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“Where’s the girl?”
“Gone.” Even if she wasn’t, he wouldn’t tell the enemy anything. He pulled the pistols, glancing at the man. He was in full battle rattle, including an AK-47, a helmet with night vision goggles and a better vest than his. Making a move would only get him dead, and once captured survival was the only mission.
“Up. Let’s go.”
Michael rolled to his hands and knees, and forced himself up, electric shocks rocketing through his arms and legs, and his lower back muscles seizing and releasing. The AR dangled from the strap. A knife flashed and the tether was cut, the rifle spinning away when a foot kicked it. He forced himself to his feet, pain rocketing through his body.
“Hands up. No stalling. Go.”
“I’m not. Back’s messed up bad. If you’ve got decent intel, you should know that.”
A hand shoved his back and he stumbled forward, muscles giving out. Someone caught his harness, yanked him upright, and grunted under his weight. “March.” A different male voice, the accent stronger.
Michael shuffled forward at the best speed his legs would make, even with the man behind him half carrying him. But the slower they went, the better, because Nic might spot him. He had to remember where his headlamp or flashlight was, and when he fell, turn one on. But his mind reeled with the lightning bolts shooting along his spine, and his muscles seizing and releasing without rhyme or reason. Escape was a pipe dream.
Nic’s firing sped up. No, that was two rifles. Pete must be shooting too. The men around him—three of them—sprinted from boulder to boulder, while his captor/helper shuffled him along in their wake, waiting behind each rock until the three ahead of them reached the next. But as they continued downslope, the number of boulders decreased.
Just before reaching the next stone, the point man fell, the next dropping behind him, both dead still. The third, the man who’d spoken to him, made it to safety, sparks flying from the stone behind his back. He spun to face the two of them, raising the rifle. “You. Call them. You die if they shoot again.”
Hands shoved Michael against the boulder, Kevlar whooshed, and a spot of cold hit the back of his head. The barrel of a pistol. He fumbled with the phone pouch on his shoulder strap and pulled out the flat rectangle, almost dropping it when his fingers refused to grip properly. He grabbed it with both hands, holding it out in front of him, face up. He had no way to know if the enemy remembered there’d be a light flare, but it was his best chance of escape. Gritting his teeth, he shoved his monocular up with the back of his hand, hitting the phone’s on button at the same time, and launched himself forward into the open space between the two rocks. He landed hard, the phone bouncing out of his grip, the light flashing and tumbling away. A round showered him with rocks and dirt, and he low-crawled up the hill, blind in the darkness, his headgear gone.
Men yelled and rifles boomed and chattered. Michael forced his legs and arms to move, shambling along on his forearms and shins, digging his boots into the ground and shoving. On and up, he wasn’t stopping for anything. His muscles quaked and fire sparked along his nerves. He wanted to rest behind a rock so badly, but without a weapon, he had no way to fend off an attacker. All he could do was stay in the open, giving Nic and Pete the best chance at the enemy.
He continued, breathing grass, moss, dung and dirt, his elbows and knees rubbed raw. If he stopped, he’d never move again, so he kept going. The boom and chatter of weapons stopped, and his breath rasped harsh and loud. Either Nic and Pete got them, or they were behind him, too close for Nic and Pete to fire. If the enemy had survived, Michael would be dead soon. He stopped, breathing into a clump of grass to stifle the noise. He had to assume they were still alive and looking for him. But he desperately needed rest.
If the enemy still had night vision gear, he was a sitting duck. But if not, once he recovered, he could move forward with more stealth. He concentrated on his breathing, slowing and deepening each inhale, despite the pain radiating from his lower back with each deep breath.
When his panting stopped, he listened for footsteps, but the gunfire had worsened his tinnitus to the point where the ringing in his ears was all he could hear. Time to move again. He slid his arms up, and shoved his toes into the dirt, thrusting his body forward, his muscles quivering like an aspen leaf in the wind. Even if the enemy was dead, he had to reach the house. There might be more of them, waiting, and putting others at risk to save his broken body was unacceptable.
“Michael!” A man’s voice, low and forceful, but he wasn’t sure whose. “Michael, it’s Nic. Where are you?”
Michael slumped in relief. It really was his brother. He turned his head. “Here.” He could barely croak. “Here!” The second try was louder.
A body thumped to the dirt next to him, and rolled him to his side. Nic. Michael flopped to his back, muscles loosening with relief, making the spasms and jerks worse.
“Thank God you’re alive. Are you hit anywhere?”
“Close call, but no.” He panted.
Nic grasped Michael’s forearms. “I know you’re hurting and you’re not going to like me carrying you, but it’s the easiest way to get you into the house with the least amount of damage. Ready?”
“Right on all counts. Go.” Michael relaxed as much as possible.
Nic rolled Michael’s body forward, putting a shoulder into his stomach, and rose, pulling Michael into a firefighter’s carry. Michael tried to ignore the sharp, shooting pains, and the pressure on his diaphragm, and relaxed his body, making it as easy for Nic as possible. Despite that, the trip was painful for both of them.
Pete’s voice made Michael raise his head, and drop it again. “If you need to rest, we can put him between us.”
“Got it.” Nic grunted. “Get the gate and the doors.”
White light shined, and Nic lowered him to a lightly padded surface. He blinked up at the bright lights on the ceiling. “Oof.”
A body dropped on his chest, arms going around his neck and a head with blonde hair blocked the illumination. Deb. She was safe. Despite the agony of misfiring nerves, he closed his arms around her back.
“You’re alive.” She snuggled her face into his neck and hugged him tighter, then pulled away again. “I was so scared.” She cupped his cheeks in her hands, and lowered her lips to his, kissing him softly, passionately.
He responded enthusiastically, and their kiss didn’t stay gentle for long.
Someone cleared their throat, and Deb raised her head, her lips rosy, her cheeks pink, and even more gorgeous than usual. Michael couldn’t look away from her beautiful, smiling face.
