Chapter 17 Emery
EMERY
Bright blood against his dirt-stained skin. It’s the sort of red that truly makes you see how fickle life can be. How easy it is to take away.
My hand loosens and the blade slips out of my hold. I take a few harrowing breaths as I take in where I am and what I’m doing. What I was about to do.
Mori’s head is tilted to the side, unconscious. My eyes skirt over his body, narrowing at every tear in his tactical gear and gash that allows the blood to drain from his injured flesh. A long cut extends from his lower jaw up to his cheekbone.
Is that how his helmet came off? I swallow down the emotions that swarm inside my chest. I brush my tattered glove across his face and gently pull down his mask. His lips are bloodied and his breaths are so weak it’s almost like he’s already dead.
He’s at death’s door, barely holding on to a world so cruel.
Tears spill down my cheeks relentlessly as I gather myself. Focus on the mission. Focus. I smack the side of my head.
“Lieutenant, come in,” I say quietly just in case surviving hostiles are still in the area. It’s ominously silent, though. Only the crackling of burned brush and a few trees. “Volt, come in… Power, are you there?”
Nothing. My radio might’ve been damaged in the air strike.
Dread sinks lower into my stomach as I let my eyes move back to Mori. I have to get us out of here, and fast.
I drag his body to a thick prickly bush and hide him beneath the brambles.
“I’ll be right back. Please don’t die,” I murmur as I keep my palm pressed to the side of his face.
His lashes flutter as if in response. I lean down and press a kiss to his lips before I stand up and take in the field we barely escaped from.
The smoke and dust have cleared for the most part. Revealing a gut-wrenching scene of what remains of the enemy forces. Even small missions like this can end up being horrendous. I try to carefully step around blown-off limbs and heads as I make my way back to the hideout.
I crouch beside the outer wall and ignore the way my arms are growing heavier by the second. Shit. I reach into my side pack and pull out my pill bottle, tossing six capsules into my mouth and crushing them before swallowing the bitterness.
A rush of adrenaline flares through my blood and a hopeful grin draws over my lips. I grip my MK-17 and press it against my chest securely as I run into the clearing in front of the building, ready to shoot anyone who isn’t on my squad.
A quick sweep over the area confirms that no one’s here.
I need to get help. Where is our squad? I try the headset again as I limp along the path we took to invade the hideout. No response. Are we all that’s left?
Anxiety starts to build in my chest and makes each breath feel like it carries no oxygen. It takes ten minutes to reach the camp. The second I see the tents torn to the ground and the vehicles, equipment, and crates gone, I fall to my knees and slam my fist against the ground.
A dry scream rolls from my lips as I pound my hand a few more times into the dirt. How long were we out? Did they think we died? Fuck!
The sun bears down onto my back as I quickly traverse the terrain back to the hideout. Sweat collects around my temples and I can no longer tell where I’m hurt because everything is soaked beneath my gear.
As I reach the burning vehicles in the clearing, voices roll from above. My eyes trace to the large red-toned boulders, and I drop behind the bones of a Humvee that’s still billowing smoke.
I lift the scope of my rifle to my eyes and find the source of the voices.
Four men dressed in brown clothing that blend in with the sand are pacing at the summit.
They’re arguing about something. I hear the words “flash drive” tossed around a few times.
It seems like they know exactly why we invaded their building.
I take a deep breath and hold it as I line up my scope to one of their heads. The man turns toward me. His beard is thick and wraps around his entire jawline. He looks so familiar that it strikes a chord deep in my mind, paralyzing me for a moment.
A hand presses down on my shoulder before I can take the shot.
My heart skips a beat. I know it’s not Mori. The weight is off, and this palm has a cold press to it compared to Mori’s caressing touch.
I slowly lift my face from the rifle and look up.
The young man staring down at me has sandy blond hair, maintained with a fade cut and styled to the side.
His cheekbones are sharp, almost as chiseled as his jaw.
He’s handsome, wearing an expensive suit, navy blue with gold cuffs at his sleeves, and an onyx watch.
But more pressing, I know him. I’m certain of it.
My face must betray my confusion because he grins coldly at me, brows lifting in the center like he pities me.
“Hello, Emery.”