Page 30 of Rescuing Mary

Truck moaned but didn’t regain consciousness.

“Come on, buddy. You gotta wake up. You’re huge, and it’ll take too many of us to haul your carcass out of here.”

No answer.

Beatle leaned down and lightly slapped Truck’s face. “Stop fucking around, Truck. We’ve got seventy freaked-out girls here that we need to move. This is no time to sleep on the job.”

Remarkably, Truck’s eyes fluttered and he moaned again, even as he shook his head.

“Easy, man,” Fletch soothed. “Open your eyes, buddy.”

They all watched as Truck opened his eyes, then immediately closed them again. “Fuuuuuck,” he swore. “Motherfucker, my head hurts.”

Ghost sighed in relief. If Truck was awake enough to bitch and moan, he was going to be just fine. “Yeah, well, that’s because the tent you were standing in exploded.”

“Awesome,” Truck muttered. “Sitrep?”

“The girls are good. Rebels are either dead or have fled,” Fletch said, filling him in.

Truck opened his eyes in a squint and looked up at his friend. “Girls?”

“Yeah, they’re okay,” Fletch repeated. “You look a bit banged up, but your spine is good. No broken legs or arms, although you’ll have to tell us if anything is fractured or not.”

They watched as Truck moved each of his legs, then his arms. He tried to sit up, and moaned in pain and collapsed backward. “Extremities are good, but feels like I have at least a couple of broken ribs. Fractured at the very least.”

“Anything else hurt? You think you have internal injuries?” Ghost asked.

Truck pressed his large hands on his abdomen. After a moment, he said, “I don’t think so. Although my head is pounding. It hurts. Bad. Can hardly keep my eyes open, the light hurts so much.”

“Concussion,” Beatle said. “You dizzy or nauseous?”

“Both,” Truck told them.

“Can you walk?” Ghost asked.

Truck took a deep breath and nodded. “If that’s the only way to get out of this shithole and back to civilization, then yeah, I can walk.”

“Fuck yeah, you can,” Fletch said softly. “Come on, we’ll help you stand.”

The three of them helped Truck stand and held on when he wobbled in their grip. It took a minute or so before they felt he was steady enough to stand on his own.

Just as they let go of him, Truck turned his head and puked.

He wiped his mouth and swore. “Fuck, I hate throwing up.”

“Come on, let’s get the hell out of here,” Fletch said.

Ghost took the lead, with Truck following and Beatle and Fletch at the rear. Truck was in no shape to defend himself against any rebel who might still be lingering. They walked toward the trucks and, as they got near, Coach and Blade materialized out of the surrounding trees.

“We heard,” Blade said, gesturing to his earbud. The group had an open mike, and they’d obviously been listening to the situation with Beatle and Truck. “Good to see you have a hard head,” Blade joked.

“That’s what she said,” Truck replied.

Everyone chuckled, and they continued toward the vehicles with the girls and Trigger’s Delta Force team.

Lefty stepped out from between two trucks as the group approached—and everyone watched in disbelief as Truck moved faster than they would’ve thought possible for a man with his injuries.

He grabbed the pistol out of the holster at Ghost’s waist and had it pointed at Lefty before he could say a word.