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I survey the area, finding a shed not too far out in the distance, which may buy us a little time. “See that shed? That’s where we’re heading.” I scan her body. “Can you walk?” I’m unsure of the extent of her injuries, but it seems the two of us fared better than the rest, being on the left side of the truck. “Are you injured?”
“My wrist is broken, and I think a few ribs are cracked, but I can manage.” She winces, bringing her good arm up to her chest.
There’s my soldier.
“On three,” I whisper, positioning Mullins between us so that Scottie can help hoist her up. “One …Two …Three!”
We lift and run as fast as two broken bodies hauling dead weight can, but it’s not enough. It’s our only shot out of here, and it isn’t nearly enough.
Large hands grab me from behind, and instantly I react—dropping Mullins in the process—breaking the arm of the threat before gripping him in a choke hold and cracking his neck. Scottie screams, and I reach for my blade, lunging for her attacker. I have him down with two flicks of my wrist and the twist of my blade. Choked in horror, she looks to me with helpless eyes before they widen at something over my shoulder. Her lips part to warn me, but I’m already in action.
“Scottie, look away!” In two moves, I have him on the ground as I twist the knife into his jugular. Before I can get to my feet with a newly retrieved AK, I’m blinded by a hood and being choked on the feel of the noose that follows. I’m dragged a few feet before I’m struck in the temple by the butt of the rifle that’s been snatched from my hands. Disoriented, I yell for Scottie as I scuffle on the ground with my captor.
Through rapid Arabic orders being barked at me, I scream my own. “Scottie, don’t fucking tell them anything, do you hear me?!”
“Briggs!”
“Don’t tell them anything, Scottie!”
“Briggs!” Her cries strike like blows.
“I’m so fucking sorry!” Unrelenting pain circulates through me at the loss of her, at the idea that she’s in hostile hands. Enraged, I thrash and fight with every bit of strength in me.
“Don’t tell them anything!” I shout again as they drag me to the back of a running truck.
“Scottie!” I manage to scream as she answers next to me.
“I’m here, Briggs! I’m right here.”
Relief and terror fill me in equal measure as Mullins moans out in pain before she’s thrown to the bottom of the truck at my feet.
Our captors are speaking, but there are too many conversing at the same time for me to make out a single word. Not that I would be able to understand much, anyway. Seconds later, I decide ignorance would have been bliss because when I do manage to catch a few words, it turns my stomach. “Fuck.”
Flexing, I fight against the rope that binds my hands behind my back and feel my flesh begin to tear with my struggle.
“W-what is it?” Scottie asks in panic next to me.
“Just stay calm. Okay?”
“Tell me, Briggs,” she whispers sharply.
“I don’t think they’re army.”
Morrero was our terp, and I don’t know enough Arabic to be certain. But if what I’m thinking is right, we’re in far worse shape than I’d originally thought and about to be delivered straight into the bowels of hell.
When the back of the truck finally slams shut, I feel Scott’s body quivering against my own.
“They’ll come for us; they’ll find us,” I lie.
Not for one fucking minute do I believe that either of us is getting out of this situation on the outside of a body bag. But, I will fight for her with everything I have, even if it costs me my last breath.
Chapter Eleven
Gavin
Pulling out my drill, I check beside me for Noah before I start it up, to make sure he’s at a safe distance. He’s been hounding me all day to help, but halfway through the project, he got bored, as he often does. I spot him in the corner of the backyard, kicking around his soccer ball. After securing the last screw, I hang the chain before testing out the seat. It’s perfect, and I can’t help but feel a sense of pride in knowing that when Katy gets home, she’ll finally have her own little piece of heaven, where she’ll sip her strawberry wine and admire her garden. Katy cringed when she told me what she wanted for her birthday—said it made her feel like an old lady to want a porch swing. I spent that night reminding her that she was nowhere near old. The next morning, I ordered it online. That was two weeks before she deployed.
Months have passed since we said our goodbyes, and I can’t help my need to please her, even when she isn’t here. We have so much to look forward to. The last six years, aside from my own deployment, have been heaven on earth, but I’ve been pacing myself with her because of our age difference. Her dreams matter to me, and while I’ve had the luxury of reaching my career goals, Katy was still a grunt when we met. Now, and for the first time in our marriage, I feel like we’ve hit a sweet spot where our dreams are the same—our life together, our family, another baby.
My cell phone rattles in my pocket while I bark at Noah to get back from the part of the fence that needs repairing. He moves away without protest. Aside from a few meltdowns, he’s been nothing short of perfect since Katy left.
I glance down at the screen and my whole body tenses as I slide my finger to answer.
“Walsh.”
“Gavin, it’s Roger.”
“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath, halting the swing and fixing my gaze on our son. He is the spitting image of her. The most selfish of thoughts passes through my head and heart in this instant: I don’t want a living reminder of her; I want her. I can’t do this without her.
Please God, if you give a shit about me, don’t make me.
Bracing myself for the worst, I manage to mutter out the words.
“Tell me.”
“She’s missing.”
My relief is short-lived because the news isn’t much better. “How the fuck is that possible? She’s on base.”
“She went on an aid mission. They found the Humvees yesterday.”
“What’s the Humvee’s condition?”
“Blowed-up.” IED.
“Ambush?” I gather, and his silence confirms as much. “On a fucking aid mission, whose bright idea was this?”
“It was routine. Two trucks left in pairs of fours. Five bodies accounted for.”
“Who is with her?”
“You know I can’t disclose any more than I have.”
“Jesus Christ.”
Every word he speaks has me sinking deeper into my seat. Noah kicks the ball and looks up at me to make sure I’m watching—that I’m proud. Deep blue eyes search mine as he reads my expression, and I feign a smile, hoping he believes it. All I want is to tell him I’m proud, but the sight of him blurs as I clear my throat.
“They’ve got birds up.”
“Who took her?”
Silence.
“Roger,” I grit out. “Who?”
“We think it might be militant extremists because of the type of blow-up.”
“Militia?” I pace the porch and turn my back to Noah. “Jesus. Fuck!”
“We’ve got eyes everywhere. Try and sit tight, and I’ll get back to you when I know more.”
“Roger—”
“I’ll keep you updated.”
“Roger!”
“I can’t tell you what I don’t know, Gavin. I’ll keep you updated.”
The line goes silent, and I run a hand over my jaw as I try and will myself to calm down. Noah watches me silently from the grass.
“Daddy, why are you cussing?”
“Sorry about that.” Cool sweat beads at my forehead. They’ve got her. They’ve got my wife. Turning my head briefly, I suck in a breath trying to reign in my emotions before I address my son. Keep it together, Gavin. “Hey, buddy, want to go spend the night with Mikey?”
He shakes his head.
“I bet he really misses you. Let’s pack you a bag.”
Noah stomps up the steps, his big blue eyes solemn, and I can see the protest on his tongue, but it doesn’t make it past his lips. He’s intuitive and can read my every mood, which makes me both proud and fearful that I could fuck this up by being the backbreaking bastard to him that my father was to me. His ability to scope feelings will make him the best kind of human, like his mother.
