did you get out?” he asked.
“Later,” she said, and set aside the bag that he now saw was a red nylon lunch cooler. Why had the pilot been so insistent that she retrieve it?
Illegal possibilities rose in his law-enforcement mind, but he turned his attention to the injured man, checking his pupils and pulse.
“Where’s your pack?” he asked her.
“Dumped it. Couldn’t fit out the side window.”
Erin dropped to her knees beside the pilot.
“Shock,” he said. At the very least. If he had to guess, and he did have to, because there was no medical help for miles, he’d say the man was bleeding internally. He took a knee beside her and pressed on the pilot’s stomach with his fingertips and found the man’s skin over the abdominal cavity was tight and the cavity rigid.
“His leg is broken,” said Merle, pointing at the pilot’s foot, which was facing in the wrong direction for a man lying on his back.
So is his spleen, thought Dalton.
“I don’t like the sound of his breathing,” said Erin, her brow as wrinkled as her wet tank top.
The pilot wheezed now, struggling for breath. His eyes fluttered open.
“Captain Lewis, this is my husband. He’s a New York City detective. You wanted to speak to him?” The pilot had given them his name but little else.
The captain nodded. “Just you two,” he said, lifting his chin toward the curious faces surrounding him.
Erin pointed at Merle. “Please go find my pack and get my phone. Then call for help. Brian, go find something to cover Carol up with and, Alice and Richard, can you gather my climbing gear?”
The campers scurried away.
“Now, Captain Lewis,” said Erin. “What in this cooler is so important that you were willing to kill us both?”
Lewis turned to Dalton and spoke in a guttural whisper. “I work for the Department of Homeland Security. Orders to collect this and transfer same to a plane bound for the CDC in Virginia.”
Dalton felt the hairs on his neck lifting, as if his skin were electrified. The mention of the CDC or Centers for Disease Control indicated to him that whatever was inside was related to infection or disease.
“What’s in there?” he asked, aiming an index finger at the bag.
“Flash drive with intel on terrorist cells within the state. Siming’s Army, and those vials hold one of the three Deathbringers.”
“The what?” asked Dalton.
“I don’t know, exactly. Mission objective was to pick up a package, which contains an active virus—a deadly one—and the vaccine.”
Erin moved farther from the cooler that had been dangling recently from her arm.
“So it’s dangerous?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am. Deadly. You have to get it to DHS or the FBI. Don’t trust anyone else.”
“Who shot you down?” Dalton had seen the bullet holes in the fuselage.
“Foreign agents. Mercenaries. Don’t know. Whoever they are, they work for Siming’s Army. And more will be coming to recover that.” He pointed at the cooler.
“Where’d you get it?” asked Dalton.
“An operative. Agent Ryan Carr. Use his name. Get as far from here as possible.”
“But you’re injured,” said Erin.
“No, ma’am. I’m dying.” He glanced to Dalton, who nodded his agreement.
“Internal injuries,” said Dalton through gritted teeth. Two deaths, and he’d been unable to do a damned thing to save them.
“I thank you for pulling me out. You two have to complete my mission.”
“No,” said Erin at the same time Dalton said, “Yes.”
She stared at him. “I can’t leave these people out here and I’m not taking charge of a deadly anything.”
The captain spoke to her, slipping his hand into hers.
“It’s a dying man’s last request.”
She tried to pull back. “That’s not fair.”
He grinned and then wheezed. His breath smelled of blood. “All’s fair in love and war.”
He used the other hand to push the cooler toward Dalton, who accepted the package.
She pointed at the red nylon travel cooler. “Dalton, do not take that.”
But he already had.
“Get him a blanket, Erin. He’s shivering.”
She stood and glared at him, then hurried off.
Dalton stayed with the captain as he grew paler and his eyes went out of focus. He’d seen this before. Too many times, but this time the blood stayed politely inside his dying body. The pilot’s belly swelled with it and so did his thigh. The broken femur had cut some blood supply, Dalton was certain, from the lack of pulse at the pilot’s ankle and the way his left pant leg was now so tight.
“Tell my girlfriend, Sally, that I was fixing to ask for her hand. Tell her I love her and I’m sorry.”
“I’ll tell her.” If he lived to see this through. Judging from the number of bullet holes in that chopper and the size of the caliber, staying alive was going to be a challenge.
Erin returned with her down sleeping bag and draped it over the shivering captain. Before the sun reached the treetops as it dipped into the west, the captain joined Carol Walton in death.
Dalton stood. “We have to go.”
“Go? Go where? I’ve got two dead bodies and responsibility for the welfare of my group. I can’t just leave them.”
No, they couldn’t just leave them. But there were few safe choices. Traveling as a group would be slow. “Get the kayaks ready. We’re going.”
“I am not taking this group into river rapids ninety minutes before sunset. Are you crazy?”
“Not as crazy as meeting them here.” He motioned to the open field.
“Meeting who?” she asked.
“Siming’s Army.”
Twenty minutes later Erin, now
