Lies(48)

My hope lasts exactly until the wall next to me explodes.

I’m flung across the room screaming, dust and rocks raining down. At least when I land, I hit the back of a sofa first and it sort of cushions my fall. Though everything hurts like hell anyway. There’s also a bell or something ringing in my ears. Holy shit. This is insane.

“Thom?” I slowly rise just a little. Just enough to look around the room. “Oh God, please be alive!”

A hand reaches out of the dust storm, urging me back down. Blood drips from the side of his face where shrapnel or something cut him, but otherwise he seems all right. “Babe, it’s okay. Are you hurt?”

“I love you.”

The man doesn’t even blink. “I know. But are you hurt?”

“No, I don’t think so.” I cough up a lung or two as the air slowly clears. His dismissal of my mind-bogglingly big statement would be weird if we weren’t fighting for our lives, so I let it slide. “Did they launch a rocket at us?”

“Rocket-propelled grenade, yes.”

“Are you injured?”

“Just bruised like you. But there’s a hole in the wall now, so I’d really appreciate if you got your gorgeous ass downstairs pronto.” He pauses, watching said hole. Someone’s obviously talking to him via the ear thingy again. “On it, Crow. Bear is on his way in.”

Sure enough, the gunfire outside intensifies as Bear comes limping in through the kitchen door. Fox swiftly moves to position an upended table in front of the entrance, using the available rubble to lock it into place. Assuming I’m going to do as told, Thom takes cover beside the new hole in the wall, leaning out to fire at bad guys every so often.

And I could run and hide as instructed. Or I could actually be helpful. I try to dart to my feet, but it’s more like a zombie-style stagger over to where Bear and Fox are positioned behind the central granite kitchen island. Blood is dribbling out of a wound in Bear’s calf, another wetting the sleeve of his black T-shirt. They’re barely visible in the low lighting.

“Hey, Betty,” says Bear, busy reloading a pistol. “Shouldn’t you be in the basement? Wolf is going to freak if he finds out you’re still up here.”

Out of nowhere, someone grabs a handful of my hair. My head swivels around hard, and Fox’s face is just inches away, her eyes drilling into mine. First one, then the other, as if she could look straight into my skull or my soul, or something.

“She’s clear for duty. We need all the help we can get.” She turns back to the firefight. “First-aid kit, by the door.”

“On it,” I say, scrabbling over on all fours through the dust and the glass to retrieve it.

“She shouldn’t be here,” Bear grumbles as I crawl back over to him.

“I said she’s clear,” Fox snaps. “You keep your eyes on our six, and let her get that bleeding under control.”

“I’m going to need you to stop moving,” I order. The cut on his arm is deep, but not too long. More like a stab wound. “Do I just wrap this?”

“Yep. There’ll be clotting gauze in there too. Let’s get my arm under control, then we’ll wrap the bullet wound in my calf.” Bear’s doing as he’s told, his eyes fixed on the windows to our side and the door behind us, gun cradled in his hands.

I fossick through the box until I come up with the goods. There’re some bacterial wipes too. I clean the wound on his arm as best I can but the blood is flowing fast. Too fast.

Bear glances down. Amazingly, he smiles, looking almost relieved. Maybe the fact that my face isn’t currently being painted with his life’s blood at least means the bullet that went through his leg didn’t hit a vein or artery or whatever. Or maybe he just likes being horribly injured. I don’t know. People are weird. Either way, he rests the gun in his lap and takes some thick squares of dressing, holding them onto the front and back of his calf while I deal with his arm.

“Go for it,” he says. “Nice and tight.”

“Okay.” I take a deep breath, trying to keep my cool. Honest to God, my heart’s beating so hard I think my ribs are about to break. I place the gauze over the wound and start wrapping a bandage around it with the other hand. Given the situation, my lack of any actual medical skills is evident. The cut does, however, get bound.

“Good job. Now grab one of the bandage rolls out of there.” Bear nods toward the first-aid kit. “Bullet went straight through so we’re just going to wrap it up tight to slow down blood flow, same as you did with my arm. I’ll keep the gauze in place as much as I can.”

It’s awkward. The floor beside him is slippery from blood, and bullets are flying over our heads. Crockery, glass, and chunks of plaster and dust from the wall are all around us. There’s nothing I can do about how bad my hands are shaking, so I just ignore them as best I can. Try to tune out the loud blasts and sounds of war. There’s no time to be terrified. No time for sweating and panting and shaking, though I’m doing all three anyway.

“How many are out there?” I ask.

“Enough.”

Crow comes racing out of the library. It’s the room with the old spiral staircase leading up to the widow’s walk. Guess it got too dangerous up top. He’s abandoned his sniper rifle already. Without hesitation, he takes up position across from Thom, drawing a pistol from a holster on his thigh.