Chapter 13
MIKEY
The sun broke the horizon just as the hidden dune buggies burst into view. Bernie huffed beside me, having just taken Powell’s still unconscious body from my shoulders. My lungs burned, every cell inside my frame bursting with strain and the bruises that I knew were coming from the rather scrappy fight I’d ended up caught in earlier.
But there they were.
And there Scottie would be waiting.
Skidding around a corner, my stomach dropped. Adrenaline snapped through my veins, setting my elbows on fire with needles. She wasn’t here. She was supposed to be here before we arrived, but she wasn’t. Dom had radioed her to meet us here, and she had been closer to the buggies than we had been. Plus, she wasn’t toting an unconscious body.
“Where’s Crow?” I asked, as we approached the sand rails.
“Crow,” Dom radioed. “What’s your status? Over.”
The comm crackled in my ear. Nobody spoke as Bernie loaded Powell into the back of the first buggy.
“Crow? Report,” Dom asked again through the radio.
Sweat dripped down my back as the sun ticked higher into the sky.
“Load up,” Dom instructed the rest of us.
I hesitated, staring at the open desert, hoping for any sign of movement.
“Crow! Status, now!” Dom urged into the radio, standing still beside me. Bernie remained with Powell in the buggy, but both Duncan and Ford continued to wait next to us, sharing a worried glance with everyone.
Crackles snapped through my ear, muddying the world around me. One of us should’ve stayed with her. She’d been left alone, far away from the danger—at least that’s what we’d thought. But now, there was no sign of her. No sound. Nothing.
Determined to do something, I said, “I’m gonna go—”
“C-coming,” Scottie’s voice stuttered through the comms.
Relief filled my frame, and I briefly closed my eyes.
“Where the fuck are you?” Dom asked, anger and ease mixing in his tone over the radio.
“Almost…there…” she answered, her words slow. Heavy breathing passed through the comms before a muffled over silenced her radio. In the distance, a blurry figure morphed into sight, taking jagged, stumbling steps inching closer toward us.
Dom’s brows creased as he squinted through the pink light of daybreak. My lungs rapidly expanded as she neared. There was something off about her run.
“The rest of you, load up,” Dom instructed and turned around without another word, heading toward his buggy.
Waiting another half a second, I dug my hand into my pocket and snatched the key to the buggy out as Scottie finally drew near enough that I could make out her features. Red splotches covered the left side of her face and stained the side of her uniform.
I stumbled a step backward as Ford sucked in a sharp breath beside me. “What the hell happened?” he said loudly and through the comms.
“It’s not my blood,” Scottie answered over the radio. Something about the way she moved, the way she spoke had me immediately detecting a lie. But this wasn’t the time nor the place.
Spinning on my heel, Ford and I jogged over to the second tan buggy. He climbed in the back again, double checking everything with the gatling gun was squared away as I jumped into the driver’s seat. After Dom and I turned over our respective engines over, we idled while Duncan hoisted himself into the passenger seat by Dom, and Scottie limped up to my sand rail.
Her eyes briefly met mine before darting away as she climbed into the seat with a wince. Running my teeth together, I shot an accusing glare her way, but she refused to meet my gaze. And just before we shot off, a trickle of fresh hot blood dripped down her cheek.
Lie. Some of that was certainly her blood.
To say I was pissed was the understatement of a lifetime.
She simply stared ahead the entire drive back to the outpost. Sand sprayed into her face, clinging to the blood that dried upon her cheek, yet she barely blinked. She didn’t move as I steered us back to safety and what was hopefully not too much destruction. Unlike the ride out to our target where she could barely keep her gaze off me, now it seemed on purpose that she refused to look toward me at all.
It was as if she didn’t register what was happening around her, moving through a daze as we got Sergeant Powell to the medic tent, debriefed with the colonel, and then shuffled back to our sleeping quarters with the same instructions of “we’ll figure out what went wrong and let you know when we receive further intel on the Black Box.”
She sat down on her bedroll and stared blankly ahead as I began peeling the Velcro apart on my vest. My heart ached, wishing that I could say or do something to help, but I didn’t know what was going on with her, nor did I know what happened.
A hand clapped me hard against my back, snapping me from the lock box I was stuck in. “You look like an absolute psychopath right now, you know that?” Bernie joked and gestured to the blood around my mouth, then whipped out his phone and snapped a picture. “Maybe you are one.”
“He had me pinned. What else was I supposed to do?” I questioned with a wicked grin, and he shook his head.
“You should go clean that shit up,” Dom said, unpacking his gear beside his bedroll. “And Bernie, put that damn phone away. We don’t have service out here, and I told you not to mess with them right now, dumbass.”
“Showers aren’t open yet,” I replied.
“Yes, sir,” Bernie muttered, pursing his lips in shame, and stuffed it back in his rucksack.
“Did you not listen during the debrief, Mikey?” Dom shook his head, ignoring Bernie.
Furrowing my brows, I turned to Dom while unhooking the holster from around my thigh. “I did…”
Half truth.
Dom shook his head. “Colonel Duke says we’re good to shower now if we so choose. The rest of us can wipe up, but you and Scottie need an actual shower.”
I chuckled. “Right, it’s just been a long day.”
“Damn straight, Imma head to the chow hall. See what they’ve got ’cause my stomach won’t shut the fuck up,” Bernie answered.
“Count me in!” Duncan cheerily said, peeling off his combat shirt.
“Damn…fucking…thing…” Ford grumbled, trying to pry his off his body. Propping myself up on my heels, I watched him struggling to shake the sweat-soaked clothing over his head.
“Need some help there, big boy?” Bernie offered, wiggling his brows.
“Shut the fuck up, Bernie,” Ford grunted, his voice muffled beneath his shirt.
“I think we should give those two some…privacy.” Dom winked and stood up as Duncan made smoochy sounds.
“Dumbasses,” Ford mumbled, finally getting his head out. “Go eat your fucking food, Bernie.”
I chuckled, gathering my few toiletries and a clean uniform. My last clean pair as it seemed, which reminded me it was time for some hand scrubbing to at least get some of the blood and stink out of my other uniforms.
The men around me rose, disappearing from the tent engrossed in the usual crude humor and banter that sounded like home. Leaving me alone with Scottie, who still remained sitting still as a statue on her bedroll.
Straining my ears to make sure that their voices faded—though I wasn’t sure why I thought checking on a teammate crossed a boundary—I waited until there wasn’t anything more than the echo of the usual sounds of soldiers at a combat outpost that met my ear before turning around.
And a single tear slipped from Scottie’s eye. She didn’t even blink.
I quickly shot over to her and knelt down in front of her as she slowly inhaled. Her glassy eyes didn’t register that I was right in front of her. Hesitating for a moment, my hand raised and hovered over her left cheek.
She exhaled slowly, her shoulders collapsing forward, and she closed her eyes as my thumb made contact with the tear stain. My entire body flushed warm upon contact. I swept the tear away, but for whatever reason, I felt no need to remove my hand.
Scottie sniffed, but she made no move to say anything, nor did I. There was nothing that I could say that would fix whatever was going on in her head. Guilt swam heavy in my belly as she leaned against my palm. She should not have been left alone. Especially in an urban setting like that. I should not have let her be left alone with the responsibility of being the entire team’s eyes resting on her shoulders.
Warm and soft beneath my hand, I swept my thumb gently over her cheek. The adrenaline that had so thickly run through my veins subsided drastically from this simple contact. A shiver danced down my spine, urging my body to stay awake no matter how comfortable it became.
And I knew if I stayed this close to her for too long, I’d not make it to the shower.
Inhaling deeply, I reluctantly peeled my palm from her face and rose to my feet. A chill swept between us, sending goosebumps across my skin despite the heat of the desert, begging me to return to her.
But instead, I snatched up my toiletries and left the tent without a word. Meandering my way through the outpost, the looks tossed my way by passing soldiers just waking for the day were rightfully earned. The sight of the blood on my face without context certainly would be a conversation had behind my back for a while.
Slipping to the right, I disappeared back toward the two-man shower tent. Staring at the tan canvas with the plastic door flapping in the breeze, I couldn’t help but chuckle. They were…accommodations alright. Fancier than the holes in the ground we called toilets, there was adequate lighting inside as well as running water piped in through a tank that was refilled frequently. At least for a few minutes out of my day, I would have some privacy.
Ducking under, I plodded over to one of two cubicles in this small shower tent and unsnapped the plastic curtain. Drawing in a deep breath, all the stress from today rolled off my shoulders. I closed my eyes and placed my stuff on the crudely crafted wooden bench to the side of this small, square shower stall. While the water wasn’t heated, at least for a brief moment there would be a feeling of simplicity. No urgency.
Peeling my own bloodied uniform from my body, I tossed it carelessly to the side of my neatly folded towel and clean clothes and stepped under the spout mounted directly above a temporary basin that would allow for the water to drain without making a massive mess.
Cool water flowed down my skin, washing the reminder of our failed mission from my body. I tipped my head back and scrubbed the blood from my face, quickly soaped and rinsed, and then simply stood still.
The shower was off. But so was my body.
The events of the mission flashed over and over in my head—a grateful distraction from Scottie. Until, of course, those thoughts of the mission ended with her returning late. Not just late, but bloodied, limping, and just out of it.
She seemed so broken and terrified. Scared was not a word I’d use to describe her. Stubborn. Fiery. Strong. Smart. A badass sniper. All of those definitely, but not scared. Not until she returned late from her post.
Someone, or maybe several people, had found her.
Why hadn’t she called for help? Why hadn’t she radioed that she was being attacked? I would’ve gone to her without hesitation. A teammate had been in trouble, and she thought she had to go it alone.
A sharp hiss snapped me from my thoughts. Prying my eyes open, I stepped out of the basin and wrapped a towel around my waist as another sharp inhale met my ears.
“Ow,” a soft, female voice uttered.
Scottie.
My heart jumped. Rammed against my ribs as something plopped on the wooden bench in the cubicle next to me.
I should have done something else, anything else, such as simply dress and leave without a word. I should have said something. I should have stayed in the stall I was in. But for whatever reason, my fingers found the edge of the shower curtain and pried it open.
Glancing around to check that we were the only two in here, I crept silently over to the only thing separating Scottie and me.
And I slipped inside.