Fallen

by Ann Simko

  Ito raised one eyebrow at the weapon cocked and aimed at his chest. "Well, either shoot me or follow me, Private. Whatever one it is, do it quick because there is no time for this. We aren't out of here yet."

  As if confident that Ricco would follow, Ito started up the hallway after Montana.

  "You had no right." Ricco took one last hate-filled look at the still body of the General and decided he didn't want to die there with him. He glanced into the empty cells that had been his life. He peered through the hellish glow of the red lights and glanced at the dead bodies at his feet. People were dying because of him, and he prayed he could leave this place without being one of them.

  In his heart he didn't count on those prayers being answered. All those years he'd spent screaming in the dark, and not one of his prayers was ever answered. He decided he trusted Montana more than he did God.

  He removed his finger from the trigger, but kept the gun ready to fire as he took off at a run after Ito. They caught up with Montana, who had just reached the split in the corridor.

  As they rounded the corner, they found Bobby sitting with his back against the far wall. His right arm hung limp and useless at his side, and blood soaked his shirt, but he was conscious. He looked up at with shocky eyes. "They came at us hard, Major. We got most of them, but there were too many." He shook his head, "Too many." He motioned to Ray, who lay with what was left of his head in Bobby's lap. "I think Ray got hit...but I don't think it's too bad."

  He heard someone barking sharp orders in the med lab. "Sounds like they're regrouping, Major. We need to get out of here, now."

  Montana nodded. "Let's move."

  Ito slung his gun over his shoulder. He picked Ray's body off Bobby and cradled him in his arms. "I've got you, Ray." Without being told, Ricco went to Bobby and helped him to his feet.

  Weighed down with the wounded and the dead, none of them had the ability to return fire. Adrenaline fueled their flight, as their only hope lay in getting out before the remaining troops rounded the corner. Ito, carrying Ray, and Ricco, nearly dragging Bobby, had made it past the doorway just as the gunfire erupted behind them.

  Montana had nearly made it over the threshold, when he felt the heat in his back. The impact knocked the breath out of him and sent him flying forward. He cleared the doorway, but lost his grip on Dakota, who tumbled ahead of him. He made it back to his knees in time to see Ito lob a grenade past him through the rubble that was once a door.

  "Down! Get down!"

  Montana heard the grenade bouncing down the hallway as he dove forward to cover his brother's body. When it exploded the air around him seemed to take on a life all its own. He waited for the concussion blast to pass, and then dragged Dakota away from the open door.

  The explosion silenced the gunners inside the bunker, but the silence didn't last long. Within seconds the doorway came alive again in a hail of bullets as the remaining troops rushed the entrance. With no way to return fire, all Montana could do was cover Dakota and wait for a pause to make a run for it.

  Suddenly he heard gunfire coming from in front of him. It had a different sound, higher pitched, and with a steady, single-shot rhythm.

  "Yes, Patrick!" He took advantage of the cover Patrick provided and moved quickly. Ignoring the pain that shot down his side and leg, he picked Dakota up, cradled him in his arms, and stumbled away from the entrance, while trying not to think about the fact that Dakota had not moved or made a sound since they made their run down the hall.

  Fire continued to come from the bunker, and bullets ricocheted all around as Montana made it to the outcropping of rock that Ito and Ricco were using for cover. He lay Dakota down, but didn't have time to see to him just yet. Fragmented pieces of pulverized rock stung his face as ricocheting rounds hit too close.

  Ito pushed another clip home. "You okay?"

  "Not sure."

  Both men ducked as another barrage of gunfire exploded around them. Patrick returned fire, but he was badly outnumbered.

  "Got any ideas?" Montana said.

  "I'll let you know if I think of any." Ito pushed his weapon over the top of the rocks and blindly emptied another clip in the direction of the bunker.

  "That beautiful son of a bitch!" Bobby's sudden laughter had all three of them turning toward him. He held out a remote detonator. "I found it in Ray's hands."

  "What's that?" Ricco sounded bewildered at Bobby's excitement over a little box. "What are you talking about?"

  Bobby's face was streaked with tears and blood, both his own and Ray's. "Ray was running back from the med lab when he got hit. I never got the chance to ask him what he was doing. I just pulled him in and returned fire." He looked at Ray's body. "He set the charges...he had to have."

  Montana and Ito exchanged knowing glances. "Do it, Bobby. Do it for Ray."

  "Do what?" Ricco said.

  Bobby only smiled. "Prepare to be amazed," and he pushed the button.

  For half a second nothing happened. Then the entire canyon became engulfed in fury. The less wounded dove over the more seriously injured, and they all ducked as what was left of the bunker was thrown into the heavens. Then, as if celestial judges saw what filth had entered their domain, it fell out of the sky, finding its way to hell.

  No one moved for almost a full minute afterwards. All that could be heard was the settling of rocks as they rolled and fell to their final resting place. Eventually Ricco shook the dust and debris off his body, and climbed atop a rocky outcrop. Open-mouthed, he eyed the smoking crater that once had been the med lab, the charred depressions in the ground where collapsed tunnels led off in two directions. "Wow! Ray did all that?"

  Montana raised his head, and for the first time had a chance to determine if his brother was alive. Dakota lay on one side beneath him. He slid a finger along his neck, and then lowered his head in relief as he felt a strong pulse. Dakota was alive. His bound arm was soaked in blood, but so was his back. Montana examined him more closely, and realized that the round that had hit him through his Kevlar vest had first passed through Dakota. His brother was in bad shape, but he wasn't the only one.

  Ray was dead. Bobby was wounded and in shock. Ricco's injury didn't seem to bother him, but of those who had gone into the bunker, Ito was the only one who had come out unscathed.

  "We need to get Dakota and Bobby out of here." Montana tried to stand, and the world tilted.

  Ito helped ease him down. "I'm thinking we're not walking out. Stay here, and I'll get the car and bring it as far as I can."

  "Ray's dead." Montana's voice sounded detached and emotionless.

  "Yeah, I know. Let's try to keep the body count to one, okay?" Montana only blinked. "Stay put, Major. I'll be back as soon as I can. Patrick will cover you." He gave Montana his gun and put a hand on his shoulder. "You good?"

  "Go," Montana said.

  Ito nodded and disappeared into the early morning light, a black ghost silently swallowed by the void.

  Chapter 19

  By the time Ito made it back to the rental car, a Ford Taurus, the sun was on the horizon and the desert day had started coming to life. As he leaned on the hood and tried to catch his breath, he realized there was no way that car would make the drive through the desert back to the bunker. His body reeled from the heat and the exhaustion of his long run, while images of his injured teammates swirled through his mind. He knew their survival depended on him, but he needed help.

  He wiped sweat from his forehead with the palm of one hand, and made a decision. He opened the door and reached for the cell phone. Montana might be pissed, but he didn't give a damn. He had just killed over a dozen men, and Ray's blood and brains covered him. No one else was going to die if he could help it.

  * * * *

  The hallucinations must have finally taken over his mind. Montana rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands and looked twice before, he realized the sight was real.

  Patrick had come down from the bluff to stand guard. They watched in silence as
a dozen police and FBI vehicles closed in on their position. Two Medi-vac helicopters swooped and hovered above them.

  Out of reflex Montana tried to chamber a round, only to find the slide stuck open. He was out of ammo.

  Patrick pushed the barrel down. "Relax, Major. They're the good guys." He offered binoculars. "Lead vehicle, passenger side."

  Montana suppressed a groan as he straightened up. He focused the binoculars and there, in the lead car, was Ito. "He was supposed to bring the car, not an army."

  Patrick shrugged and silently appraised Montana. "How you doing?"

  Montana struggled to his feet. "Still breathing." He stood on shaky legs, one hand bracing himself against the boulder, and the other holding his side. He inclined his head towards Dakota and Bobby. "How are they?"

  "Still breathing. Ray's not so lucky."

  Montana bent down next to Dakota as sirens cut through the air. "Help's coming," he told his still unconscious brother. "Hang in there." The rotor wash had them covering the wounded with their bodies as the helicopters found places to land.

  The FBI unit reached them first. Three men exited the vehicles with their weapons drawn and ran towards them, heads ducked against the sand kicked up by the helicopters.

  "Drop your weapon, now!" the lead agent yelled at Patrick.

  "Well, hell," Montana said under his breath. "I thought they were the good guys."

  Patrick shrugged again, and gently laid his weapon on the ground. He raised his hands, lacing then behind his head, to show he was not armed.

  Montana didn't care when they pushed him to the ground. He didn't care when they wrenched his arms behind his back and cuffed him. He heard Ito yell, "They're wounded! Take it easy!" But his eyes never left Dakota. He breathed a sigh of relief as the medics found his brother and loaded him into the first helicopter.

  One of the Feebs pulled him to his feet and started screaming questions at him, but Montana's legs gave out from under him. The agent caught him on the way down. He pulled back his hand and saw blood on it. "What the hell? Hey, buddy, you hit?" He turned and yelled, "We have more wounded over here!"

  Montana heard the Feeb's voice as if it came from the end of a long tunnel, He pitched forward and fell face down in the sand, wanting the desert to wrap its arms around him and bring him peace. Someone rolled him onto his back.

  He opened his eyes and saw Ito's face hovering above him.

  "Someone get these freaking cuffs off him! I got you," Ito told him, as the world grayed out around him. "I got you."

  * * * *

  Montana woke up in the Carson City trauma bay. The bullet that had passed through his body armor had cracked a rib, and exited out the other side without hitting anything life threatening. He agreed to a quick clean and patch-up, but nothing more, even though the doctors insisted on admitting him. Montana's only response was to ask after his brother.

  One of the doctors applied another piece of tape to the dressing. "He's still in surgery." He checked Montana's pulse, and gave him a stern look. "And you belong flat on your back in a hospital bed for the next two days."

  Montana ignored him.

  Ito found him a short time later, helped him into a wheelchair. It didn't occur to Montana to object as Ito pushed him to the waiting room. Montana settled into a chair, very much aware that Ito watched his every move with concern. He suppressed a groan as he adjusted his position. "Fill me in."

  Ito sat next to him and made himself comfortable. "Well, they dropped the charges against you and Dakota. Your good sheriff made that happen."

  Montana nodded. The pain meds they had given him were starting to take hold. His head felt fuzzy and the pain had backed down a bit.

  "Bobby?"

  "He lost a lot of blood, but he's stable now. They think he's going to be okay."

  Montana lifted his head and met Ito's eyes. The last question was the hardest to ask. "What about Dakota?"

  Ito shook his head. "They don't know. He's been in surgery for hours. Montana, he didn't look good."

  Montana leaned his head back against the chair and closed his eyes. He has to be okay. Ray could not have died for nothing. That one thought kept repeating. Dakota could not die. It simply was not an option.

  A doctor in wrinkled surgical scrubs entered. He looked almost as tired as Montana. He looked from one man to the next, as if he were unsure who to address. "Montana Thomas?"

  Montana tried to stand.

  The doctor motioned for him to stay seated, and then pulled off his surgical cap and scratched his head.

  "I'm Doctor Santos." He offered his hand. "I'm the staff surgeon on your brother's case."

  "How is he?" Montana winced as he shook the hand.

  The Doctor frowned at Montana's show of pain, and sat down next to him. "The short version is we have him stabilized. He's in recovery right now, and they should be moving him up to ICU shortly."

  "How about the long version?"

  Doctor Santos sighed. "I honestly don't know what to tell you. The bullet passed through a lung. He has a chest tube, and his breathing is stable, but his arm is another story altogether. He's going to need multiple surgeries later on, but at the moment, we're mostly concerned with the infection. All in all, I'm surprised he's doing as well as he is."

  Montana got right to the question that weighed most heavily on him. "He's going to live?"

  "Nothing's definite, but if I were a betting man, yeah, I'd lay odds on him coming out of this."

  It was all Montana needed to hear. He felt his eyes fill. Blinking back tears, he nodded. "I want to see him."

  "You sure you're up to it? You looked a little wiped yourself."

  "I want to see him." Montana covered his face with his hands. He took several deep breaths, attempting to control his emotions and keep from sobbing outright. Exhaustion almost had him losing it, but he managed to keep it together.

  Doctor Santos laid a hand on his shoulder and gave him a moment to compose himself. "Yeah, okay. I'll make sure they tell you when he gets to ICU." He turned to Ito. "Make sure he doesn't overdo it or they might end up as roommates."

  "I'll do my best," Ito promised. "But he's not an easy man to keep down."

  "I can see that." Doctor Santos gave Montana a gentle pat on the back and left.

  * * * *

  Intensive care units and their staff are not big on visitors. There are no chairs in patients' rooms or any amenities to welcome long stays. Regardless, Montana stayed by Dakota's bedside. After a few hours, one of the nurses took pity on him and brought him a chair. He moved out of the way when they needed to care for his brother, but he would not leave. No one had the courage to ask him to do so. Ito brought him clean clothes and news of what the Feds were doing.

  As the hours passed, memories of their childhood drifted in and out of his thoughts. For as long as he could remember, it had been his job to look after Dakota, but more often than not Dakota had been taking care of him. They were only thirteen months apart, two wild boys raising hell and causing trouble through the quiet streets of Caliente. Lilly Thomas had never married. She worked long hours to support her boys, which left Montana and Dakota alone far too long, and far too often. Trouble was a close and constant companion.

  Montana had been ten the first time he tried to run away. He didn't get far, because nine-year-old Dakota followed him. Montana had threatened him, bullied him, and finally bloodied his lip, but Dakota wouldn't back down. He stood, tearful and defiant, and told Montana that he had to come home. That time Montana relented, but he got sneakier as the years went by.

  At every turning point, every crisis in his life, Dakota had been there for him. His brother was the one constant in his turbulent, unpredictable existence. An unspoken bond held them together, a union of shared trusts and secrets of the soul. They were confidants and conspirators, but above all, they were friends, and to Montana that was an amazing thing.

  A sad smile tugged at his lips as he stared down at Dakota's pale face. Dark
lashes stood out against almost translucent skin. Montana had never seen his brother so still for so long before. It scared him, and the only person who could understand that, was Dakota. Tears welled and spilled. Too tired to care, he let them slide unheeded, unconcerned as to who might see them. He sat in the calming quiet of the ICU and held his brother's hand. Laying his head on the mattress next to Dakota's arm, Montana closed his eyes and waited for him to wake.

  * * * *

  Michael Ricco had once again become property of the United States Government. Neither Montana nor Ito had been allowed to see or talk to him since they had been seized in the desert.

  On the second day, Cal Tremont came—once to ask questions, and once out of genuine concern for Dakota. He told Montana that the Feds had excavated what was left of the bunker. What they'd found there only gave them more questions to ask.

  Cal shook his head as he looked down at Dakota. "I never should have called him, never gotten him involved. I should have just gone looking for Tommy myself."

  "You aren't to blame for this, Cal."

  "Maybe not, but that doesn't make Tommy and the others any less dead, now, does it?"

  Cal shifted his considerable weight from one foot to the other. It was clear he had something to say, but Montana let him get to it in his own way.

  "You know..." Cal began. "The Feds had been all over what's left of that bunker. They found forty-two bodies. Most have been identified as ex-military. Some were AWOL, others had been dishonorably discharged."

  Montana kept watching Dakota, but his attention was with Cal. "They already briefed me, Sheriff."

  "Yeah, I know what they told you. I also know what they didn't tell you."

  "What didn't they tell me?"

  Cal hesitated, started to say something, and then turned away and looked down at Dakota. "I've known you and Dakota all of your lives." A fond smile formed on his lips, followed by a husky chuckle. "Little monsters, the both of ya. I'd be lying if I said otherwise." The smile broadened as he shook his head. "I can't begin to remember how many times your momma sent me chasing after you when you ran away. Always into one thing or another... I'm surprised I have any hair left at all after dealing with the two of you." The smile faded, and Cal sighed. He pointed a meaty finger at Dakota. "He gonna be okay?"