“Becker!” he shouted again. The man never looked up but his hands worked frantically.
Step by agonizing step he moved forward, pain ripping through his body like sharp knives trying to tear him apart. Cold sweat broke out all over his filthy flesh, matted his shirt to his skin, but he ignored it. One foot in front of the other, that’s all he could concentrate on.
Finally, he reached Becker, dropped down next to him and gasped at the sight before him. “Bender.” The name tightened his throat.
“You need to stay with him, Gates,” Becker snapped. “I need to check on the others.”
Bender lay on the ground, blood pooling beneath his ripped-open body. Beside him lay a chunk of smoldering, bloody metal twisted and charred from the explosion. It didn’t take much of an imagination to figure out what had happened.
Becker leaned over. “He won’t last much longer. He isn’t feeling the pain. Just stay with him ‘til he goes,” the man whispered in his ear.
Ridge nodded once as he continued to stare at the huge hole in Bender’s gut.
“Gates,” Bender choked. “Pocket.”
Ridge looked up at the boy’s face. Dear God, he looked so fucking young. He should be home chasing girls, drinking beer and planning his Saturday night.
“Pocket,” Bender gasped again.
Ridge reached out with trembling hands and removed an envelope addressed to Bender’s parents. “I’ll make sure they get it.”
“Scared, sir.”
The pleading look in the kid’s eyes tore at his heart, clawed at his brain and sent him spinning into an unfamiliar world of aching anguish. Without thinking he moved to Bender’s head, gently lifted it into his lap and brushed the dirt from his face. “I’m here with you, Bender. There isn’t anything to be scared of.”
Death wasn’t anything new to him. He’d seen it, smelled it, but he’d never held it in his arms. This was a nightmare, a hellish nightmare that he wanted to wake up from now.
“Dark,” Bender whispered.
“The dark isn’t so bad,” he told the dying boy. It wouldn’t be long now. His flesh looked paper thin and pasty white. The blood had all but stopped gushing from his wound and the smell, Ridge had to bite his tongue to keep from gagging from the smell.
Bender’s body shuddered and he looked up at Ridge as his last shallow breath eased from his lungs on a sigh. Ridge fisted his hands in the boy’s shirt. Unshed tears burned like acid in his eyes. Like Sehr, Bender didn’t deserve this.
Forcing his hands to release his soldier, he closed Bender’s eyes and backed away. He couldn’t do anything more for Bender but he had other men he had to see to. Looking around he saw Becker wrapping a bandage over O’Reilly’s eyes.
Dragging himself across the ground he slid up next to Becker. “You okay, O’Reilly?”
“Can’t see, sir.” A touch of hysteria bubbled in the kid’s voice.
“You’ll be fine. The surgeons will fix you right up,” Becker told him. Without looking at Ridge, he asked, “Bender?”
Ridge shook his head and fought the rush of tears that wanted to flow so easily. “Easton?”
“Haven’t found him yet,” Becker answered with a clipped voice.
Ridge pushed himself up as far as he could on his knees and scanned the area for his best friend. A pair of feet was sticking out from behind a pile of debris. Without thinking he stood only to drop back to the ground again and cursed as the pain tore through his body.
“Stay put,” Becker snapped. “I need to check that leg.”
“I’m fine. I think I found Easton.” Ignoring his medic’s curses he crawled toward the feet. Sharp rocks and metal poked and pierced his elbows and legs as he crawled, drawing new blood.
“Easton!” he shouted as he reached the feet. No response. “Easton, answer me, damn it,” he snarled as he inched closer to the man’s head. Getting himself settled on his butt, he rolled the body toward him and gasped aloud. “Becker!”
Cale’s face was covered in dark blood like a death shroud. A piece of shrapnel protruded from the side of his head. “Easton, don’t you fucking die on me,” he croaked, searching for a pulse. “Becker! Get your ass over here.”
Becker knelt beside him, searched for a pulse and then reached for his medic bag. “He’s alive, for now.”
“Keep him alive,” Ridge ordered. Oh, fuck, this just wasn’t happening. Cale couldn’t die. Too much, all the death, it was too damn much. He wanted to leave, get up and just walk the hell away. He’d failed Bender, Sehr and O’Reilly—he couldn’t fail Easton.
Amidst the hustle and organized confusion going on all around him, Ridge leaned over, put his lips next to Cale’s bloody ear and whispered, “Don’t you die, Cale. You can’t leave, not yet. You have too much to live for. We had plans, man.”
Becker cursed, reached into his medic pack and pulled out a needle. “I’m losing him,” he snapped as he shoved the needle into Cale’s arm.
The words tore through Ridge like a hot blade. Fighting back tears, Ridge choked, “Don’t leave me, Cale. You can’t leave me.” Oh, God. Cale was the only family he had in this world. They were brothers. How empty would life be if he lost his only friend?
Pouring every bit of energy he could muster into willing Cale to live, Ridge continued whispering. “Fight, damn you. Fight. Don’t leave me, please, don’t leave me and Avery.”
In a blur of movement Becker jumped up, straddled Cale’s torso and began chest compressions. Fear twisted and morphed into anger deep in Ridge’s gut.
“You come back,” he snarled in Cale’s ear. “Fucking fight. You’ve never let anything kick your ass before. Don’t you let death beat you.” The background sounds faded. Ridge touched his head to Cale’s. Tears poured from his eyes and still he forced his will into his dying friend. “Live.” The word repeated over and over in Ridge’s mind.
Gradually Ridge heard a soft, feminine echo, faint at first but grew stronger as he continued repeating his plea and prayer. His brain seemed to expand. A gentle warmth filled his body and damn if it didn’t feel like a hug from affectionate arms. Ridge ignored it and continued willing Cale to breathe.
Cale bucked and took a gasping deep breath. Becker fell off to the side, exhausted and trembling.
Overwhelming relief burst through Ridge’s body. A strangled cry escaped his throat as he continued pressing his head next to his friends. “Thank you,” he grated between clenched teeth.
“Avery,” Cale croaked.
“We’ll get you home to her, buddy. I promise.”
Cale reached up, wrapped his weak fingers around Ridge’s wrist. “No. Avery. Gone.”
“She’s not gone, man. She’s home waiting for us to come visit, remember?” Ridge lifted his head and looked into Cale’s bloodshot, almost vacant eyes.
“She’s gone.”
Wiping his tears away with the back of his hand, Ridge gently grasped Cale’s head, careful not to touch the protruding metal. It didn’t surprise him Avery would be the first person Cale thought of—hell, she’d be the first person he’d think of if he was staring death in the face. But the conviction in Cale’s tone, the tears shimmering in his eyes, made his skin crawl.
“No, Easton. Avery is at home, safe and sound. You don’t worry about her right now. You need to make sure you fucking breathe, ya hear me? No more fading out on me.”
Gunfire erupted all around them sounding like fireworks run amok. Becker flattened himself to the ground. Ridge leaned over Cale’s body to protect him from further harm and listened as American soldiers shouted and fired back. Ridge risked a quick glance toward the street. Taliban were trying to free their leaders and the traitorous Americans.
No way in hell were they going to go free. Ridge grabbed Cale’s rifle and, while still covering his friend’s body with his own, he aimed at the Taliban men trying to shove the Americans in a car. Ridge squeezed the trigger, aiming at the closest enemy. Round after round expelled from the firearm, finding their
target and burying into flesh.
The satisfaction of the two men dropping to the ground welled up, encircled Ridge’s grief over the wasted death of Sehr and Bender, consuming every fiber in his body. The American who’d threatened Cale turned his head and their gazes met.
Rage exploded inside his gut, ripped through his soul and blackened his heart until nothing but hatred oozed from his being. Aiming the rifle at the American responsible for Sehr and Bender’s deaths, he squeezed the trigger. Bullets ripped through the man’s body causing him to jerk around like a puppet on a stick. Satisfaction so great and empowering boiled over until Ridge was helpless to contain it.
His neck muscles bulged, and the deepest, most menacing growl he’d ever heard from a human filled the air. Ridge’s body jolted as he unloaded bullets into every man daring to stand near the dead traitor. Ridge kept his finger on the trigger, squeezing until nothing but hot wisps of smoke escaped the barrel.
Becker crawled over, wrapped his hand around the barrel and gently pushed it toward the ground. “It’s over,” he barked. “He’s dead, man.”
Ridge shot him a hostile, hateful glare. It wasn’t over. It would never be over. The gaping hole in his soul would never heal, always reminding him of his failure. Bender was dead. Sehr was dead. And his torment would forever follow him.
“Let me look at your leg, Gates. You’re losing a lot of blood.”
A group of men approached, dropped a stretcher and reached for him. “No!” he shouted, pointing his empty weapon at the men. “You take him first,” he snarled, nodding toward Cale. “You take care of him first and by God don’t you let him die.”
“Easy, Gates,” Becker soothed, pushing the barrel of the gun down again.
The soldiers backed away, shifted toward Cale and carefully placed him on the stretcher. Ridge refused to let Becker touch him until Cale had been loaded onto a helicopter. Knowing his friend would be taken care of and safe now, all the fight drained out of Ridge’s body. His vision wavered, pain seared through every muscle and darkness dragged at his consciousness.
“He’s going to be all right,” he said more to himself than Becker. “He’s going home.”
Becker grunted, cut open the leg of Ridge’s pants and ripped the material to the side. “Shit, Gates. You have more damn metal in you than a car.”
“Tell me he’s going to be okay,” Ridge muttered, ignoring Becker’s comment, wanting nothing more than to drift into peaceful blackness and refusing to let go until he knew for certain Cale Easton would live.
“I don’t know. I wish I did, but I just don’t know.”
“Bender and Sehr are dead,” he choked out as Becker tended his leg. Images of their ravaged bodies floated in his mind, burned into his gray matter so he’d never forget.
Ridge clenched his jaw in attempts to keep from shedding tears that so badly wanted to flow for his two friends. The pressure sent searing pain through his cheek as if someone had stuck a blowtorch to his flesh. With a weak hand he reached up to brush away whatever debris had fallen onto his face.
“Don’t touch that,” Becker snapped, pushing his hand away.
“What the hell is it?” And why wasn’t Becker getting it off his skin?
Becker leaned over, looked into his eyes and Ridge knew something wasn’t right. Behind the weariness in the man’s eyes flashed deep concern and maybe a little fear. “It’s a piece of metal.”
“Well get rid of it,” Ridge said between clenched teeth. He reached up to remove the source of pain. Damn, but it hurt like a bitch.
Again, Becker stopped him. “I can’t, Gates.”
Rolling his head back and forth, he struggled to understand what his medic was telling him. “What the fuck do you mean? Just pull the thing off.” He met Becker’s gaze again and froze. From the look on Becker’s face things were going from bad to worse. “Spill it. What’s wrong?”
“The metal, it’s seared to your skin, Gates. I can’t just pull it off. If I do, half your face comes with it. You have to bite the bullet and wait ‘til the docs can remove it. I’m sorry, Gates. I’m damn sorry but I can’t do anything for you right now.”
Anguish shimmered in Becker’s eyes. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to do something—he couldn’t.
“I’ll be okay,” he hissed through the pain. “Becker, thanks for saving Easton. You did good.”
“Yeah, well, we’ll see how good I did if the bastard ends up a vegetable.”
Becker hollered for a stretcher and then flopped down on his ass and rubbed his eyes. His words slowly seeped into Ridge’s rapidly deteriorating consciousness—Cale, a vegetable, a fate worse than death. Cale wouldn’t want to exist like that, and that’s all it would be—existing.
Slowly the confusion around him became nothing but an annoying flutter of activity. He felt his body being carefully lifted and then lowered again. Every slight jostle ignited intense agony. Maybe if he closed his eyes and drifted into the darkness, he’d be able to stay.
“You’re going to be okay, buddy,” one of the soldiers shouted at him as they loaded him into the truck. “The doctors are waiting for ya.”
He didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything anymore. Bender and Sehr were dead, Cale could be a vegetable. The last thought that passed through his brain was that at least they’d only have to live this nightmare once.
* * * * *
Avery Easton sat on her couch, her knees pulled to her chest and hot tears dripping from her cheeks. She knew—the instant her twin brother Cale had been hit, she knew. A quick stab of pain shot through the left side of her head, bringing her to her knees and making her gasp for air. As suddenly as it appeared, it vanished, and Cale was gone.
As far back as she could remember she and Cale had shared an awareness of each other. By the time they were thirteen they could almost communicate, even over long distances. Not so much talk, but experience what the other felt. About half an hour ago Cale had sent her what she had always referred to as a mental hug, which meant he was headed into a bad situation. This wasn’t anything new—she’d begun to deal with those occurrences, forcing herself to continue with her day until she received another hug letting her know he was okay.
Something had gone terribly wrong this time. The moment Cale slipped from her mind she grabbed her head with one hand and her chest with the other. Part of her being had been torn away as if a big hand had reached inside her body and ripped half her essence out, leaving her reeling.
Long, agonizing moments passed and then she sensed it, faintly heard it—the pleading chant inside her head. It took a minute to recognize the stubborn energy. Ridge Gates was with Cale and he was willing her brother to live. Pulling herself to the couch, she curled into a ball, rocking back and forth and joined Ridge’s chant, trying desperately to force her will at her brother.
Ridge’s strength and determination boosted her. She absorbed it, joined him and pushed hard at his awareness. Not knowing Cale’s injuries or the severity terrified her but they had to be bad to cause such panic and fear in his best friend. Ignoring her terror, she concentrated and pleaded for Cale’s life.
Suddenly a wave of relief swept through her head and she knew Cale was still alive but no longer a part of her. Sensing Ridge’s relief brought on a fresh flood of tears. Avery barely had time to process what was happening when gut-cramping anger rolled through her. Fisting her hands in the cushions of the couch she fought through the strong urge to rip something apart, destroy anything she could get her hands on.
Such strong anger and she knew it was Ridge’s, not her own. Her mind spun, making her dizzy; her stomach pitched, making her gag. What the hell had happened? Had Cale died? Had she lost her brother?
Slowly the rage subsided, leaving her muscles trembling. Eventually Ridge’s awareness lessened, almost to the point of her losing contact with him completely. “No,” she whispered into the silence of her home. She couldn’t lose Ridge too. Lowering her head to her knees she fought to calm her
nerves and her body and there it was—Ridge’s essence. Faint, but there. Concentrating, she listened and allowed herself to feel.
He was in pain, a great deal of pain. “Oh God, Ridge,” she whimpered. They’d both been injured and from the energy it took for Ridge to fight it, he was injured badly.
She had to do something, help him in some way. Forcing her energy into Ridge, she tried to absorb as much of the pain as she could and give him some temporary relief. Her right leg began to throb with acute, muscle-tearing pain. Her right cheek burned with such white hot agony she was afraid to touch it.
Amidst the agony, she picked up Ridge’s mental turmoil, relief, fear, soul-deep grief and the desire to let it all go and escape into oblivion. Avery pushed into his mind again and gently willed him to sleep, just a brief escape from the nightmare he suffered. Slowly her mind settled and the phantom pain in her body eased away. She knew Ridge had fallen into unconsciousness.
There, in the quiet of her home, for the first time in her life Avery felt alone. Alone but not. She’d lost her brother’s comfort and strength. In its place swirled Ridge’s conflicting emotions of anger and pain. What the hell was she supposed to do now, possibly forever connected to a man who didn’t care if she existed? More importantly, was Cale alive?
Sitting there crying wasn’t going to get her any answers, or help her deal with the situation. She’d lived through a major shock to her system, having her brother ripped away and replaced by an unfamiliar presence that was rife with anger and guilt. She could block most of that. What she needed to do now was pull herself together and prepare for the phone call that would come.
“Pull it together,” she ordered herself. “If Cale’s still alive, he’ll need me. If not, then I have to prepare.” First order of business—pack a bag and be ready to walk out the door because, dead or alive, she’d be bringing her brother home, and probably Ridge Gates as well.
Pushing herself from the couch, she stood on wobbly legs. Damn, but her body physically ached, every muscle protesting the slightest movement. If she didn’t know better she’d think she’d been beaten with a bat. Her insides rebelled, her stomach clenched. Fighting the nausea, she forced herself down the hall and mentally prepared herself for the worst.
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