The Longest Road (Book 3): The Other Side

by A. S. Thompson

"Alright! On my go!"

  Clint nodded to Steve and both men commenced counter-firing. "Go!"

  Charlie, Kim, Travis, West, Matty, and Dylan, vacated the cover and began their death sprint. Bullets whizzed past them and kicked up the dirt around their feet, as they dashed for the fence line, pushing their exhaustion and injuries beyond working limitations.

  Then, it happened.

  In accordance with West's directive, Nick pushed the button. The radio frequency sent from the handheld device, triggered the charges on the C-4 spread throughout the facility. The bricks planted in the labs erupted up and outward, blasting out the western and southern walls. But it was the strategically placed C-4 in the warehouse that proved most detrimental.

  While its blast didn't break through the walls as badly as the southern eruptions, the raw power took out the structural pillars holding up the northern part of the facility. Not a second after, the support was gone and the northern two floors collapsed as though someone flicked a house of cards.

  The Guards inside and nearest to the explosive epicenters were dismembered instantly. The ones surrounding the building were knocked down by the blast or struck with flying debris, or both.

  The majority of the facility's walls were perforated; large sections of its foundation were completely gone, being replaced by jagged concrete and rebar.

  The Farm was raised to rubble.

  1802 hours

  Charlie burst through Sweetie's side door. "Clear the table! And someone get me our trauma supplies!"

  Marilyn, Christopher, Ally and Lisa had been sitting at the table, waiting anxiously for a radio update that never came. When the door flung open, the demand was as shocking as Charlie's entrance, and at first, no one moved.

  "On it," West said, breaking off to the left.

  Lisa followed Ally and Marilyn's movements and swept the dinner plates, cups and radio to the floor.

  "Christopher, wait for me outside. No buts!"

  Dylan moaned painfully as his body was lowered onto the surface.

  Despite his own injuries and the blood dribbling down his dirty face, Charlie went to work. "Travis, take off Dylan’s vest and shirt, then you and Nick keep your hands pressed on both entry wounds!"

  Nick pressed two fingers on Dylan’s neck. "Pulse is getting faster and weaker.”

  Ally's eyes were pouring tears as she watched her brother struggle for life. "W-what happened?"

  "Not now, Ally! If you want to help, get me clean towels. Go, go!"

  Lisa grabbed Ally by the hand. "Come with me."

  "Where are those trauma supplies, damnit!"

  Just then, West returned with a black duffle bag. "Right here!"

  "Rubbing alcohol, now! And get me out tweezers, scalpels, everything! Bring as much water to a boil as you can!"

  Charlie inspected Dylan’s pupils and slapped his cheeks saying, "Alright, Dyl, can you hear me? Good. What I'm about to do is gonna hurt bad and I don't have any time for anesthesia. So stay with me, buddy."

  West unscrewed the clear plastic bottle of isopropanol and doused Charlie's hands.

  "Here, we're getting more," Ally said, hurrying to bring back the first set of towels; clattering teeth made it difficult to understand her words.

  "We are gonna need a whole lot more! Alright everyone, here's how this is gonna work. When I say so, Travis and Nick remove your hands. West, you're gonna empty half the bottle on every wound, and I'm gonna see what we're dealing with!"

  Everyone followed instructions as Charlie examined his friend's abdomen. After wiping away the excessive of blood and alcohol, Charlie got a better look at the entry points before blood pooled and covered them again.

  "Alright, West, empty the rest of the bottle on the entry wounds. Travis and Nick cover them with the towels. We need to turn him on his side."

  The team worked in unison, pressing on despite Dylan's weak, but painful moans.

  Charlie's frown terrified Ally. "What is it?" she asked.

  "West, soak a clean towel with alcohol and stuff it under the exit wound before laying him down!"

  Ally repeated herself, and added, “Charlie answer me!”

  "The round that went through his side has an exit wound-"

  "That's a good thing right?"

  "Not necessarily good, I'd say better. I don't think the ballistic impact caused much if any damage to his organs. Still, we have to clean and stop the bleeding on it," Charlie said, putting on multiple pairs of sterile gloves. "What I'm more worried about is the round that hit him above the belly button. It caught the vest, but still managed to punch through. Impact-wise, it is safe to say it caused some internal damage, but had he not been wearing the vest, he'd be dead. On the plus side, the President sustained a similar wound, so-"

  Ally started crying hysterically. "So he's gonna die?"

  "Again, not necessarily. Bullets and fragments can cause all kinds of hell on internal tissue, but I won’t know the extent ‘til I’m inside. I was gonna say,so at least I'll be familiar with the anatomy. But first things first, we need to get him hemodynamically stable."

  "He means we need to stop the bleeding," Travis translated for the confused faces. Then he coughed and grabbed at the source of his own pain. "Don't worry, I'm okay. Vest took a round. Think I just bruised some ribs."

  "Go get it looked at. I don't need you in here."

  "I'm not injured. I'll stick around and assist."

  "Thanks Nick. Ally, I'll need you to stay, too."

  "Okay. What can I do?"

  "Dylan'll need your blood."

  Nick slid his hand over and pressed firmly on the spot where Travis’s hand had been. "Don't you need to know her type?"

  "No. Dylan is AB positive. We got tested in the military," he answered, separating the medical instruments into the order he would need. "It wouldn't matter what blood type he received, or if it was positive or negative."

  West stood patiently off to the side. "Anything I can do?"

  "Blood, saline bags, and a magnet would be fantastic, but I think we're shit out of luck."

  "Not necessarily," Nick interrupted. "When I was up on the water tower, I saw a veterinarian clinic along the strip of town. They should have bags, right?"

  "Good thinking. West-"

  The Sergeant Major was halfway out the door. "Be back ASAP."

  "Bring back anything else useful! Painkillers, Antibiotics, whatever you can find!"

  "Done. Steve! Kim! You're with me!"

  "Marilyn, I'll need you here too to keep the instruments sterile. Wash your hands first."

  She wasn't comfortable with being nominated, but she agreed.

  "Alright, stop the bleeding, clean the wound. Stop the bleeding, clean the wound. Stop the bleeding, clean the wound," Charlie repeated, going to work on his friend's midsection.

  "He's in pain," Ally cried gently caressing her brother's face. "Can we give him some painkillers?"

  "No, we can't risk lowering his BP anymore than it is."

  Partially coherent, Dylan could feel every bit of pain as Charlie stretched back the skin with clamps.

  Charlie stared his best friend in the eyes and said, "Sorry, buddy, this is gonna hurt like hell.”

  ***

  1820 hours

  By the time West had returned, Agent Clint had gathered everyone around the bed of the truck and initiated a triage center. Lisa and Christopher assisted, going from person to person offering assistance, medical supplies, food and water. As the collective adrenaline lessened, pain that was once masked was surfacing with each heartbeat and expansion of lungs.

  Matty sustained the least amount of injuries. He made it through the death sprint unscathed, but it was the diving from the c-4 explosion that scraped up his body. He massaged the tissue surrounding worst of them, and stopped grumbling as he gazed at the others.

  Eddy was marginally wounded but lodged no complaints. Neck to feet, lacerations and shallow punctures from rocks and other ricochets cut up his body. Howeve
r, his worst injury was not combat related. As he had rushed hurriedly down the hillside, he tripped and fell bruising the back of his right shoulder on a rock.

  Steve's arms had been cut up by falling glass when the guards turned their guns to his position; his hands and legs, too, endured lacerations as he crawled out before the grenade went off. His worst injury, though, was from the stitches that had torn open on his previously wounded left shoulder.

  As Steve began to pull out each stitch individually, Matty noticed, came over and assisted. He cleaned the wound, and then followed Steve’s step by step instructions for stitching it back up.

  The less fortunate ones, namely Travis and West, were tended to by the two secret Service Agents.

  Travis coughed and cursed the bullet that hit him. He sustained at least two bruised ribs, and without an x-ray machine, it was impossible to determine the exact number. Through clenched teeth, he requested a compression wrap, but Agent Clint advised against it, citing a potential for contracting pneumonia since the lungs would not be able to expand fully. Instead, he tossed Travis a bottle of whiskey and a container of painkillers; the latter was purloined from the veterinary hospital.

  The light from a fire burning in a steel drum helped reveal wounds on everyone, except West.

  "Where'd you take the shot?" Agent Kim asked, helping West lift up his shirt. His African skin made it difficult to locate any bruising.

  "Around here," he said, finger grazing over an area two inches below his left nipple. Even the slightest of touch caused him to wince in pain.

  Agent Kim closely examined the darker, puffier skin, and offered the same treatment as Travis was given.

  "I'll be fine," replied West.

  "Then at least let me look at your arm. You were shot. It has to be taken care of."

  The cloth surrounding the wound was soaked in a mixture of wet and dried blood and dirt. West rose to his feet and tested his arm's range of motion, but as the bicep muscle flexed, West stopped and grunted painfully before sitting back down.

  West tossed his knife to the agent and then motioned to the fire pit.

  David Kim's eyebrow was arched in disbelief. "You sure?”

  ”Ya. I’ve been through worse with less.”

  "How the hell did we make it?" Eddy asked rhetorically, and mostly for the others who were closer to the action.

  "Not all of us might have," Kim answered solemnly. He nodded over to the RV where the painful screams from Dylan were constant, that is, when his body wasn't unconscious from pain overload.

  "Aren't…we forgetting…about…someone? Alex," Travis said, rising to his feet. His breaths were short, like his fragmented speech.

  "And Jenny," Steve added, pushing himself up with his good arm. Standing erect, he winced ever so slightly at the pain of his combined injuries. "I'm going to go look for them."

  "I'm coming too," Travis said. "Hey, Chris, can you get me a new shirt?"

  “Be right back!”

  As she refilled water glasses, Lisa was unable to hear the conversation but noticed the pending departure. "Where do you think you're going? You both should be resting."

  Travis stepped forward and put his hands on her shoulders. "Steve and I are going to go look for Alex and Jenny now. Don’t worry, they were far from the action. I’m sure they’re fine, we just couldn’t wait for them earlier, and we had to get Dylan back here ASAP."

  "You brought up a good point," Clint said grumblingly. "As I recall, Alex was far from the action. In fact, he wasn't at his post when the shooting started, and wasn’t around when we got out either."

  "Wherever he was, I'm sure he had good reason," defended Eddy.

  "Deserters always claim have a good reason."

  "Dennis, not helping,” said a vexed Agent Kim.

  “Hey guys,” Eddy said standing. He squinted and pointed to a section of desert two hundred feet away. "My eyes might be playing a trick on me, but it looks like something’s moving out there. You guys see that?”

  “No, there’s definitely something out there.”

  “Could some of the security have followed us here?”

  “Not likely, but maybe.”

  “Could be some straggling infected?”

  “Not sure. Let’s get ready.”

  Guns and blunt instruments drawn, the men staggered to their feet and formed a defensive perimeter.

  "Don't shoot!” Steve shouted, rushing toward to the unknown.

  “Steve, get back here!” West ordered, but when Travis illuminated the truck’s headlamps, the number and identities of the unknown were verified.

  "Yea, don't shoot," Alex called back. His muscles shook as he continued to support all ninety-five pounds of Jenny. Steps later, though, he dropped to his knees, exhausted. Still, he maintained a steadfast hold of the fourteen year old who was curled in his arms.

  "What happened to her?" Lisa said, following Steve.

  "I got you. I got you," Steve said, grabbing Jenny from Alex's arms.

  "She's hurt," Alex answered, out of breath and relieved. "It's her ankle, I don't think it's broken, but it's definitely sprained."

  "Are you okay?" Lisa asked, helping her boyfriend stand.

  "I'm alright. I could use some water though."

  "Chris, get some water! Come on, Alex, let's get you by the fire."

  Clint intercepted Alex's path and jabbed two strong fingers into his chest. "Where the hell were you? We needed your cover fire back there and you just abandoned your post?"

  Alex swiped at Clint's hand. "Cut that shit out! Can I get two freaking seconds to rest? I’m freezing balls and tired as fuck."

  But Clint did not stop, in fact, he escalated to shoving. "Where the hell were you, huh? Why weren't you there? We needed you!"

  "I told you to knock-it the fuck off!" he shouted. Despite his fatigue, Alex lowered his body and put his full weight into a counter-shove-tackle.

  The move knocked Clint off balance, but the Secret Service agent did not fall. He steadied himself and slammed both fists on to Alex's back. The blow caused Alex to collapse to his knees.

  When he tried to get up, Clint swung awkwardly and connected with Alex's forehead; it wasn't a concussive hit but jarring nonetheless.

  On his back, Alex was ready for a ground fight. "All I wanted was a second to catch my breath, you fuck! Bring it!"

  Clint didn't dive at him, instead he hovered over Alex's body shouting and instigating, "Get your cowardly ass up!"

  "Enough!"

  "Stop it!"

  "Cut it out!"

  David and Travis ran over to separate the parties.

  "Come on, hermano," Travis said, helping Alex up with a hand.

  Alex made a quick move and slid past Travis. He cocked his arm back, intending to deliver physical retribution to the thirty-nine year old Secret Serviceman. But before Alex could deliver a punch-kick combination, Steve intervened.

  "It's done," Eddy said, wrapping his arms around Alex. "Look at me, Alex. Look at me. It's over. Let it go."

  "Let it go?" The pitch of his voice was as high as his anger. "This asshole just tried to fight me for no reason, and you're telling me to let it go?"

  "No reason? Try deserting us!"

  "Are you fucking kidding me?" Alex growled, wiping the blood from his lip. "You think I'd leave my post for the fuck of it? I heard the shots, I heard it start, but it's not what you think! I didn't desert you guys!"

  With Matty's help, West finished taping down dressing for a bullet that grazed his calf. "I hope you have a damn good explanation, Alex," he said, limping over. "Clint is right. We needed your support fire. Now I know you aren't responsible for Dylan-"

  "What happened to Dylan?" Alex asked, still furious.

  "He's been shot. It happened inside, and in no way is that your fault, but it could have been a hell of a lot worse for us. The whole purpose of having you on the hillside was for your cover fire. If I recall, you begged me to let you in on the op, now I see that even a support
ive role might have been a mistake. Your absence almost cost more lives."

  "Charlie's in there right now. Dylan's in bad shape," Matty confirmed.

  "I know you didn't have anything to do with that, but like West said, there coulda been more of us in there with Dylan or worse," Travis suggested. "I’m sure you had your reason, I just hope it’s a good one, hermano."

  “Steve?” Alex said, looking to his cousin for support.

  "They just wanna know where you were. Just answer 'em."

  Disappointed, Alex stared back at Steve.

  The only person who had unflinching loyalty was Lisa. "I'm sure he has a great reason!"

  "Let's hear thisgreat reason," mocked Clint.

  Alex snorted. He scanned the eyes of the people that he once considered true friends. Ones he had fought beside, ones he had saved. Now, he couldn't help but doubt the doubters.

  "So this is how it's going down? You guys think I'm a deserter...straight up Benedict Arnold?" He focused on Steve first. "You of all people think I'd just bail without good reason? Travis, West, you too? How many times have we fought together? How about you, Eddy? You're pretty quiet over there. You sure you don't want to hop on the ‘Brand Alex as a Deserter’ bandwagon? Matty? There's plenty-a fucking room for you too."

  "Alex!" West interjected. "Tell us what happened and we'll go from there."

  "I can't believe you people," Alex said, shaking his head from side to side. "The lack of faith. The blatant attack on my character. It hurts."

  "Alex-"

  "You want to know where I was? You want to know what I was doing?" he said, spinning to address West's impatience. "Why it was so important that I left? You say that my absence almost cost more lives? Ya, you’re probably right, but I sure as hell know that my absence saved one life..."

  The others did not appear to understand.

  "It was Jenny. Not all the infected went to the facility. I saw her branch off where she was supposed to at the first set of panels. Most of the infected went to the lights and guards, but a few stayed on her trail and she didn't even realize it..."

  The doubters lowered their eyes in guilt.

  Travis and Steve were silent but wore looks of "I'm sorry. I had no idea."