Sixth - Prequel to Oleander: One of Us Series

by Faulks, Kim

  Terror played out inside my head. There were more coming…a lot more.

  More than we ever suspected.

  God help us all.

  “There’s six trucks to the east, but that’s not where they’ll hit us,” I growled and headed for the passenger’s side. I lifted my head. One glare at the Sergeant in the seat and he was moving, turning to climb into the backseat. “They’re waiting for us in the houses.”

  Snowman paled under the scorching ray of the morning sun. “Which houses?”

  In my head the vision was taking over, watching as Hartman turned, gripped Stickler around the waist and hauled him toward the first row of mud huts. And as the words slipped free I knew we already too late. “All of them.”

  Chapter Nine

  I reached up, gripped the handle of the truck and yanked. My pack was shoved in front before I hauled myself into the cabin. My ass hit the seat as pain pierced my eye.

  Fingers trembled, missing the handle.

  I tried again, reaching into the blur as stars danced behind my eyes and found a hold. The door closed with a thud beside me, and then we were moving, kicking up dust and dirt as we shot forward.

  “All good?” the Sergeant beside me muttered.

  I gave a nod and reached for my head as the pain radiated out like a map in this goddamn place.

  Dust became my view as I stared out of the window, and in the side mirror a glint of silver. I closed my eyes as we hit a hard bump and tried to hold on.

  Something felt wrong, and it wasn’t just Hartman and the others.

  It was a predator at my back…and in my head.

  It was hunting…it was hurting…it was her.

  Purple Hair filled my mind…her fear stifling. I yanked open my eyes and stared into the dust-choked air. She was frightened…

  I felt her now. Felt her like a bolt of lightning through my veins.

  I’m right here…I tried to push the words toward her, but she was too much, too strong—too everything.

  “Sixth…”

  I jerked at the snap of my name and turned my head. The Sergeant beside me stole glances my way and barked orders—orders I barely heard.

  I nodded and gripped the straps of my pack as the faint white muzzle flashes became brighter. Voices crowded in…hers…theirs…as the truck swung wide.

  The side-mirror shattered beside me, bullets hit the back of the truck. Rounds were exchanged as the Sergeant roared behind the wheel.

  And in the middle of chaos I floated, tethered on a string…

  You ready, Purple?

  A male’s thick Irish accent cut through the haze inside my head.

  My heart hammered as a round hit the side of the truck with a ping.

  The Sergeant turned his head, eyes wide, lips moving.

  I didn’t hear a thing.

  I leaned forward, slid my hands through the straps of my pack and settled the weight as the truck braked hard.

  There was no fumbling now, no second changes…second guesses…

  No second anything.

  There was only the one. One round. One shot. One desperate attempt to make a hit.

  I grabbed the handle and shouldered open the door. Dust crammed my nose and my mouth. I gripped my rifle and moved fast heading for the remnants of what had once been a house.

  Shots rang out as the truck sped forward, leaving me behind. Dust kicked up at my feet. I heard the whip of a stray round close to my head as I dove for the end of the mud brick wall. Bullet holes littered the refuge, still it was more cover than I’d had as the dust finally settled.

  I lifted my weapon, waited…heart hammering as the glint of metal cut through the air…

  The sooner we get there, the sooner you find out who you really are…

  The male’s voice filled my mind. I shook my head as sweat slipped into my eyes. A scream cut through the air, low, guttural…familiar.

  I reached for the headset and pressed the button. “Hold on, Hartman, I’m coming.”

  “Jesus Christ!” The scream cut through the mic.

  They were still too far away. And getting rained on.

  A shot kicked dirt at the side of my head. I felt the familiar weight of the rifle and took aim. Just a target, not a face. Just an enemy…one less shooter.

  I inhaled, held for a second and then slowly exhaled, finding the darkened blur at the end of my scope. My finger rested on the trigger, curled, and then squeezed.

  There was a flinch of my target, and then nothing. No shots, no movement.

  One shot. One kill.

  The words resounded as I pushed off the edge of the wall and ran. The thunder of my boots mingled with my pulse. I lifted my rifle, took aim as shots came again.

  Boom…

  And then silence.

  “I’m hit!” Hartman’s panic cut though my headset. “Sixth, I’m hit.”

  “Hold on,” I growled. “Just hold the fuck on.”

  Shots peppered the rocky ridge that ran along the outskirts we’d dubbed Triumph. There were too many insurgents there…too many for me to get past without going down.

  I pressed my mic and gave the call. “There’s no way I’m getting to him without a little help here.”

  Silence.

  Silence while bullets hit the wall behind me.

  “I got you, Sixth,” Snowman’s voice cracked through the headset. “I got your back.”

  Heavy rounds kicked up in the distance. Fifty caliber rained heavy fire as I drove my body forward.

  Thighs burned. Heart thundered. All I saw was the mass of buildings in the distance. Hartman was on the other side…bleeding…

  “Jesus Christ.” Panic filled my mic as Snowman’s voice cut through. “We got ourselves a situation here.”

  Pain flared as Walker’s face filled my head. My knee buckled, driving me sideways. Bullets hit and missed their mark…barely.

  I knew before Snowman spoke…

  Knew as soon as I woke this morning.

  Knew something was unhinged in the air.

  “Walker’s gone. Just fucking walked off. We’re trying to track him now.”

  They wouldn’t…I knew they wouldn’t.

  Agony crawled deeper inside my head, burrowing like unseen ants. I thrashed my head, shaking loose the burning and kept going, driving my body toward the blur in the distance.

  A shot rang out, I flinched with the hit and waited for the pain.

  But there was none.

  I turned my head, glanced over my shoulder to the leaking side of my canteen. Fucking bastards. Shot my goddamn water.

  I tried to lick arid lips, but my tongue refused to move, stuck to the roof of my mouth.

  Where are we going? Fear echoed in her words.

  They bounced around my head as I cut right, across an abandoned wreck of a car…ping…ping…pingpingping.

  I ducked as shots peppered the metal, and kept on hauling ass toward the buildings, until a dark blur moved in my line if sight.

  And if he was in mine.

  Then I was in his.

  I lifted my rifle took aim and squeezed the trigger. There was no time to get that kill shot now. No time to get anything but a hit.

  The shot went wide. The ground rocky and uneven. I stopped dead, listening for the shots all around me…waiting for one to hit…

  My pulse was deafening, drowning out the crack of the weapons. Hands trembled, fingers slick. I took aim at the darkened blur as he moved out of the doorway and lifted his rifle.

  It was him or me.

  And I wasn’t dying today.

  “Walker’s heading into Wishtan,” Snowman’s voice cut through my earpiece.

  But I couldn’t answer. I couldn’t do a damn thing but…breathe.

  In, and then out…hold.

  And then squeeze.

  The rifle bucked. The recoil smashing my shoulder.

  But my body was used to the kick, taking it all in the muscles along my back. Darkness slipped as the blur in the doorway
buckled where he stood.

  And there was no more moving. No more aiming. No more of anything…for him. I lowered the sight, gripped my weapon and ran.

  “I know where he’s going,” Snowman’s growl filled my ear. In the background the rumble of a truck filled the space.

  I turned to glance over my shoulder to the outpost on the rise. Dust filled the air in a murky brown haze.

  And in the opposite direction, over the rows of mud brick houses was the Southern Greenzone and the entrance to not only Wishtan, but the District Center.

  No. The word was a kick to my guts. “The Center, that’s where he’s going.”

  Snowman’s voice filled my head. “Jesus…Jesus fucking Christ, Sixth.”

  And it all played out in my head…every goddamn bloody second as I vaulted over the dead body in the doorway and speared into the darkness.

  The echo of shots filled the hut. I charged out the other side and into the common area before I dropped my shoulder and aimed for the closed door.

  There was no time to stop, no time to check, no time to save anyone as Snowman spoke once more. “We’ll get him…we’ll stop him before he reaches the Center.”

  My body hit the door, energy of the blow cracked the frame. It buckled, bowing in under the force. A woman screamed, gripped a little girl and cowered in the corner.

  “You’re safe.” I lifted my hands, finger slid from the trigger. “It’s okay.”

  She whimpered, spoke too fast for me to catch, except for the word Taliban.

  I kept going, pushing through the open back door to another courtyard that looked like the last.

  They were all the same here. Mud brick, dirt floor. Vibrant splashes of color with the rugs they hand made….and blood.

  Blood that left a trail on the ground. Blood that was blinding…

  I glanced over my shoulder, scanned the darkened entrances to the other houses as the barrage of gunfire slowed.

  Hartman was dead.

  The thought was a flicker. I searched for the truth and caught a smear of blood on the wall that divided this block of houses from the next.

  “Come on you fucking bastards!”

  Hartman’s scream punctured the air…not close…but not far away.

  I gripped my rifle with one hand and ran at the wall. Fingers splayed, elbows locked, muscles trembling as I vaulted the wall and kept moving.

  Muzzle flashes lit up the darkened space. It was all motion now, all reflex, and that sixth sense pushed to the front. Searching, seeking…

  An open doorway was in front…the hall empty.

  No. The word filled me as a chill raced along my spine. I glanced to a smaller room and surged forward.

  Screams echoed, cutting like razors. Hartman…

  Panic filled me as I stepped into the smaller room. A two burner stove sat on an empty crate, a bucket used for washing…and a shelf, one that ran the height of the wall.

  The scene played out in my head, and I followed the future, gripped the side of the shelf and pulled. With a click it came away from the wall, exposing another opening, one filled with darkness.

  My hands trembled as I slipped the strap of my rifle over my shoulder and reached for my knife.

  There was no time for sound…no time to let them know I was here. I gripped the hilt and moved forward.

  Good people, right?

  Good people doing bad things…

  Or was it the other way around?

  Purple Hair filled my head as the outline of an Insurgent came into view. He dug his hands into a box and passed a package along in the dark.

  Brass shone in the flicker of a flame…bullets…he was handing out bullets.

  I jerked, lifted my gaze to the back of his head and stepped closer. I worked my fingers, slipping the hilt of the knife against my palm. Blade pressed flat along my wrist. The black numbers glaring against my skin…two nine zero one…

  The movement was fast, rolling my feet as I stepped close, swung my hand around and over his mouth before I dragged him backwards.

  There was a second…one perfect second where his mind didn’t understand what was happening.

  And then it was all over.

  One slash of the blade and warmth spurted against my hand. He stiffened, kicked and bucked. The stench of hot piss and unwashed pits filled my nose.

  My stomach rolled, clenching and squeezing as I lowered him to the ground. It was a second…a brutal, bloody second. That was all it took for life to be snatched away.

  I held onto that thought and stepped into the dark. Footsteps echoed, coming closer. Fingers worked the hilt once more gripping the leather tight as I yanked back my hand, stepped closer and let my powers take over.

  Silver glinted neon in the dark, blinding.

  The enemy raised his arm, palm over his eyes and cried out as I whipped my hand through the air and released.

  The blade whipped end over end, slicing the air until it hit the mark. I was already surging. Already finding my way through the maze inside my head as I dropped my hand to my pistol.

  The harsh patterned grip scratched my calloused hands. My heart was in charge now, taking full control as I drove the thumb latch down and yanked the weapon free.

  Shots were deafening in the darkened hallway. Through the blasts, Hartman’s screams cut into my soul. I lifted my pistol and took aim as I stepped through a narrow doorway.

  Bang…bang…bang...bang…

  Four were down before they knew I was there. I unleashed, emptying the clip, and reached for another, until there was nothing left but the ringing in my ears.

  “Sixth!” Snowman’s voice cut through the drone. I tried to answer, tried to speak but I was frozen, staring at the bodies around my feet…and Hartman…

  Hartman slumped against a corner.

  With nothing more than a waist high mud brick wall to save him.

  “Hey!” I yelled and lunged over splayed bodies to find them.

  Two of them…barely alive.

  Hartman cracked his eyes open, arms bloody and raw…the slide of his pistol was locked open…the chamber empty. “Sixth?” he murmured.

  “It’s me buddy.” I searched his body, finding the thigh of his pants soaked with blood. He was hit in more places than one.

  “We need you, Sixth,” Snowman growled. “Goddamnit, answer me!”

  I pressed the button on my mic. “I’ve got you. I’m coming, but first I need an extraction…Hartman and Stickler.”

  I let go of the button on my headpiece and leaned close, reaching for Sticklers pulse. “Where the Hell is Neo?”

  Hartman shook his head. Words were carried on a jagged breath. “Split up. Lost comms.”

  Stickler’s pulse was slow but steady. I pressed my fingers against my mic and spoke. “Neo is out there. I’m setting out a flare. Find my mark.”

  “We got him. We got Neo. Foxtrot found him and he’s safe.”

  “Thank God,” Hartman muttered and collapsed against the wall. “Thank fucking God.”

  “Look for my signal,” I growled into the mic and then dropped my hand.

  There was only one way I was getting a flare outside…and that was back the way I came.

  “Don’t leave us,” Hartman whimpered. “Sixth, don’t you fucking leave us.”

  My mind raced, finding nothing but the movement of his hand as Hartman reached for his belt and dragged the grenade free. “Don’t leave us here.”

  I turned my head and stared at the mud brick wall. “It won’t work.”

  “It will.” Desperation filled his words. “It will if you say it will.”

  His hand shook as he lifted the grenade in the air.

  There were times for this power inside me…and there were times for blind faith. This was one of those.

  I gripped the grenade, but his fingers never moved holding on for dear life. Outside the crack of gunfire still raged.

  “I’ve got this,” I murmured. “Trust me.”

  A savage cough to
re from his lips, flecks of blood flew through the air before he forced the words. “I do…more than God.”

  His fingers slipped, leaving the grenade warm in my hand. I straightened, turned and gave the command. “Cover your ears.”

  Goddamn thing could collapse…and if it did there was no getting out of this alive…for any of us.

  I pressed my thumb against the trigger and gripped the pin before sliding it free. The mud wall bowed outwards. I focused on a section that looked thinner, aimed and then hurled the grenade through the air.

  My pulse thundered like a detonation as I turned, lunged with arms out wide and slammed into Hartman and Stickler. The thick, heady scent of their blood filled my nose.

  I waited…waited…seconds felt like hours until the deafening boom filled the air.

  The ground shuddered, dust was a rag down my throat. Dirt and rocks rained down, smacking the back of my head and shoulders until there was nothing but silence...nothing but dust. Cracks of daylight broke through the haze.

  “Get the fuck off me, Sixth,” Hartman’s growl filled my head. “We’re still at second base, motherfucker. If you want it, then you better put a ring on it.”

  I shoved against the half wall and stumbled backwards. Rocks and debris fell from my body to hit the ground.

  Cracks raced along the ceiling overhead. Dust and rocks rained down to fall into my eyes. I reached for my belt and drew the flare free. They’d come…and God help those who were in their way.

  I flipped the trigger on the canister. The bottom was blown out, leaving the edges brittle. I yanked my foot into the air and drove my boot forward. Edges crumbled, leaving a hole big enough to escape. One heave and bright orange smoke filled the air, signaling our position.

  “Let’s go,” I growled and made for Hartman. “I want you to be ready when they come.”

  “What about you?” he snarled and shoved himself from the ground.

  Bullets had ripped savage gashes in his pants. I could see the entry points. He was in bad shape...too bad to be worried about me.

  “Walker’s gone, and Snowman’s after him.”

  “You have to go,” Hartman growled. There was pain in his voice, and desperation, before he slowly nodded. Tears shimmered over a stony gaze as he said again, “You have to go.”