Betrayal

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Gordon nudged his sleeping companion. “Doug. Wake up.”

Doug’s chin was drooping onto his stained military green T-shirt, sweat-soaked in the muggy night heat.

Gordon elbowed him again.

Doug shuddered, raised his head, and cracked open a bleary eye.

“What?”

“Shhh. Keep it down,” Gordon hissed. “We don’t want to alert the guards.”

He shifted his camouflage-clad legs in the mud and rotting vegetation then glanced at his partner’s calf, where a filthy bandage was wrapped around a festering bullet wound, the pants cut off at the knee. The rusty stain of dried blood on the dressing was alive with ants exploring the once-white gauze.

Doug was pale, his body battling infection and fever. It hadn’t helped that neither of them had been fed for two days, or that they only got water every four hours. The jungle in the southern hills of Myanmar was brutal at the best of times — if their captors didn’t kill them, nature soon would.

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