Page 2 of Playing Hard to Get

Just wished he'd trust my instincts on this.

Something wasn’t right.

My eyes pulled back out at the weeds. If it was a breeze blowing them to and fro, it certainly wasn't making itself known where I sat. Hadn't had a breeze in days. It was either stale, stagnant air, or the Devil’s wind, blowing sand into every crevice of this godforsaken land.

Had sand in my boots. In my pants. Pretty sure I had a few grains stuck in my ear.

What I wouldn't give for a nice cold shower to wash it all away.

And maybe a nice cold brew.

James tapped my shoulder and I glanced at him. He held my canteen out to me. His blond eyebrow quirked up. I huffed and grabbed the can.

“Never thought I'd be mothered in the Marines.”

James laughed. “It's hotter than Hades out here. Can't have my best friend dying of dehydration. Where’d I get my smokes from then?”

After taking a swig, I twisted the cap back on. A smile tugged at my lips. “Thought you were quitting.”

He shrugged. “Thought you were, too.”

I gazed out at the desert. The weeds had ceased their sway. The only movement now was Fisher and Calhoun, trudging along the perimeter of the town. Broken down trucks and discarded tires and drums littered the roadside. We’d been through it all, searching for any remnants of life. Only stumbled upon the corpses of a dozen or so women and young girls, piled in the back of a truck and abandoned like garbage.

Even made Barnes sick to see that. Didn't stop him from talking shit at dinner that night, though.

“What the hell are they doing?” James popped up beside me, looking out the hole I dug out in my wall. We watched as Calhoun bent over and shoved the barrel of his rifle into the center of a shredded tire.

“Hell if I know.”

The words were barely out of my mouth when a flash of light nearly blinded me. My ears rang as the force of the blast stole the town’s silence. I blinked hard, repeatedly, and scanned the area where Calhoun had been. He was gone. Only thing remaining was smoke and fire.

Fisher was lying on the ground thirty yards from where the blast originated. There was blood covering the earth. I didn't have to count to know there were parts missing. One of his legs was dangling by a thread. Ten yards closer to the blast was a bloody lump that could have been his other leg, or maybe his arm.

James grabbed my sleeve and gave me a shake. I hadn't moved from my spot, but he was on his feet, pointing and shouting words my ears couldn’t make out. I looked at the bloody mess. Thompson and Harrison were approaching, guns drawn, their bodies stooped low to the ground. Eyes wild, searching.

Harrison got to Fisher first. He knelt before the broken man, grabbed his hand and bent over his chest.

James shook me again. When I looked at him, I saw a mix of terror and determination.

Determination, because we’d trained for this. He and I? We knew this was coming. Had been talking about it all week, away from the ears of the rest of our unit. None of them believed us when we tried to tell them something wasn't right. If the top brass believed this little slice of hell was important enough to strand us here, then the Jihadis weren’t just going to give it up. But the guys believed their eyes, not the feelings in our gut.

It was James’ terror that got me moving. I stood and grabbed my gun. My feet hit the sandy ground behind him and nearly slid out from under me as another blast hit two hundred yards from the first. I grabbed a handful of his sleeve and hauled him back behind the wall as a wave of gunfire mowed down the building in front of us. Gunfire from the direction of those weeds I’d been watching.

James grabbed at the pocket on the sleeve of his shirt. In it was a picture of his young wife’s sonogram. His baby boy was due in less than a month. I’d made it my mission to get him home safe. Just a few more months and he’d be back in the States, holding that sweet little boy in his arms.

“Stay here,” I told him. I peeked around the edge of the wall. The Jihadis were out there, running across the sand dunes leading out into the desert. One of the Frankensteins was chasing them down. Barnes was hanging out the front window, gun drawn and firing away.

I made a mad dash across the open ground. No one shot. No bombs went off. I made it to Harrison and Fisher. But there was nothing I could do. Fisher was torn up. His guts were spilling out of him and the only thing left to do was stay with him until he was gone. Harrison and I weren't medics, not that it would help. It was beyond clear the man was fading fast.

“Tell… her…” Fisher’s voice was just a whisper. His fingers fluttered over the space where his arm used to be. Where his own pocket full of memories once was. “Tell…”

“Don't worry, Fisher,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “We’ll take care of her. Just like we promised.”

He nodded. A tiny movement. Then stillness.

Harrison crossed himself and whispered a silent prayer. I took one last look at my friend, my fellow Marine, who would never see his girl again. Then I stood and headed toward the safety of my wall.

James was hovering low against the building where I left him. His gun was in his hands, at the ready, as he watched me cross the long, empty space. My feet dragged. A heavy weight tugged at my soul. The ringing in my ears hadn't fully gone away. And with the losses—Calhoun, Fisher—I wasn’t sure I’d ever hear silence again.