she could kill me. I... There was a... I didn’t... I...” She began to shake, unable to form words.
“Hey,” he whispered, gathering Dalilah into his arms. “It’s okay.” She folded into him, resting her wet head against his chest. Brandt just held her for a moment as she sobbed with great big wrenching heaves. A reciprocal emotion swelled hot through his chest and he put his face up to the rain, the enormity of his responsibility suddenly overwhelming. He knew that failing this woman would be the end of him.
Inhaling deeply, he smoothed her wet hair back off her cheek. “Dalilah,” he whispered, looking deep into her eyes. “We can talk about it later, but now we need to move.”
He picked up the rifle lying in the mud and lifted her to her feet. Leading her to the jeep, he helped her into the passenger seat, the canopy protecting her from rain. Brandt quickly rustled through the pile of gear he’d loaded in the backseat, found a heavy gray blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders. Her eyes caught his, held, then she looked away, drawing the blanket tighter around her shoulders, shivering, her face bloodless.
Brandt was fully aware that the physical and mental effects of shock were often underestimated. It was a medical condition that could become dangerous, and fast. He needed to watch her closely, make sure she stayed warm. But their immediate priority was crossing the border or they’d be trapped on this side and facing Amal by morning.
“We’ll get you into some dry clothes as soon as we get over the river, okay?”
She wouldn’t meet his eyes.
“Then I’ll splint your arm, get some food into you.” He placed a water bottle beside her. “Stay hydrated, okay? There’s probably aspirin in that kit there at your feet. Take what you need.”
But she just sat, staring wide-eyed into space, jaw tight.
Brandt ran back to the leopard sprawled in the mud. She was right, it was a female. She’d shot it in the throat. Then he saw the enlarged teats on the animal’s belly. Glancing up into the tree, he panned through the branches with his flashlight. And his heart just about cracked—a cub, mewling, the sound drowned out by the storm.
That must have been what truly shattered Dalilah.
He crouched and shunted the dead leopard onto his shoulders. It was heavy and blood washed with rain down his arm as he made his way back to the jeep.
Horror widened Dalilah’s eyes as she saw Brandt approaching in the headlights with the animal draped over his shoulders.
“No! Oh, God, no, what are you doing?” She spun round as he heaved the dead animal into the far backseat.
“Can’t leave it lying out there,” he said brusquely, coming round to the driver’s-side door. “This storm will cover a good deal of our trace. But leaving that leopard with a bullet hole lying under the tree like that—might as well leave a flag with a note telling Amal’s men we came this way.”
He climbed, secured his rifle into a bracket on the dash beside a hunting spotlight.
“Brandt—”
He shot her a glance as he put the vehicle in gear.
“There was a baby, a cub.”
“I know.” He pressed down on the gas, tires whining in mud as the vehicle kicked forward.
“We can’t leave the cub.”
“We have to. I’m not killing it.”
“Something else will.” Her voice was filled with desperation.
“Dalilah,” he said softly, jaw clenched, eyes focused on the terrain illuminated by the twin yellow beams of his headlights. “We can’t take it. We have to let nature take its course here.”
She pushed herself back into the seat, fighting something inside. Then a flash of anger burst through. “I didn’t sign up for this!”
You and me both.
But he said nothing, concentrating instead on negotiating a rocky escarpment as he worked the jeep toward the banks of the Tsholo. With the dash-mounted GPS came increased confidence. He told himself they’d be over the river, hopefully, within an hour or two. Once
“Hey,” he whispered, gathering Dalilah into his arms. “It’s okay.” She folded into him, resting her wet head against his chest. Brandt just held her for a moment as she sobbed with great big wrenching heaves. A reciprocal emotion swelled hot through his chest and he put his face up to the rain, the enormity of his responsibility suddenly overwhelming. He knew that failing this woman would be the end of him.
Inhaling deeply, he smoothed her wet hair back off her cheek. “Dalilah,” he whispered, looking deep into her eyes. “We can talk about it later, but now we need to move.”
He picked up the rifle lying in the mud and lifted her to her feet. Leading her to the jeep, he helped her into the passenger seat, the canopy protecting her from rain. Brandt quickly rustled through the pile of gear he’d loaded in the backseat, found a heavy gray blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders. Her eyes caught his, held, then she looked away, drawing the blanket tighter around her shoulders, shivering, her face bloodless.
Brandt was fully aware that the physical and mental effects of shock were often underestimated. It was a medical condition that could become dangerous, and fast. He needed to watch her closely, make sure she stayed warm. But their immediate priority was crossing the border or they’d be trapped on this side and facing Amal by morning.
“We’ll get you into some dry clothes as soon as we get over the river, okay?”
She wouldn’t meet his eyes.
“Then I’ll splint your arm, get some food into you.” He placed a water bottle beside her. “Stay hydrated, okay? There’s probably aspirin in that kit there at your feet. Take what you need.”
But she just sat, staring wide-eyed into space, jaw tight.
Brandt ran back to the leopard sprawled in the mud. She was right, it was a female. She’d shot it in the throat. Then he saw the enlarged teats on the animal’s belly. Glancing up into the tree, he panned through the branches with his flashlight. And his heart just about cracked—a cub, mewling, the sound drowned out by the storm.
That must have been what truly shattered Dalilah.
He crouched and shunted the dead leopard onto his shoulders. It was heavy and blood washed with rain down his arm as he made his way back to the jeep.
Horror widened Dalilah’s eyes as she saw Brandt approaching in the headlights with the animal draped over his shoulders.
“No! Oh, God, no, what are you doing?” She spun round as he heaved the dead animal into the far backseat.
“Can’t leave it lying out there,” he said brusquely, coming round to the driver’s-side door. “This storm will cover a good deal of our trace. But leaving that leopard with a bullet hole lying under the tree like that—might as well leave a flag with a note telling Amal’s men we came this way.”
He climbed, secured his rifle into a bracket on the dash beside a hunting spotlight.
“Brandt—”
He shot her a glance as he put the vehicle in gear.
“There was a baby, a cub.”
“I know.” He pressed down on the gas, tires whining in mud as the vehicle kicked forward.
“We can’t leave the cub.”
“We have to. I’m not killing it.”
“Something else will.” Her voice was filled with desperation.
“Dalilah,” he said softly, jaw clenched, eyes focused on the terrain illuminated by the twin yellow beams of his headlights. “We can’t take it. We have to let nature take its course here.”
She pushed herself back into the seat, fighting something inside. Then a flash of anger burst through. “I didn’t sign up for this!”
You and me both.
But he said nothing, concentrating instead on negotiating a rocky escarpment as he worked the jeep toward the banks of the Tsholo. With the dash-mounted GPS came increased confidence. He told himself they’d be over the river, hopefully, within an hour or two. Once
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