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Minutes ago, I ordered the death of my best friend, watched her beheaded before my very eyes, and have to fight against every urge I possess not to react to that loss. My teeth cut into my lips as I bite back a scream. I want to unleash this pain. To kill every one of these monsters. To cry. God, I need to cry, but I’m a soldier, and soldiers don’t show weakness. But oh, how I feel it. Feel her blood dripping from my hands. Months ago, I re-enlisted to be a role model, to save soldiers, and today I became a murderer.
The commotion surrounding me fades as Briggs holds me together with the strength in his gaze. I’m unsure of how long we stay that way. But it is long after our captors depart when I break my eyes away. The evidence of the humanity I lost is in the blood that trails into the darkness.
They leave her there, where she fell, and I no longer have to reach for darkness; it surrounds me.
Chapter Thirteen
Briggs
Holy mother of God…I have seen some fucked-up things in my life, but this by far is at the top of that list.
My gut churns with repulsion as I keep my eyes averted from Mullins, where her body still lays on the floor between us—in pieces. No longer warm blood and a beating heart, but a lifeless prop, a glimpse at our fate. My eyes seek Scott’s out, knowing that she needs me, and I swear that I can see her jaw trembling from feet away. I try to relay to her everything in my heart. How sorry I am that I wasn’t able to protect them—sorry that we’re here at all. I want to tell her so badly that I understand the ache, the anger. All the while, I’m fighting hard to mask my own fears—that we will likely die in this bunker, and she’ll never hold her son again. I try to relay all of this while offering her strength. Giving her a safe place, a distraction from the chaos, a reminder that she is not alone. I hold her the only way that I can, and I hope that it gives her some comfort in the midst of this nightmare that we may never wake from.
Hours pass as we mourn in silence, our eyes connected, bodies broken, fight dwindling as our thirst grows and the pain kicks in. They’re back in the bunker, and though I can hear these fuckers shouting at me in their native tongue, feel the butt of a rifle connect with my ribs, I refuse to react. I see stars, and every breath feels like a knife in my chest. But I won’t let her down. Never again.
Long after the room has cleared, we sit in silence. I watch her throat move with each swallow. Fiery blue eyes seek mine for answers I don’t have.
“Briggs,” she whispers.
“Yeah?”
“We’re not getting out of here, are we?”
Fuck me.
I clear my throat. “I don’t know.”
She nods her head slowly.
“How’s your hand?”
She shrugs. “Can’t feel it.”
“I’m sorry…”
“Don’t,” she cuts me off. “No apologies. That’s an order, Sergeant.”
I can’t help my chuckle. “Pulling rank now, boss?” Being that she outranks me; technically, Scottie is in charge. Not that there is much to take charge of.
“Tell me about your leg,” she whispers.
“It’s banged up. Not broken but the gash is deep. I think there may be some torn muscle.”
“Turn your foot for me.”
Gritting my teeth, I do my best, and I watch her trained face as she carefully tracks what shit progress I make.
“Looks like a decent range of motion, but we need to clean that wound.”
“Kind of between a rock and a hard place right now, Sarge, besides I’m more interested in hearing the plan.” I humor her with small talk, for distraction.
She’s lost in her thoughts for a moment. “To live…Briggs. I want to live. We stay alive until we’re rescued. That’s the plan.”
I nod, running my bottom lip through my teeth. “Then we live.”
I wake some hours later to the creak of the ladder. War has trained me to be a light sleeper.
“It’s only me. You can rest,” the tiny Iraqi girl whispers.
Like hell.
She kneels down beside Scott with a bowl of supplies. Scottie’s eyes fly open.
“Shhh. Only me, sister. I come to clean your arm.”
I look on as the two of them speak and learn that the girl is only fifteen years old. Her name is Hiyam, and she is one of many wives of the man calling the shots. Scottie backs away from her efforts. “My arm is fine. His leg needs attention.”
“I do not touch him.”
“Then don’t touch him,” Scottie argues, “use the cloth.”
The girl turns her eyes toward me, and they make a slow pass over my leg. “I can pour the water on it.”
I shake my head, and Scottie’s sharp tongue bites through Hiyam’s indecision. “Do it. Now.”
The girl slowly walks my way, fearful, and I turn my leg to give her better access.
Scottie speaks up from behind her. “Do you have anything to disinfect the wound?”
“I’m only to help you,” Hiyam responds before trickling the water down so it hits my gash.
“There is something in my vest. Please see if you can find it.”
Hiyam nods as she casts her eyes down to avoid connecting with mine. When she’s done irrigating my leg, she moves back to Scottie and kneels in front of her. “Sister, your lips bleed.”
“What city are we in?” Scottie asks, ignoring the sympathy.
“I cannot tell you more.”
Hiyam cleans her wound, wrapping Scottie’s break in a pathetic excuse for a sling. It isn’t by any means a professional job, and who knows how it will turn out if we do make it out of here, but it has to be better than what it was before.
“You have a husband? Children?” Hiyam asks.
Internal alarms start blaring in my head. When Scott opens her mouth to answer, I begin coughing loudly. Both women turn in my direction, and I lock eyes with Scottie, shaking my head furiously.
She scowls at me. “All right, Briggs?”
Hiyam walks over with a bottle of water. “You’re thirsty,” she says, pouring the water into my mouth.
I drink greedily. It has been at least twenty-four hours since we were captured, and we’re both parched.
“Thank you.”
She nods, handing me a chunk of bread. “I brought you food.”
The rumble in my stomach at the promise of sustenance echoes throughout the room, but I shake my head, keeping my voice low. “Give it to her.”
“I have some for her.”
I refuse the bread and whisper. “Give it to her.”
Hiyam’s eyes smile as her head bobs. She turns, walking back to her spot near Scott. “You are hungry, eat.” She pours the other half of the bottle of water into Scottie’s mouth before handing her the bread.
“What he needs—it’s in a small red package. It’s in my vest.”
“I will find it if it’s there,” she whispers. “Sister, rest.”
I watch as she gathers into her arms the little bowl of supplies, and when I am positive that she is out of earshot, turn back to Scottie.
“What was that?” she huffs, clearly annoyed with me.
“Jesus, Scottie…That girl is not your friend.” I’m exasperated.
“Come on, Briggs, give me a little credit. I may not be infantry, but I’m sure as hell not a fucking boot. Two can play at her game.”
We have a stare off for a few seconds before I realize just how good of a game she’s been playing.
I give her the nod she deserves. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Briggs. Briggs.”
I hear my name in a whisper as I sleep. Forcing my eyes to open, it takes a moment for them to adjust to the darkness. This isn’t my room–isn’t my cot at the base. This is a nightmare, and the worst part is I’m wide awake. Relief covers me when I see Mullins has finally been taken from the center of the room; I must have slept harder than I thought. The ache in my leg screams with a whole new level of agony, an unrelenting burn. The shackles around my biceps are beginning to chafe my skin. It’s so painful. My neck is stiff, and I can barely move to stretch out.
“Briggs!” she calls again with urgency.
