Page 106 of Duty Preserved

Stay in the cabin. Stay down. I’ll come back for you.

The shots came in waves. Several bursts from what sounded like the north side of camp. Most of it was muffled pops and bangs in the distance, but some rounds pinged off metal somewhere close. The cabin walls were concrete block. They would stop a bullet.

They should stop a bullet.

I pressed myself harder against the floor, my heart hammering against my ribs so hard it hurt.

I didn’t know who was shooting. I didn’t know who was winning. The cabin had no line of sight to the north perimeter, and lifting my head above the windowsill was out of the question. All I had was sound, and sound told me the fight was real and close enough that danger could be on my doorstep at any moment.

I pressed my forehead against my arm and tried to slow my breathing.

Then the door opened.

Donovan?

The handle turned, and not one but two men came through it. For a half second, I thought Donovan had sent rangers to move me somewhere safer. The camp was under attack and this cabin was too exposed, and someone had come to get me out.

Right?

But they wore dark clothing, not ranger khaki. No radio on a chest strap. No one calling my name.

The lead one had a bandanna pulled across the lower half of his face.

These men were not rangers.

Everything inside me went cold. I opened my mouth to scream, but all I could manage was a startled gasp.

The first one grabbed my arm and hauled me off the floor. His hand was enormous, fingers wrapping my bicep completely. I kicked. Connected with his shin hard enough that he grunted. It didn’t matter. He wrenched me around and pinned my back against his chest, one arm across my stomach and the other locked around my shoulders.

The second one clamped his hand over my mouth. Wide palm, crushing force across my jaw. I bit down hard. He flinched but held.

A third stood at the door. Watching the camp. The gunfire was still rolling from the north.

Where is everyone? Where is Donovan?

I drove my elbow backward into the ribs behind me. I clawed at the hand on my face. I twisted and bucked and used every ounce of strength I had. A hundred pounds against men who had a hundred-plus each on me, and it didn’t change anything. I had to fight. I had to fight because I did not want to just accept the alternative with these men.

The cloth came from behind. It was pressed hard against my nose and mouth, soaked in something chemical. I tried to hold my breath, but my exertion already had my body craving air. My lungs burned. My diaphragm spasmed, and my body tried to inhale against my will. My vision grayed at the edges. I felt my legs go heavy beneath me, and the fight drained out of my arms.

They were carrying me. Hands under my shoulders and knees, my body lifted and moving. The last thing I heard was the gunfire. Distant. And the only thought I had left before the dark took me was that the shooting might mean everyone was already dead.

I breathed in.

Everything went dark.

I came to slowly.

My head was thick, and the light hurt. A thin bar of it came through a gap in the curtains to my left. Enough to make my eyes water. Enough to show me I was somewhere I’d never been.

I tried to move my hands and couldn’t. My wrists were locked behind me, plastic biting into my skin. I pulled harder, and pain shot up both forearms. Zip ties. My mouth was covered—a strip of cloth tied across it, knotted at the back of my head. I tried to breathe and the cloth sucked against my lips, and for a moment, I couldn’t get air and I panicked. My chest seized, and I jerked against my restraints.

Stop. Breathe. Through your nose. Breathe.

I forced air in through my nostrils. Held it. Let it out. The panic didn’t leave, but it loosened enough that I could think past it.

I was in a chair. My boots were still on my feet. I was alive.

It came back in pieces. The door opening. The men. The bandanna. Fighting. The cloth over my face and the chemical on it and the dark rushing in. Before that, the gunfire. Donovan going out the door.