  “That was a joke, right?” Ashley asked.

  “You never wondered why he traveled so much? Most doctors stay pretty close to home.”

  “We, as in my brother and my mom, thought it was mission work.”

  “I guess it was in a way...mission work. However, a lot more dangerous than offering help in clinics in developing countries.”

  “Depends on what area of the world you’re in. The Ebola outbreak in Liberia was pretty dicey.”

  “Your father admitted to you he was there?” Casper asked.

  “One of the few times he did. He was gone for almost six months.”

  Casper nodded, his lips pressed.

  “What is it you’re not telling me?”

  Casper shrugged. “I’m pretty sure Jared Fleming was his handler.”

  Ashley’s mouth gaped open.

  “Like I said, I don’t fully trust what I’m remembering. Let’s just give it some time. More to drink?” he asked, holding up the cup.

  Considering Casper’s revelations about her father and Jared, she’d lost her ravenous appetite with those few words.