Marked

Chapter Forty-Eight

The helicopter blades beat the air with purpose. They whipped through the sky at blinding speeds; any noise they made was drowned out by the roar of the wind rattling the metal doors.

The horizon brought with it the sight of lapping waves, of gentle blue ocean waters, a clear sky dotted with wispy clouds that resembled the first snow of winter.

Now that the adrenaline had finally left her body, the pain in her foot returned, this time with a vengeance. The man with the red cross over his jacket—a medic, he said he was—carefully removed what was left of her shredded shoe, a whistle of air leaving his lips as he inspected her wound.

When he touched it, she winced and pulled her foot back in a knee-jerk reaction. Hector squeezed the hand that was closest to him, both of them leaning back against the cool metal of the helicopter's interior.

The other men that had been with them during their escape also huddled together, all of them unharmed except for Tony who lay dead in one corner, covered by a white sheet that made the outline of his nose and mouth look ghostly.

She tried not to look at him, tried to forget how heavy her heart was for him in order to not ruin the relief she felt at having Hector alive and well beside her.

"How bad is it?" Hector asked, pulling her out of her reverie.

"It's going to need stitches," The medic replied. "But nothing too serious. I'll put a temporary bandage on it for now until we get back to base."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Hector asked as the medic worked over her foot.

Rachel waited until the medic was done and had moved on to another patient before she replied. "I didn't want to worry you."

"Rachel," He sighed. "I think after everything we've been through together, we're allowed to be a little worried for each other."

She shut her eyes together tightly in the hopes that it would be enough to hold back the tears that suddenly threatened to pour out. How could she possibly explain to him that she didn't worry about him only a little bit? That worrying about him made her heart feel like it would rip out of her chest and her stomach roll with nausea.

How could she describe to him the days she'd spent unable to eat or sleep back at the bunker because she had thought he was dead?

She didn't want to seem weak, but she was suddenly so exhausted, so tired of putting up a brave front. The past few days had taken a toll on her emotionally so that she didn't even know who she was anymore. Hector was the one constant thing that remained in her life and the idea of losing him was unbearable.

"What's the matter? Is it your foot?" He swiped his thumb across her cheek just in time to catch the single traitor tear that managed to escape.

"No, it's not my foot," She laughed a little as she reached a hand up to swipe the rest of the tears away, feeling foolish. "It's just—" She hesitated, unsure if she should pour her feelings out to him.

Growing up with Ruth as her mother she'd learned that sometimes baring her emotions out in the open only left her vulnerable to getting hurt.

But then she thought of all the times they'd both nearly been killed; all the times he'd risked his life for her. Surely, he deserved to know how she felt. He'd gone to the capital twice now to save her and that thought alone was enough to strengthen her resolve.

"When I was climbing up the ladder to the helicopter and you weren't behind me...I felt so...lost. I'd barely just gotten you back and then you were gone again, and I wasn't sure I could handle it."

She drew in a shaky breath, "Look, I-I'm not even sure what this is," She gestured between them, feeling a little bubble of hysteria rising in her chest. "I mean, it's not like we've really had the chance to sit down and talk about how we feel for each other. But what I do know is that you've become this essential part of my life and I can't stand the thought of you not being there."