A childhood friend he hadn’t thought of in years smiled through the murky mist; a dark-haired girl with sparkling stars in her eyes. She seemed the only bright spot in the endurance test that had been his life. But what was her name? Was she even real? Reality eluded him, not that it mattered. She was just a ghost of things not meant to be. He’d given up on happiness so long ago. Why wonder now?
He flattened his palms to the wall and refocused. He needed to rest. Round two might end him. Bowing his head, he let the ways of a good sniper wash over him, let it wash the agony away. His breathing slowed. His heart rate decreased just a fraction, but enough. The chant of a steady man began anew. Think calm. Think center. Think peace. You’re a proven warrior. A winner. A fighter. It’s just an arrow. It’s just wood. Think calm. Think center. Think peace. You can do this.
But could he? All strength had fled his legs. He sank to his knees. Then his butt, paying strict homage to the devil lodged in his chest. This next part he could do sitting down, so he settled, facing away from the wall. If nothing else, it would give him a shorter distance to fall.
He leaned into the wall just enough to know when the tip of the arrowhead behind him met concrete. That was important. Simply ramming the wall wouldn’t achieve an end to the torture. The arrowhead had to hit the concrete at the perfect angle. With enough impact. Once ought to do it.
With an excruciating quarter turn of his torso to the right, he gripped his right elbow with his left hand, drew his right arm across his chest—and cried, because every last piece of him hurt like hell to move. The arrow never let up, never gave him one second of relief. Hopelessness choked his last ounce of courage, but it was now or never.
Almighty God, help me finish the race. Don’t forsake me now.
He sucked in one last breath, squeezed his eyes shut, and leaned as far forward as he could. With all of his heart and soul, Taylor slammed his back to the cold concrete wall behind him.
SNAP! The arrow tip broke off behind him and— Sonofabitch! It hurt!
Sucking in more air, he wanted desperately to rest. To cry! But all he could do was shudder and rely on the wall to hold him upright. Shadows loomed over and around, taunting him to give up. To lie down and die. No way. Not yet. He was still breathing, wasn’t he? There was still hope.
“Thank you, Father,” he murmured weakly. In no way did he mean General Armstrong. Those days were gone. Dead and gone. But the instant connection to a greater Being sustained him. A good thing because this next step would take all he had left to give.
He ran his index finger along the arrow shaft in front of him to the fletching, igniting a burning vibration resounding in his chest. Pain was an unwelcome friend, but a friend nonetheless. Somehow, causing a small level of his own agony told him he had more control than he thought. And that newfound knowledge was all he needed.
He could endure. He would live. The arrow was broken. Half of it lay behind him in the dirt, the other half slick with blood before him. And waiting. But he could do it.
You’re no son of mine, the General taunted yet again.
God, I wish, Taylor thought.
Right on cue, Alex showed up with another, Think. Damn it. Think!
“I am, Boss. Honest. I’m trying.”
It did not escape Taylor that he was caught between two strong bullies, one who inspired men to follow while the other badgered, belittled, and denigrated those he was not strong enough to lead. And therein lay the reason Taylor left the Corps to follow Alex. With him there could be no try. There would be no fail. Only do. Only live. Only honor.
Taylor dusted his fingers and palms to the ground beside him. The stump of the arrow still embedded in his chest had become the rudder that would now determine his course. It all came down to this defining moment. He gritted his teeth, let out a mighty, “Oo-rah!” and wrenched the evil thing clean. Clear. Out!
Quaking with the mighty victory, he lifted the bloody shaft over his head like a winner—for all of one second. The damned arrow’s departure brought as much pain as its arrival. His arm fell weak and useless to his side.
Somewhere in the far off world of shadows and ghosts, his father’s bitter voice faded to black, gone again, like this fight against all odds was no big deal after all, especially since his son had done it. Of course. Daddy Dearest at his best. Show up. Sound off. And leave.
Alex growled a departing, Well done, son.
Taylor dropped the broken shaft and let the darkness swallow him whole.
Winning felt like shit.
About the Author
Irish Winters is an award-winning author who dabbles in poetry, grandchildren, and rarely, as in extremely rarely, the kitchen. More prone to be outdoors than in, she grew up the quintessential tomboy on a farm in rural Wisconsin, spent her teenage years in the Pacific Northwest, but calls the Wasatch Mountains of Northern Utah, home. For now.
The wife of one handsome husband and the mother of three perfect sons, Irish divides her time between writing at home and travelling the country with her man while—writing. Seriously, what else?
She believes in making every day count for something, and follows the wise admonition of her mother to, “Look out the window and see something!”
To learn more about Irish and her books, please visit www.IrishWinters.com or her blog: http://irishwinters.blogspot.com.
Also by Irish Winters
In the Company of Snipers Series
ALEX – Book 1
MARK – Book 2
ZACK – Book 3
HARLEY – Book 4
CONNOR – Book 5
Available in paperback and e-book at Amazon.com
Upcoming books
In the Company of Snipers Series TAYLOR – 2015
GABE – 2015
MAVERICK – 2015
CASSIDY – 2016
ADAM – 2016
LEE – 2016
HUNTER – 2016
JAKE – 2017
Table of Contents
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Prologue
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Epilogue
Sneak Preview of TAYLOR
About the Author
Also by Irish Winters
Rory (In the Company of Snipers Book 6) Page 32
