Free The Traiteur's Ring by Jeffrey Wilson

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    Chapter 7
     
     
    The heat and humidity made Ben wish they had run before breakfast, but he stretched his stride out anyway and enjoyed the feel of his body cowboying up to his demands. The grueling pace melted away much of his stress and anxiety. As he ran, with Reed puffing along beside him, he went over the encounter with the survivors in his head. He realized that, as usual, he had over reacted to the unusual behavior. His own strange past, full of its myth of magic and mystery, often made him side his view towards the occult when things were even a little out of the mainstream. Not exactly superstitious, he knew himself well enough to admit that, given a choice, he usually leaned towards the supernatural explanation. Only later would his left brain succumb to the logic of the right and show him the often obvious, and boring, scientific explanation.
    As they started up a gentle dirt slope back toward their barracks, Ben picked up the pace and fell in beside Auger who pounded the ground into submission with his large legs, smiling a pain-free smile.
    “You the man, Ben,” he grinned. “My leg feels great – even my hip.”
    Ben smiled back and pulled a pace ahead of him, just a stride behind Lash, who he decided he would sprint past at the very end.
    In this case, the obvious explanation for the behavior of the survivors required very little logic or smarts. He and his team had come into their primitive village where terrible men did horrible things to them and in only a few minutes, using tools that would mystify them, had completely destroyed their tormentors. Ben had saved a little girl and one of the women personally.
    No real mystery how these simple folks might show awe and deference to us. They would have responded the same had Chris or Lash or any of us come in.
    And, what about the man kissing the ring?
    Respect for their lost elder and spiritual leader, that’s all. No mystery there.
    Ben lengthened his stride and closed on Lash as they started the last quarter mile to the finish.
    “Comin’ up on your six, Lash,” Auger called out.
    Lash glanced over his shoulder and grinned. Then, he broke into a full sprint.
    “Nuh-uh, doc,” he hollered as he pulled ahead.
    Ben kicked in his own sprint and held the distance but couldn’t close it. Lash was an animal.
    A moment later they walked in circles together and waited for their teammates to join them one by one, Reed pulling up last.
    “One day,” Ben grinned at Lash.
    “Maybe,” Lash said. “If I lose a leg or something.”
    Ben laughed.
    He felt so much better. The run had cleared his head and set things right around him again. He looked at the ring on his hand which held a calm orange tint. Ben pulled the mouthpiece from his camel back to his lips and took a long draw of warm water. He swallowed some and, then, swished and spit the rest into the dirt.
    Ben and the other four SEALs walked slowly around the tin hangar and stretched out their muscles as they cooled down. Auger slapped Ben on the back.
    “Way to go, Ben,” he said.
    “I didn’t catch him,” Ben said looking ruefully at Lash.
    “Who gives a shit about that?” Auger said. “I’m talking about my leg, bro. You need to keep some of that smelly ass paste available all the time, okay?”
    “Sure,” Ben said. He noticed Auger showed not even the slightest hint of a limp. “Wanna head to the box to look at that thing again?”
    “Let’s do it after I hit some weights, okay?” Auger asked.
    “Nah,” Ben said. “Let’s do it now, dude. It’ll need to be cleaned up from your run and, anyway, I want to call home before it gets too much later.”
    Ben knew it would be nearly midnight at home already, but even though he had a brief call only a couple of hours ago, he desperately wanted to hear Christy’s voice.
    “Alright,” Auger said with a six-year-old pout in his voice. He followed Ben into the barracks.
    “The box” was a room the size of