by Mandy Magro
‘Oh fuck, Dean. Have you got a fucking death wish or something?’
‘I can’t sit up here knowing they’re in trouble down there!’
Tossing his empty grenade launcher to the ground in frustration, Grant threw his hands up in the air. ‘Oh for fuck’s sake, I’ll come with you. I ain’t letting you go back down there in this fucking cesspit without fucking back up.’
‘You sure?’
Grant huffed. ‘Not fucking really, but I have no choice.’
Satisfied with Grant’s reply, and running out of daylight, Dean grabbed his gun from the ground and the two men made their way back down the hill to the back of the village, sticking to the lengthening shadows caused by the setting sun. The gunfire was less intimidating on the northern side of the village, the combat confined to the southern end. Within ten minutes they were only twenty-five metres away from the school, and to Dean’s delight, it was still fully intact. He could only begin to imagine the absolute terror the children would be experiencing inside. Gratitude filled him knowing his little friend would be alive and well. He couldn’t wait to give the Caramello Koala in his pocket to her – though squished and melted, it would still be edible.
Just as he was counting his blessings, a plume of white smoke rose from the building, and the delayed boom smacked him like a fist in the face as the shockwave hit. Knocked to the ground but uninjured by the blast, Dean scrambled to his feet, checking Grant was okay. The pair ran towards the huge crater in the middle of the walled square, Dean’s heart slamming against his ribcage. The kids, those poor innocent kids – those fucking insurgent bastards.
Emotions making it difficult for him to draw a decent breath, Dean choked on the thick cloud of dust as he dug his way through the rubble with Grant’s help. They heard nothing but absolute eerie silence, no cries for help, no agonised screams, just heartbreaking silence. Finally reaching the back of what had been a schoolroom, they made a gruesome discovery: the bodies of children lay thrown about the space, some with missing limbs, their lives brutally stolen from them by sickening men who had no consciences whatsoever. The teacher’s body lay crumpled in a corner, three children buried beneath her; she had obviously tried to shield them from the blast. Sobbing openly, Grant squatted down, burying his face in his hands, as if trying to shut out the most horrific image he had ever seen.
Dean’s eyes came to rest on a familiar face, and he walked over to the little girl’s lifeless body, falling to his knees, weeping, his cries filled with utter anguish. Her black hair lay in clumps around her angelic face, the blood oozing out from behind her head indicating she had died of massive trauma to the skull. Pulling at a thin blanket that lay half buried beneath a collapsed wall, Dean spread it out then gently picked up her limp body. Wrapping her inside it, he cuddled her into him as he rocked back and forth, crying for the life she had lost, and for all the hardship she would have gone through in her short time on earth, just because she was born into a world where everyday living was filled with the fear of exactly this.
Pulling his goggles off and positioning them on top of his head, Dean closed his eyes and prayed for her soul, just as a second blast resonated outside the crumbled building. Piercing pain shot through him. For a split second, he would have sworn he could see a translucent figure hover near him, the woman’s feet a metre off the floor, her hand reaching out for him, her face the spitting image of his mother. Then everything around him went black as he felt his life drain from him. The last image he saw was Summer’s beautiful face.
CHAPTER
24
Lying flat on the couch, Summer stared at the ceiling fan wobbling precariously as it twirled at top speed, her mind in a complete daze. After sharing her two secrets with Phillip last night, he had kindly given her the next couple of days off. She needed them – her emotions were too scattered for her to be able to function properly at work. Before leaving for work Fiona had placed a bucket beside Summer on the floor, just in case she needed to throw up again, and handed her an extra box of tissues, leaving her strict orders to call her if she needed to. Fonzie was curled up on her chest, his eyes warm and soulful, clearly aware she was having a tough time. Her little mate hadn’t left her side since yesterday. She gave him a gentle pat, and then kissed him on the head, thankful for his companionship.
Sniffling, Summer wiped the tears that hadn’t stopped since she had opened her eyes that morning. The pain she felt in her heart and soul was excruciating, the knowledge that she was never going to be able to kiss Dean’s beautiful lips again killing her. It had been over twelve hours since she’d sent the email, and she knew Dean would have read it by now. The lack of response was hard to take, but what did she expect? She wouldn’t be surprised if he never spoke to her again and she fully believed she deserved the silent treatment. Sighing, Summer flung an arm over Fonzie and then rolled onto her side. There was an invisible thread connecting her to Dean, and although the thread was tangled now, she knew it would never break, and she would have to carry around this deep, unfulfilled yearning for him for the rest of her days. It was her penance for lying to him about sleeping with Marcus.
Just when she’d thought she was releasing the shackles of her life, they’d gotten bloody tighter, and like a fly trapped in a spider’s web, she was unable to break free. So much had happened in the last twenty-four hours and she was having trouble fathoming it all.
The boys had returned with evidence against Marcus, discovering the bottle had contained traces of a liquid called GHB – gamma-hydroxybutyrate – better known as Liquid X on the streets. Apparently it has no odour, and is undetectable when mixed into a drink, with the effects taking only fifteen minutes to set in and lasting anywhere from four to eight hours. The medical technologist had explained to Bailey that quite a number of people use it as a recreational party drug in small doses, but in large enough amounts it can cause motor and speech impairment, unconsciousness and coma-like sleep. And when mixed with alcohol, the effects were intensified. The down side was it was only detectable in urine samples six to twelve hours after ingestion, so Tasha wouldn’t be able to prove she’d ingested it, unknowingly or otherwise.
The information explained a hell of a lot, making Summer realise Marcus had done exactly the same thing to her as he had to Tasha. After telling Bailey last night that Marcus had drugged her, he had tried desperately to talk her into going to the police with Tasha immediately, and although she wanted to make Marcus pay, she was absolutely terrified of what she’d have to go through by doing so. It was a double-edged sword. She had asked for a couple of days to think about it all, and Fiona, Phillip and Bailey had understood.
Closing her sore eyes, Summer placed her hands over her belly. A rush of euphoria filled her as she imagined what it would be like to hold her baby for the very first time. Although she wasn’t anywhere near ready to have a child, she couldn’t help but be excited about becoming a mum. She loved children, always had. Yes, it was going to put a massive spanner in the works with her yoga centre, but she would find a way around it. She just had to. She wondered when she would begin to show, guessing she would probably only be able to hide her growing bump until she was about four months. After that she was going to have to start telling people, especially her parents. The thought terrified her. What was she going to say when they asked who the daddy was?
Needing to do something instead of wallowing in self-pity, Summer pushed herself up from the couch and then went to grab her laptop from her bedroom. Maybe there was a way she could get a paternity test done while she was still pregnant, instead of waiting seven and a half agonising months to see who the baby looked like. Unplugging her computer from its charger she took it back to the lounge and flopped down beside Fonzie. She opened Google and searched ‘prenatal paternity tests’, overjoyed when page upon page popped up claiming there was such a thing. Picking one that jumped out at her, she read further, her high spirit taking a nose dive when she read that the non-invasive risk-free test needed blood f
rom both the mother and the suspected father – or in her case, fathers. Of course it made perfect sense that they needed some form of DNA to compare results, although she’d been hopeful that a strand of hair might have done the same job. Not that she had any idea how she was going to get a strand of hair from either Dean or Marcus in the first place, but it could have been doable, much more so than a blood sample – yeah, right, she wasn’t a vampire, might as well give up on the idea now. Defeated, she closed her computer down and slumped forwards, her head in her hands, half of her wanting to scream like a mad woman and the other half wanting to curl up into a ball and cry until she had no tears left. She needed a cup of herbal tea, it might help ease some of the tension.
Padding into the kitchen, she pulled a box of chamomile tea and a jar of honey from the cupboard, then flicked on the jug before placing a bowl of milk on the floor for Fonzie. Smiling softly she leant against the dining table and watched him lap it up in record time, recalling a day when he was only a few months old. She had left him alone for twenty minutes while she’d run to the corner store, only to return to him entirely submerged – all thirteen centimetres of him – in his bowl to enjoy a milk bath. Even though she had given him a thorough wash, he’d stunk like sour milk for days. Since then she made sure his bowls weren’t big enough for him to get in to.
Just as she poured hot water into her cup her mobile phone rang. Pulling it from her pocket she checked to see who the caller was, and her heart stopped dead in its tracks. In a panic, she tossed the phone onto the kitchen bench as if it were red-hot and stared open-mouthed at the illuminated name. Tony Lockwood. Was he calling to beg her to stay with Dean? Or was he about to tell her just what he thought of her after she had broken his son’s heart, when she had promised him she wouldn’t? She let the phone ring out, hoping he’d leave a message. He didn’t. Instead, he rang another three times, and with her curiosity getting the better of her, she finally plucked up enough courage to answer.
‘Hello, Tony?’
‘Summer, I’m so sorry to do this over the phone but Kimmy’s not back from the trail riding group she took out early this morning and as you know I can’t drive on my own …’ His voice was brittle and awash with emotion. ‘I wish I could get a hold of her to tell her but she didn’t take her mobile with her – she really should know. Oh Lord help me, how am I meant to tell her?’ Tony’s voice faded away, as though he had placed the phone in his lap. Summer could hear him breathing, uneven and laboured. Dread filled the pit of her stomach. She heard the phone being gathered back up as Tony forcefully cleared his throat. ‘Summer, Dean’s been involved in an explosion.’
Her legs gave way and Summer stumbled forwards then collapsed to the floor, the phone still glued to her ear, images of Dean lying dead on the ground somewhere in Afghanistan assailing her. Now she wished Tony had rung to give her a piece of his mind for leaving his son high and dry. She tried to speak, the words jumbling around in her mouth. Everything around her felt like it was on fast forward, yet she was rendered motionless, her body paralysed by fear. She squeezed her eyes shut, begging for this to be a nightmare she was going to wake up from at any moment.
‘Summer, are you there? Summer?’
She kept her eyes shut as a wave of nausea washed over her. ‘Is – is he okay?’ She held her breath, not sure she wanted to hear the answer. Pain blazed through her heart like a fiery bullet.
‘I’m not sure, Summer. He’s got shrapnel injuries to his legs and arms from flying glass fragments and they’re still assessing if he has any life threatening internal injuries …’ There was a moment of silence at the other end of the phone, then a muffled sob, before Tony’s voice returned, shaky but clear. ‘The doctors are extremely worried he might lose sight in his left eye, as well as part of his hearing. He’s being operated on at the military hospital in Kandahar. I can’t tell you any more until he comes out of the surgery. I’m so very sorry to be the bearer of bad news.’
Finally able to release the breathe she’d been holding, Summer wiped her clammy palms on her shorts while trying to blink away the emotions blurring her vision, holding the phone to her ear with her shoulder. She licked her lips, tasting the saltiness of her tears.
‘Oh my god, Tony, thank God he’s not—’ She halted, not able to speak the word out loud. ‘I don’t know what to say, other than I feel so helpless. Have they said how long the surgery is going to take?’
There was a heavy sigh. ‘They didn’t say, they just said to stay by the phone and that they’ll be back to me as soon as they know more.’ Tony’s reserve broke, his gut-wrenching sobs reaching through the phone and squeezing Summer’s heart even tighter. ‘I’ve only just lost my wife, Summer, I can’t lose my boy, too. Surely God wouldn’t do that to me. Would he?’
Wanting to stay strong for Tony, Summer sucked in a deep breath, silently demanding she pull herself together. She would have her time to grieve for the pain Dean must be in, but for now she had to think of Tony. This poor man had been through enough heartache to last him a lifetime.
‘No, God is not going to take your son to heaven, Tony. Dean’s got too much good to do here on earth. Is it all right if I come over and wait with you?’
‘I’d love that, thanks, Summer.’
‘Okay then, I’ll be there within the hour. But if you hear anything before that, please ring me.’
‘Of course I will. See you soon.’
Sitting in the Lockwood’s lounge room, Summer stared at the photo of Tommy and Rebel on the mantelpiece, a soldier and his loyal dog, the two of them against the world. Just like Dean and Indy. There was so much life in Tommy and Rebel’s eyes, and yet, in a matter of seconds, that life had been stolen from both by a Taliban bomb.
The gravity of the situation hit her like a tonne of bricks. Her hands fluttered to her chest as she said another silent prayer, begging God to spare Dean. Beside her, Kim sat with Max cuddled on her lap, one hand stroking his hair and the other resting on Tony’s jiggling leg, the fear in their eyes matching Summer’s own. She felt tears sting, and she tried to blink them away, her lashes heavy with droplets as she fought to hold back the sobs. No one spoke, words would be no comfort right now. The phone sat on the coffee table like a beacon, within easy reach, the room so silent Summer swore she’d be able to hear a pin drop.
Pulling her legs to her chest, Summer closed her eyes and rested her head on her knees as she thought about what she had done, wondering if Dean had even seen the email. Was that why he’d been hurt by a bomb, because he’d been so distracted by the heart she’d broken? An immense guilt filled her. How selfish of her to have broken it off in an email while he was at war. But what else was she meant to do? She couldn’t have waited two months until he’d come home – her pregnancy would have been noticeable by then and someone else might have told him first. And she didn’t have the strength to tell him over the phone: one sweet word out of his mouth and she would have crumbled and stayed with him without telling him she was pregnant. It was a vicious circle. Part of her wished there was some way she could erase the email, the possibility of Dean dying overshadowing her situation now. Maybe Dean would have understood if she’d just told him the truth? Damn it! It was too late now … the damage was done.
She hadn’t had the heart to tell Tony and Kim about her email to Dean – it wasn’t the right time, which made the situation even harder. She felt like an intruder in the very home she had felt so welcome in only days ago.
The shrill ring of the phone halted her thoughts and made her jump with fright. Tony snatched it off the table within one ring, his face stony and his voice raspy with emotion as he answered. Summer leant forwards, trying to hear what was being said on the other end, but to no avail, Tony’s yes and no answers not giving much away. Kim reached out and grabbed her hand, her fingers trembling, as Max wrapped his arms around his mum’s shoulders and began to cry. Summer bit her lip, waiting, hoping and praying. Then, still in deep conversation with whoever was on the other
end of the phone, a smile tugged at Tony’s lips as he raised his thumb, the small gesture letting everyone know Dean was going to make it.
Summer smiled as she flung her arms around Kim and Max, the three of them crying for what they could have lost, and also with relief, knowing Dean was still with them.
Dean murmured something indecipherable as he strained to open his drug-heavy eyes, the pungent smell of disinfectant unfamiliar to him given the harsh environment he’d grown accustomed to in Afghanistan. As his body began to wake from the heavy grogginess of the anaesthetic, he tried to blink away his blurred vision, especially in his left eye, struggling to make out the shapes and forms around him. His ears were ringing, making it difficult to use his hearing to decipher where he was, but he could only make out a very distant beeping noise. His mouth was so dry he could barely pull his tongue from the roof of his mouth, and he could taste a hint of something metallic. He tried to lift his arm so he could at least reach out into the shadowy world and touch something, but it was impossible, his body felt as though it were made of lead.
His mind whirled like a tornado as he tried to figure out where he was, pieces of his recent past spinning in the tunnel of his mind as they slowly fell into place, and then the memory of the bomb exploding slammed into his mind with such force he reacted as though he was still there: shouting and crying, the tears rolling down his cheeks as he tried to move his body from where he was lying. But try as he might, all he could manage was to roll to one side. Over the ringing in his ears he heard hurried footsteps approaching him, the inability to see who it was increasing his panic.
A middle-aged nurse reached out for Dean’s hand, a kindly smile on her lips, her beige off-duty shirt covered with splatters of blood. ‘Dean, I’m Nurse Bracken. You’re at the Kandahar military hospital. You were injured from a secondary bomb blast but all your limbs are intact and you’re on the mend. How are you feeling?’
