Page 58 of Duty Devoted
“You’ve got to go faster.”
“I’m trying.”
“Try harder.” The words came out sharper than intended, but we didn’t have time for exhaustion. We pushed hard now, or we died.
I checked my watch—1800 hours. The hurricane had passed twelve hours ago, which meant Silva’s forces would be mobilizing for real. The damage would slow them down, but we had maybe an hour at most before this area crawled with cartel soldiers.
“Logan, I need—” Lauren’s voice cut off as she snagged her foot on a root, barely catching herself against a tree.
“No breaks.” I grabbed her arm, steadying her just long enough to keep us moving, keeping my eye out for cartel members who may pop up any second. “I know you’re tired. We stop when we’re hidden in Puerto Esperanza, not before.”
I looked at her briefly, and she nodded, jaw tight with determination. Good.
The terrain shifted from dense jungle to scattered palms as we approached the coastal town. Storm damage was everywhere—uprooted trees, debris scattered like toys, standing water that reflected the afternoon sun. The hurricane had hit Puerto Esperanza hard.
Lauren lagged farther behind with each step. I had to slow my pace repeatedly, frustration building with every delay. This wasn’t the time for her endurance to fail. Not when we were so close to relative safety.
“Almost there,” I said, pulling her through a gap in a chain link fence that marked the town’s outskirts as the sun began to set. “Just a little farther.”
The first buildings we encountered showed heavy storm damage—roofs torn off, walls collapsed, windows blown out. Perfect for our purposes. I guided Lauren into what had been a small shop, now missing half its roof and most of its inventory.
“Sit.” I pointed to an overturned crate in the corner, positioning myself where I could watch the street through a broken window. “Catch your breath while I make contact.”
She practically collapsed onto the crate, one hand pressed to her side. Probably a stitch from our pace. I’d pushed hard, but staying alive took precedence over comfort.
I pulled out the satellite phone and turned it on, grateful it had survived both the hurricane and the firefight. The connection took longer than usual—storm damage affecting even satellite communications—but finally Jace’s voice crackled through.
“Jesus Christ, Logan. Thank God.”
“We’re alive. Made it to Puerto Esperanza.” I kept my voice low, eyes still scanning the street. “What’s your status?”
“Ty and I are holed up about twenty miles south. The other doctors made it out—they’re safe in Panama. But the storm damage is extensive. Most roads are impassable.”
“We had contact with Silva’s men. Two spotted us at the river and got a radio call out. Four more came after us—they’re all down now. But Mateo most likely knows our location.”
“Shit.” Jace’s typing was audible through the connection. “Okay, I’ve managed to arrange a safe house for you there in town, although it’s more of saferoomthan house. Found a bar owner who was willing to help for the right price. Above a place called El Pescador, near the docks. Tell the bartender you’re looking for yellowtail fishing charters. He’ll get you upstairs.”
“Copy that. Extraction?”
“Marina at 0530 tomorrow. Storm surge destroyed most of the docks, but there’s one section still functional. We’ll be coming in from our location on a speedboat. Helicopter isn’t an option.”
“Understood. We’ll be there.”
“Logan…” Jace’s tone shifted, carrying worry. “You both okay? Really okay?”
I glanced at Lauren, still hunched on the crate. “We’re functional. That’s close enough. See you at 0530.”
I ended the call and turned to Lauren. “We’ve got a safe house. Few blocks from here, then we can rest until tomorrow. Let’s go.”
“I can’t.”
The words were so quiet I almost missed them. Lauren hadn’t moved from her position on the crate, both hands now pressed to her left side.
“What do you mean, you can’t?” I moved closer, alarm bells starting to chime in my head. “Lauren, we need to?—”
She lifted her hands.
Blood. Holy shit. Blood soaking through her shirt, coating her fingers. A makeshift bandage of torn fabric was pressed against her side, completely saturated.
