She finally stopped talking as they both did their thing.
He finished first. “All clear.”
“Yeah, rub it in,” she muttered. “You keep your pants on, you stay standing, and—bonus—you get to say What’s taking you so long?”
“Pretty sure I said All clear.”
“Well, that remains relentlessly un-fun,” she announced as she finally emerged from the brush. “But at least now I can give my undivided attention to being cold and hungry. Here’s hoping the rescue team remembers to pack sandwiches. Where are they, by the way? I expected to wake to the melodious sound of helos.”
“They’ll get here when they get here,” Thomas told her, leaving out the part where they might not get here in the near future as he led the way further up the trail. “The good news is we’ll hear them coming. But until then, we should—”
“Get moving,” she finished for him, snapping off a crisp salute. “Aye, aye, sir.”
“Don’t do that,” he said.
“Yeah,” Tash agreed. “That was weird.”
Rio drove the hybrid SUV, letting Dave navigate via a small mountain of paper maps.
It had been well after zero-dark-thirty when they’d left San Diego, but they’d stopped only to switch drivers, and it was now dawn as they approached Tucson.
Prep for a three-thousand mile trip by motor vehicle had been interesting.
They’d decided to pull a large tank with gas behind them, leaving more room in the back for supplies and gear—although truth be told, the last truck stop they’d passed had been open for business, generator-powered lights blazing, gas for sale.
Still, they didn’t have a clue what conditions would be like as they literally drove across the continent, so it was best to be prepared.
A solar panel topped this vehicle, which was an efficient use of space, but the equipment they’d need to charge their batteries took up a shit-ton of real estate in the way-back. Not to mention their rather bulky and fully secured arsenal, their cold-weather wilderness survival gear, and enough food to feed a small army for two-plus weeks. Plus a big-ass radio that Admiral Francisco had insisted they take.
“I always figured I’d work for the FBI eventually,” Dave mused as the miles continued to pass beneath their tires. “I just didn’t realize it would be today.”
While they were still in his office back in San Diego, the admiral had introduced them to the FBI team leader who was officially in charge of this little rescue mission, because Navy SEALs—even dressed in jeans and sweaters as they currently were—couldn’t go crashing about on their own on US soil. Although, truth be told, Rio fully expected that, long before they finished the cross-country drive, Thomas King would call in. Probably from the tiny town near the airfield into which he and Tasha had flown. It was hard to imagine that the SEAL lieutenant didn’t have everything completely under his very careful control.
Still, if the power was out locally, and both cell phones and landlines were down...
Rio had been lucky. Before leaving San Diego, he’d successfully connected with his family via text and social media, despite the widespread blackouts and cell tower goatfuckery. Everyone from his troublemaker of a little sister to his newly-moved-to-California cousin to his great-aunts still living in Staten Island were accounted for and safe.
Dave’s family had all checked in, too. But his recent cheater of an ex, some loser named Jon-without-an-H, hadn’t yet turned up, which was clearly bugging the shit out of Dave.
Rio could only imagine how worried Admiral Francisco must’ve been.
There were also powerful potential political ramifications to the niece of a high ranking U.S Navy Admiral being out of contact and free-floating at a time when very bad people were trying to achieve chaos and disruption.
So even though there were dozens of places closer to the ongoing action that Rio would rather be, he took this current assignment very seriously.
He glanced at the younger SEAL sitting beside him. “FBI, huh? Not CIA?” Most SEALs, after leaving the military, liked to use their expertise and training in the international arena. The FBI was generally bound to CONUS. Sure, there were exceptions, but they were rare.
“Nah,” Dave said as he checked his phone for messages for the thousandth time since they’d left. “There’s enough bad shit happening here at home. This past day is Exhibit A. I want to help clean up this kind of mess. So yeah, I got my eye on the FBI. It’s part of my seven-year plan.”
Seven years...? Jesus, Rio had no clue what he was doing next Tuesday. Other than go wherever the hell SEAL Team Ten was being sent.
“Don’t you have to be, like, a lawyer or an accountant or...?” Rio asked.
“It helps, but they like STEM degrees, too. Plus fluency in languages.” That was one of Dave’s superpowers. “The list is pretty long.” He sifted through his bag for his water bottle, took a long sip. “You thinking CIA?”
Rio shook his head. “Noooo.” He drew the word out.
“Private sector, then.”
“I’m not really thinking anything,” Rio admitted. “I guess I just figure I’ll be a SEAL until I die.”
“Drinking from which fountain of youth?” Dave asked. “Share your source, because I want some, too. Unless...” He gasped. “You’re gonna go full-career and become an admiral, like Francisco. Ooooh! You’re secretly planning to go to OCS, aren’t you? I knew it!”
Rio shot him a WTF look. “Jesus, God, no, I’m definitely not. In fact, that’s the dead last place I’d ever secretly plan to go, thanks so much.”
Officer Candidate School. God damn. He’d barely survived community college, only pushing through because he knew that without that basic undergrad degree, his chances of getting into the BUD/S program were slim-to-none.
OCS, his shiny ass. The big prize upon enduring that hellscape was to emerge as a newly minted officer, with endless paperwork and report-writing bullshittery clogging up his pathetically desk-driven day.
“You’ll be a great admiral,” Dave insisted.
Rio scoffed. “Yeah, right.”
“I’m serious. Why stop there? You stay in long enough, you could be the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Admiral Rio Rosetti is in the house!” He grinned at Rio. “The White House.”
Rio rolled his eyes and loudly changed the subject. “ETA to Queen Wila’s little ski lodge?”
“Thirty-nine hours, assuming that the roads remain clear, Admiral Rosetti, sir.”
Rio shook his head. “Dave, knock it off, you’re wearing me out.” But then he realized, as his teammate checked yet again for new messages, that having a conversation wouldn’t just help him stay awake while he was driving—it would help Dave out a little, too. “So, are you secretly planning to go to OCS? I wanna hear more about this seven-year plan...”
“Should we be worried?” Tasha broke the silence to ask.
They’d been hiking for hours. They’d long since crested the mountain, and were heading back down the other side, which was a different kind of hard from hiking up a trail. The muscles in the backs of her legs were screaming, and she had a ginormous blister on her foot.