Chloe swallowed. Nodded. “I promise. I’ll find answers.”
But she didn’t move. Couldn’t move. Skeet recognized the look—he’d seen it on the faces of soldiers who couldn’t leave wounded comrades behind, civilians who wouldn’t abandon family members.
“Miss Silver!” A man’s voice cut in from outside. “Tatmadaw forces are here!”
On the heels of his words, a tank round hit the house directly across the narrow lane, exploding in a shower of bamboo splinters and corrugated metal. The concussion wave slammedinto their building, cracking support beams and filling the air with dust and debris.
Skeet slammed into Chloe, tackling her to the ground as the house shook.
And he was done asking for permission. He grabbed Chloe around the waist and hauled her toward the door as the house groaned around them. She fought him—clawing at his arms, trying to twist back toward Dr. Tobias—but he was made for this.
“Let me go!”
“Not happening, sweetheart.” He pulled her through the doorway as the ceiling beam above Dr. Tobias’s bed cracked.
Chai pulled the older woman with him from the house. It collapsed behind them just as they burst out into the chaos of the street. Free Burma Rangers herded families toward the forest paths as buildings burned around them.
Chloe still fought Skeet, weeping, shouting. She possessed some decent strength.
The older woman took off with the others.
“Chloe, calm down!”
Chloe stopped fighting him, Dr. Tobias’s phone clutched to her chest, tears streaming down her dirt-streaked face. She rounded in his arms, looked back at the house—now partially collapsed, smoke rising from the debris.
“Move,” he said. “We have to movenow.”
The rumble of the tanks hammered the air.
“Follow the path!” Captain Wong gestured toward the northern tree line.
Nope, not that way.That way meant the army would follow.
“This way!” Chai said. “Back through the forest.” He took off down the street, heading away from the chaos.
The first tank crashed through the tree line at the northwestern edge of the village, its cannon swiveling toward the fleeing civilians. Behind it came the dark shapes of armoredpersonnel carriers and the scattered forms of infantry advancing in tactical formation.
“Chloe.” Skeet stepped in front of her, blocking her view of the destruction. “Look at me.”
Her eyes slowly focused on his face.
“We’re going to run now. Fast. And we’re not looking back. Understood?”
She nodded again, this time with something approaching awareness.
“Good.” He took her hand—not roughly, but firmly enough to guide her. “Stay close. Do exactly what I say. And whatever happens, don’t stop running.”
THREE
This was not how it was supposed to turn out.
Chloe hugged her knees to her chest, watching Skeet work on the fire. She’d slept in worse places—bombed-out buildings in Syria, abandoned bunkers in Afghanistan, overcrowded refugee camps where the smell of human suffering hung like fog. But this felt different. Worse.
Maybe because she’d never left a colleague behind before.
Rain drummed against the canvas. Each drop found its way through the jungle canopy to splatter against their makeshift shelter. Five hours of hiking through terrain that fought every step. Yet it felt like eternity since they’d fled the burning village.
Their refuge sat in a natural clearing where ancient trees formed prison walls around them. Trunks disappeared into darkness above, while vines twisted from branch to branch. The ground beneath the shelter sloped toward a stream that murmured over stones, the sound a complaint against the oppressive weight of the thick jungle air.