Fourteen

Carlos Ramirez turned the engine slightly aiming the bow towards a wave to keep it from tilting the boat too much. There was only one place he could go, where nobody would look. His father's cottage in the woods, 50 miles from the nearest town, Southbridge. It was an old-style log cabin that had been remodeled inside and insulated against the harsh winters.

At top speed the ride was almost two hours long with the droning roar of the engine. Dozens of times, he had leaned down to adjust the coat wrapped around her, check her pulse and breathing. The longer they were on the water, the worse things got for her. She never woke up on the on the trip, she just rocked calmly with the waves.

Ramirez throttled down as he approached the dock behind his father's cottage. The ropes were quickly tied, and he stepped onto the wooden planks with amber in his arms again. It took several more hours to clean the mud, blood, and dirt from her wounds before he lowered her into the bathtub of ice water. There was so much swelling inside her that he couldn't properly set any broken bones and her healing would be too slow.

After just a few minutes he pulled her back out and dried her off so he could dress her wounds properly with clean, dry bandages. Her arm needed to be set, wrapped, and held with a cast after he examined her torso for signs of more serious harm than the 6 ribs broken and badly bruised.

Her luck held. He set her ribs as gently as he could and wrapped them tight with a bed sheet he had torn into strips. Her right arm went into place easily and he splinted it with sticks and more wrappings he cut. When he finished wrapping every wound he could find, he dressed her in sweatpants and a soft, warm shirt.

Finally, was his turn. He undressed carefully, and slowly began pulling pieces of steel, wood and stone from his back, arms and legs. When the first building exploded, he dropped into a ball and was showered with debris. The second, however, was so unexpected that he had slivers and small pieces of the siding blasted right through him. The razors cut clean through the muscle and some were even stopped by the bone.

With every shard he pulled from his body, the pain increased. Blood ran from the wounds so badly that he was forced to stand over the shower's drain. The whole removal process took 45 minutes, and he finished with a long, hot shower. He stood, aching in every part of his body, letting the water run across his chest and the events of that day running through his mind.

The commander cranked the water off, dried himself with a clean towel, and wrapped his own wounds. Pain meds were frantically taken with clenched teeth. Too sore to fully dress, he slowly pulled on clean shorts and finally allowed himself to sleep. The images that played out inside his mind were the things of nightmares. Our bodies instinctively prevent us from reopening wounds as we sleep, but the dreams shook him. The sound of weapons fire and screams of men being shredded by it rolled him back and forth across the bed, staining his sheets red.

While he slept, she woke. The screams and groans woke him like ice water. Ramirez jumped off the bed, flew into the living room to find her on her left side crawling for the door. The last thing she knew was captivity, and pain. This slug-like crawl was her escape attempt.

"Greene, its ok." He said in a calm voice. "You're safe. It's Carlos. It's Ramirez."

She stopped and let that sink in.

"Sss…sir?" her words were weak, strained. "What…hap…hap…?"

"I found you." He limped to her and showed her the friendliest smile he could plant on his face.

She frowned up at him and groaned sharply as she rolled onto her back.

"Come, he insisted, back onto the couch." He leaned down and carefully lifted her with her armpits.

Squeals of pain came from them both, and it was that moment that she noticed all the blood on him. The waist of his shorts was stained red and it had dried in smears while he slept. Her screams had sent him into such a panic that his back and legs were soaked again, and blood ran from the wrappings. He was in rough shape too.

"What the hell happened to you?" she asked when he settled her onto the cushions.

Carlos sighed and took a seat on the coffee table.

"Well, a couple buildings blew up at me." He grinned at her knowingly. "One was my fault, but you know anything about the other?"

Her good eye looked away. "Must have been a gas leak or something."

"Greene, when you were transferred to my squad, I was briefed thoroughly on your history. I disobeyed a direct order, stole a boat, and saved your life. Don't lie to me."

She shot him a look. "If you knew, then why ask?"

"I was hoping that you would tell me yourself." He stood up, "not lie to my face."

Ramirez hobbled stiffly into the kitchen and opened cabinets collected cans of food.

It took amber a few minutes more to realize the changes around her. They weren't at the base. He disobeyed orders to save her life, and had taken her- where? That meant HE had wrapped her wounds. By himself, he set her broken body right and wrapped her torn flesh. And that meant he was the one who dressed her. Suddenly she flushed with color. Embarrassment and violated rage mixed inside her turning her stomach into knots.

"You… did this?" she asked. "You wrapped my wounds and dressed me by yourself?"

His head popped around the corner, his face was a deliberate arrangement of nonchalance, "I did, indeed. You were in pretty rough shape, recruit." He went back to opening cans and mixing. "I think you're in excellent condition considering… I think you're supposed to be dead."

Somehow, she was not surprised that she should be dead. The only thing that didn't make sense was why the bearded torturer hadn't just put a bullet in her head... she didn't have any information worth their effort. Unless he thought she did.

"When I blew the building," she started, "I didn't think I'd actually survive."

His smile widened, "I'm glad you did, kid. If you hadn't done it, I would be dead. We both would."

He knew that she had to trust him if he had any hope of kindling that kind, yet mistrustful child into an inferno of heroic woman. All it would take to turn her dark was fear. If enough people hurt you, you start hurting them first until either someone puts you down, or the world is turned to ashes. But for today, it was a day for healing, food, and hopefully laughter.

"Breakfast?" Ramirez asked her.

She smiled wide, "please, I'm starving."

Over the next six weeks he helped her around and assisted with the daily tasks of life. She was still a 17-year-old girl, though, so he afforded her as much private space as she wanted. Stresses of her life in the military, loss of a real childhood, and the loss of watching nick be drained of life and left behind. She cried a lot. He knew it, he heard it, but let her cope in her own way.

Carlos Ramirez had been married once. Five years was all they managed before the pain between them had reached unbearable. He didn't blame his wife; of course, it was neither of their faults. The medical bills and special attention were too much. He gave everything he had to find a cure, without success. Two months and eight days after his daughter's third birthday, she didn't wake up. The tumor she was born with had taken her life during the night and there was nothing he could have done. Her sight had gone first, then the hearing in her left ear, and finally- during the night- her breathing.

"Is this how it feels to have a daughter?" he thought to himself.

He pulled a blanket over amber's sleeping body. He crossed into the common room, lowered himself into his chair, and he wept in the dark.