Chapter 15
During the second phase of SEAL training, there was a test called the Pool Competency, or Pool Comp.
The idea was to have the trainees ‘reset’ underwater.
They would have their SCUBA gear on and the instructors would come down to the bottom of the pool to fuck with them.
Turn off valves or tumble them until they couldn’t tell up from down, and expect the trainees to be able to fix all the problems, which progressively got harder, that the instructors created underwater.
It sounded easier than it was, because the longer the trainees stayed under, the more hypercapnic they got.
Statistically, though, if a trainee made it to that part of training, they would make it to the end, but there were the occasional dropouts.
Ghost had nearly been one of them. It wasn’t the physical tasks that got to him, but the mental panic.
He had four chances to pass this trial, and he’d flunked three times.
It hadn’t been until his fourth try that he realized this was his very last chance to become a SEAL.
All the training, all the anguish, all the endurance, had led up to that very last moment—and he would rather die than fail.
As soon as his mind came to that conclusion, he was able to override all discomfort and accomplish what so few in the world could.
As the blackness faded and Ghost started to come back to himself, he had to push past the initial pain and force his mind to concentrate on problem solving.
He couldn’t think about what had happened or why.
He couldn’t concentrate on thinking about who else was hurt or how badly.
First and foremost, he needed to get whatever was pressing down on his chest off him.
He needed to be able to breathe, or he would be no help to either himself or anyone else.
He knew several things, like that he was in the bar and there had been an explosion of some kind.
It was too dark and dusty for him to see much, and breathing in all that debris just made each breath worse than the last. Based on feel, he was pretty sure something metal lay across his chest, like a support beam.
The ringing in his ears increased as he placed his hands on the heated metal and pushed up.
The beam barely moved, but enough for Ghost to be able to take in a slightly deeper breath.
Unfortunately, that meant inhaling more dust too.
He tried to breathe through his teeth to use them as natural filters, but it only worked but so well.
He couldn’t risk putting the beam back down, or it might crush him more. His arms straining, Ghost slid himself backwards. It was slow going, and excruciating, but eventually he got himself out from under the beam.
The heat, smoke, and dust was worse as he got his legs under him, so he stayed low.
Ghost could barely see, each blink feeling like sandpaper was rubbing against his eyes.
Covering his mouth with his elbow, he strained to look around.
He couldn’t even tell where in the bar he was.
Every instinct he had told him to get out, to find fresh air, but he couldn’t.
The bar might not have been packed, but there’d been people inside.
Grumpy, Frankie, Danny, Monica, Gracie… He had to find them all.
What was left of the ceiling was on fire, filling the room with smoke.
For some ridiculous reason, this pissed Ghost off.
They’d only just replaced that roof four years ago after it caved in during a snowstorm!
He pushed that thought aside, though, knowing it was adrenaline and his mind focusing on the wrong problem.
Taking as deep of a breath as he could, Ghost lifted his mouth and called out, “Is anyone alive?”
He immediately started coughing, which prevented him from hearing the answer. A very low, very pained, “Here!”
Ghost turned around, the ringing in his ears keeping him from detecting what direction the sound had come from.
It was on the second call out that he pinpointed it to his left.
The floor was covered in sheetrock, support beams, broken furniture, glass, and no doubt, blood.
Keeping low, Ghost traversed towards the person who had answered like he was crossing a minefield.
He didn’t want to stand on any survivors who might be buried.
When the voice went quiet, though, Ghost had to pause and catch his breath. “Call out again!” he shouted when he could.
“Here!” The roar of the fire and the ringing in his ears prevented him from being able to tell if the speaker was a man or a woman, but he prayed to God and Zeus alike that it was Frankie. While she hadn’t been the only civilian in the bar, she was his personal responsibility.
But if there was one thing Ghost had taken away from his years of service, it was that prayers did very little in the grand scheme. He couldn’t stop and pray Frankie was okay—he needed to find her.
Movement caught his eye. It looked like the piece of debris in front of him was breathing. Careful of his footing, Ghost changed his goal and aimed there instead. “Hold on!” he called out as loud as he could. “I’m coming!”
“Ghost? Is that you?” the first voice called back between rapid coughs.
“Yes!” He reached the moving debris. The heat was starting to become unbearable, adding to his struggles to breathe.
Clearing away what he could on top, he vaguely realized what he was seeing was a chunk of the front bar’s granite countertop.
He gripped the edge and lifted, ignoring the sharp protest in his chest.
With the two of them working together, they were able to move the piece up.
Ghost cursed the low lighting and shifted closer to see a man he recognized but didn’t know his name.
He’d been sitting with a woman at the end of the bar.
It was disappointing not to find Grumpy or one of his employees, but the guy was alive.
Ghost helped him sit up. He needed to find a way out. Not for him, but a direction to send the survivors. Unfortunately, the exterior building was brick, which was currently acting like an oven to those trapped inside.
Something collapsed overhead, and Ghost tackled the man back down. He vaguely felt something wet touch his bare skin. A sudden beam of light cut through the smoke, landing on Ghost and the man. Looking up, Ghost realized a chunk of the ceiling had fallen, revealing the evening sunlight.
The sun set in the west. That gave him a compass. Getting the man back up, he instructed him to the closest door, which would be, ironically, a fire door.
“My wife,” the man protested.
“You’re of no use to her dead,” Ghost argued between coughs. “I’ll find her! Go!”
The ceiling collapse was not good overall.
It meant the structure of the building was failing, but it did offer some hazy light.
There must have already been an oxygen source, because it did little to affect the flames.
At this point, that was a miracle because a flashover would have killed any survivors, including Ghost, the man he’d just pulled from the rubble, and whomever else was calling out to him.
Ghost renewed his search.
Crouched on his hands and feet, Ghost kept low as he forced himself to take slow, shallow breaths.
Thank God Ranger hadn’t been to work yet, or that Becks hadn’t come to work with him.
No doubt the fire department was already here and the club was on their way.
Ghost had no way of knowing how long it had been since the initial blast, but he didn’t think he’d lost consciousness for that long, a few seconds at most. The fire and the dust felt too new.
What he didn’t understand was why the sprinkler system wasn’t on.
Unless the pipes had been taken out in the initial blast?
After all, if there was no ceiling, there likely were no pipes.
Ghost powered through, finally reaching the voice.
It was Danny! Ghost couldn’t see well enough to detect any injuries, but the young deputy’s body appeared distorted.
He was sitting up with something lumpy on his lap.
At first, Ghost thought it was his misshapen legs—until Ghost realized it was a crumpled body.
He didn’t bother to look to see who it was, nor did he have the heart to ask if Danny knew. In the end, it changed nothing, and mourning now would only be a distraction. Harsh, maybe even cruel, but realistic. Knowing who did not change their fate.
It took some coaxing on Ghost’s part, but he finally got Danny to move. He might be a cop, but he was a small-town deputy who had never seen tragedy like this. A mass-casualty explosion was far different than handing out speeding tickets and arresting teens for shoplifting.
Danny took the body with him.
Moments later, masked firemen appeared, and Ghost had a very different fight on his hands. Because there was no fucking way he was leaving this bar until he’d found Grumpy and Frankie.
Liam stared across the room at Cameron as if he was trying to figure out the trick, the prank, the joke.
Becks’ terror at whatever that loud noise had been was nothing compared to seeing Cameron point what she could only assume to be a loaded weapon at her brother.
But Liam was a former Army Ranger, a soldier.
He’d be able to overpower Cameron and get the gun away from her.
Then they’d be able to figure out what was going on, what cuckoo juice Cameron had drunk, and get to the club.
That noise had been too loud, too violent, to have been a car backfiring or a single gunshot. What could make their building shake like that? Becks hadn’t been in an earthquake before, but didn’t think that was how they felt.