Enemy soldiers ran between the trees, coming closer as they fired into the camp. Connor took aim at the closest one and fired. The soldier fell. Connor moved on to the next, and then another. He aimed at a third, but the soldier fell before Connor could pull the trigger. They ran straight into the Army’s fire.
So young. They don’t even know what they’re doing.
Regardless of their youth, they were murderers who needed to be stopped. Connor’s arms and heart grew heavy as he mowed down two more soldiers. He aimed again. After what seemed like an eternity of bloodshed, the kids lost courage, broke formation, and fled.
Connor held his position until Boom started barking orders. Then he rushed toward his station to find Liberty and Ashley.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Liberty
GUNSHOTS!
I froze, trying to process what the sound meant. It had been a while since we’d been attacked, and my body was healing. But my mind was not. It screamed at me to cower—to hide—but I couldn’t even move. Then Jeff was shaking me and shouting at me to get Ashley and get to our station before rushing off toward the sounds of gunfire like the suicidal hero he was.
I dodged oncoming soldiers as they followed Jeff and headed for the main tent, where I found Ashley staring like a zombie at a bowl of stew.
“Ash, come on!” I shouted from the door, gesturing wildly.
She didn’t jump up and run toward me, so I went to her. Her small hands trembled as I took them in mine and tugged her away from the table. Connor had dug us some sort of foxhole between where he and Jeff would be stationed, and we needed to get there.
“Come on, you know the drill,” I said, dragging Ashley behind me. “Hurry.”
She didn’t reply, but followed me. As Connor had taught us, we stayed low and crept forward. I glanced at the trees in front of our soldiers, but couldn’t see any enemies. One of the machine guns spat out bullets, though, so they must have seen something.
The top of Jeff’s helmet peeked out of the hole next to ours. I lowered Ashley into our hole before sliding in beside her. The hole had been dug roughly square in shape, measuring about four feet by four feet, and deep enough that I could barely see out of it on my tip-toes. Beneath our feet, the ground slanted outward, ending in narrow trenches. I’d made the mistake of asking Connor about the purpose of the trenches and he’d launched into some long, detailed explanation about grenades rolling to the sides. I tried not to think too hard about that, and instead allowed the smell of fresh dirt to clear my head. Suddenly, Connor’s what-to-do-in-case-of-a-battle list came back to me.
‘As soon as you get into the individual fighting station, gear up.’
Right. Gear was piled in the corner. I grabbed an over-sized bulletproof vest and slid it over Ashley’s head. It came almost to her knees, but I called that a bonus before shoving earplugs into her ears. Then I balanced a helmet on her head and fastened the chinstrap. Even with the chinstrap tightened as far as it would go, the helmet kept sliding down over Ashley’s eyes.
“Do I have to wear this?” she asked, pushing it back.
Shots rang out and her eyes widened with fear.
“Definitely,” I replied.
From the hole beside us, Jeff’s rifle barked out a reply to the shots. Ashley sat and pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs while I geared up. When I finished, she released her knees and motioned for me to come to her. I sat beside her, my legs scrunched up in the small space, and she latched on to me, burying her head under my arm. There we huddled, obeying Connor’s second command: ‘Stay low and hidden.’
Life felt surreal as we sat in that hole. Ashley and I clung to each other as the sounds of battle raged on around us, like some deranged earplug-muffled symphony of death. Connor’s station remained quiet, and his absence weighed heavily on my heart, making me wonder where he was and why he wasn’t back yet.
Ashley must have been wondering the same thing, because she turned and asked, “Do you think my dad’s okay?”
My heart leapt into my chest at the Ashley’s recognition of Connor’s paternity.
“Yeah, of course he’s okay.” I hoped saying it aloud would reassure us both, but it sure as heck didn’t make me feel better. With the way Ashley eyed me, I doubted it helped her, either. I squeezed her shoulders and tried again. “He’ll be here.”
The gun on my hip felt unusually heavy, making me feel guilty for cowering in the hole while soldiers died.
“Stay here.” I shook free of Ashley and stood, sliding my Sigma from its holster. I peeked over the side of the hole. Our men all had their guns leveled at the trees, so I aimed my Sigma in the same direction. A couple of young Progression soldiers ran out of the trees and surged forward. I chose the closest target and breathed out. He paused and aimed his gun directly at me.
I couldn’t pull the trigger. But I didn’t have to. Bullets from someone else’s gun tore into the kid’s chest and he crumpled to the ground like a puppet whose strings had been cut. My legs collapsed and I slunk to the ground. Feeling weak and helpless, I holstered my Sigma and started to chew my fingernails.
The battle raged on around us as I wondered what to do. Minutes ticked away until suddenly silence filled the camp. Curious, I stood and peeked over the side again.
Another small surge of soldiers rushed from the trees. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a spray of red. Then the soldier on the other side of Jeff wobbled backward, and then slumped down.
Crap!
On the ground beside Ashley sat a camouflaged first aid kit. I grabbed it and popped it open to make sure it was stocked. Medical supplies greeted me like a beacon of light.
I shot up and glanced around. “I gotta do something, Ash. Will you stay here?”
Her eyebrows shot up into her hairline. “You’re leaving me here alone?”
“Yeah. A soldier just got shot. I’m gonna go help him out, but I’ll be right back, okay?”
“He got shot? And you’re going out there!”
I nodded. “I have to try.”
Before she could argue with my questionable logic, I slid the pack over my shoulder and climbed out of the hole. Then I crawled on my stomach to the spot where I’d seen the soldier go down.
“Don’t shoot. I’m coming to help,” I shouted before peering into the hole.
A camouflage helmet tilted, and then I saw the face of the John Grisham fan from the main tent. “Marr, right?” I asked, sliding into the hole.
He nodded and tucked his legs closer to his body, making room for me in the small space. He had his own medical pack and was trying to keep one hand on his left arm while he opened the thing.
I plopped my kit down beside his and said, “Good. Now tell me what to do.”
He released the hold on his left arm, revealing a sleeve dark with blood. More continued to pump out. He winced and returned his hand to his arm. “Stop the bleeding. Gauze then pressure bandage. Tight.”
Right. I opened the clasp on the first aid kit and unrolled the pockets. Latex gloves caught my eye first. Since they seemed like a good idea, I pulled on a pair. Then regretted the decision as soon as I found the package of gauze. After fumbling to open it for a few valuable minutes, I gave up and ripped the package between my teeth.
While I was busy with the gauze packaging, Marr rolled up the short sleeve of his t-shirt, exposing the wound. Blood seeped from a sunburst shaped dark circle about five inches down from his shoulder and on the outside of his bicep. Around the wound, his flesh was red and swollen.
“Are there two?” he asked between gritted teeth.
“What?”
“Bullet wounds. Are there two?”
He pulled his hand away and leaned forward, grunting.
I studied the front and back of his arm. “Yes. There are two.”
“Good.” He breathed heavily.
It didn’t look good. With the way blood streamed down his arm I worried we’d never get the bleeding stopped. Determi
ned to try anyway, I wadded up two pieces of gauze and stuffed one in each wound. He stood perfectly still while I doctored him up, but the lines of his face betrayed the pain he felt.
I apologized and reached pressure bandage. My fingers slid over the slick packaging, leaving behind a trail of blood. Great. Mentally berating myself for not opening the package before I put the gauze in Marr’s wounds, I wiped my bloody gloves on the front of my shirt and tried again.
I ripped open the package and barely managed to catch the bandage before it hit the ground. Apologizing again—whether to Marr or to the package, I wasn’t sure—I unrolled the bandage and gently wrapped it around Marr’s arm to secure the gauze in place.
“Tighter!” he snapped.
“Right, sorry!”
I tugged on the bandage and he gritted his teeth. My hands shook. I chewed on my bottom lip and unwrapped the little bit of bandage I’d applied. Then, I tried again, this time stretching the fabric as far as I could. His substantial bicep bulged around the wrap, but he nodded in approval. I tucked the ends into the bandage, and then he thanked me, grabbed his gun, and repositioned himself to start firing again. I pulled off the bloody gloves and tossed them aside.
I stood and peeked over the side of the hole at the soldiers further down the line.
“What are you doing?” Mar snapped. “Stay down.”
I ducked down to appease him, but not before noticing that the hole two down stood empty. I could have sworn somebody occupied it when I climbed in to help Marr. I tried to ask Marr to confirm, but either he didn’t hear me, or he couldn’t spare the attention it would have taken to answer my question. Either way, I packed up my first aid kit and climbed out of the hole.
The gunfire seemed to be easing up a little. I glanced in Ashley’s direction, but then decided to go check on the missing soldier. Slithering on the ground like a snake, I did just that.
Once I reached the hole, I shouted the same warning that had kept Marr from shooting me and peered into the hole. A soldier sat on the floor of his shelter, leaning against the wall with his gun at his side. He tugged at the Velcro and snaps holding his bulletproof vest closed.
I lowered myself into the hole. “Liberty,” I said by way of introduction.
Pale blue eyes glanced up at me. I’d seen the soldier around, but had never talked to him. “Osberg,” he replied.
As I neared, I saw that the upper left side of his vest was mangled and a crimson stain spread out from his shoulder. Leaning over, I helped him remove his vest. The t-shirt beneath it was drenched in sweat and blood.
“What do I do?” I asked.
He hesitated. His eyes darted from me to the first aid kit in my hand. Then, he looked down at himself and relaxed against the wall, breathing heavily.
He tugged at the bottom of his shirt. “Cut this off so we can see it.”
“Right.” I rummaged through the first aid kit until I found a pair of scissors.
He watched me closely as I cut into the hem and gripped his shirt, tearing it up the middle. I then cut a large circle around his wounded shoulder and froze, staring at the bloodied fabric.
“Do it,” Osberg said. His voice sounded weak and worn. “Fast.”
“Okay. Brace yourself.” I gripped the sides of the fabric and pulled it hard.
Osberg swore loudly. I backed away and gave him a moment to compose himself. When he finished swearing and spitting, I approached. Beads of sweat covered his skin and he looked like he was about to lose his breakfast. The coppery-sweet scent of blood assaulted my nose as I got a good look at his bare shoulder. Torn skin and mutilated meat gave way to deep gashes that showed white fragments.
Is that bone?
My stomach lurched into my throat. I looked away and swallowed back bile, refusing to throw up. Osberg didn’t need some pathetic puking girl. He needed help. Determined to be the help he needed, I rifled through the kit, searching for something to jump out and declare ‘use me for excessive blood loss and muscle mutilation!’ but nothing did.
“I don’t know what to do,” I finally admitted, holding the kit up so he could see it.
With his uninjured arm, he pointed to some sort of black strap attached to what looked like a pen with no tip.
“What the heck is that?” I asked.
He muttered a weak reply that I couldn’t hear over the gunfire, and then collapsed against the dirt. His blue eyes closed, highlighting the ashy tone of his skin. Blood kept gushing from his wound, and I wondered how much blood a person could lose before they didn’t have enough to live anymore.
Not wanting to find out, I put on a fresh pair of gloves and removed the strap thingy he’d pointed to. The strap expanded, so I pulled on it until it formed a cuff.
A tourniquet? Must be.
I made the cuff as wide as I could, and then carefully slid it up the soldier’s left arm and over his wounded shoulder. Positioning the cuff to run diagonally toward his body from his armpit, I pulled the band as tight as I could and affixed it to the Velcro. The pen-type thing had part of the ribbon through the center of it, and when I twisted it, it tightened the band even more. Feeling like a genius for figuring the contraption out so quickly, I twisted the pen as tight as I could then locked it into place using the clamp attached to the band.
The bleeding seemed to be slowing, but that could have been because he’d run out of blood. The wound was exposed and probably needed to be cleaned, but I had no clue what to do about that. There were probably bullets or fragments or some other foreign objects lodged in his shoulder that I worried about. I would have been tempted to search for them, but thankfully the first aid kit didn’t come equipped with tweezers. I bandaged his shoulder up as best as I could before packing up my bag and climbing out of the hole. I started crawling back toward Ashley. More shots fired, and Jeff slunk down.
I wanted to get to him to make sure he was okay, but suddenly the gunfire increased into a constant stream. It sounded like enemies bore down on us from every direction, overtaking our small platoon. I collapsed on the ground, squeezed my eyes shut, and started praying.
Please, please, please, please.
It was a universal prayer, spawned from fear and distorted by the smell of blood and the sounds of battle. Whatever. It worked. Suddenly the woods went silent. Inspired by the reprieve, I hastened my crawl toward Jeff. Before I could reach him, he stood, wiped blood from his cheek, and then resumed his position behind his gun.
Since Jeff seemed okay, I altered my course and headed toward Ashley. Boom yelled and I crawled faster. Then suddenly a boot appeared, blocking my path. I looked up, and despite everything, I smiled.
Connor.
My heart flipped.
You’re okay.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Connor
CONNOR SHOOK HIS head. “What are you doing out of that hole?” he asked, pointing to where Liberty should have been.
She shrugged off the first aid kit and held it toward him. “Helping?” She pushed herself up to a kneeling position, giving Connor a full view of her blood-covered vest.
His heart jumped into his chest as he bent down to examine her. “What happened? Where are you hurt?”
Liberty’s brows furrowed. Then she looked down, and her eyes widened at the sight. “No. This isn’t mine.”
Connor didn’t know whether to hug her or strangle her. He silently swore she would be the death of him. “Where’s Ash?” he asked.
“She’s still in the hole,” Liberty replied.
“Glad one of you can follow directions.”
She smiled. “Me too. Shall we go get her?”
“I can’t. I have to report to Boom first.” He really just wanted to shake her and ask her why she had no regard for her personal safety. But, since losing his cool wouldn’t help the situation, he bit his tongue and turned away before he said something he’d really regret… again. Pointing out Liberty’s borderline suicidal tendencies hadn’t exactly benefited him in the past.
&n
bsp; Connor found Boom beside one of the machine guns, assigning security and a cleanup crew. Connor stood back and watched his friend dish out orders, waiting until Boom signaled for him to approach.
“What did you find?” Boom asked.
“Didn’t Noke tell you?” Connor asked.
Boom shook his head. “I haven’t seen Noke since he left with you.”
Connor swore. He rubbed a hand down his face and glanced around. When his gaze landed on Teran, he was pleased to see that the new recruit still had Braden and Kylee in tow. He waved him over and turned back toward Boom.
“We found a trap.” Connor glanced over his shoulder at Braden and Kylee. “And a couple of kids.”
Boom’s brow furrowed as he considered the children. He directed Teran to take the kids to the main tent and keep them there, before turning back to Connor. “What’s their story?”
Connor shrugged. “I don’t know. They gave us some sob story about the Progression taking their mother, but...”
Boom nodded. “You don’t buy it.”
“No. But on the other hand, they look like they haven’t eaten in days. The Progression usually takes better care of their soldiers.”
“And, they’re still alive,” Boom added.
“Yeah. There’s that, too. It doesn’t add up. I didn’t know what else to do with them and we couldn’t leave them behind, just in case they are Progression.”
“I would have made the same call,” Boom confirmed.
Magee appeared. “Excuse me, Captain, but I found Osberg. He’s unconscious and I’m going to need help pulling him out of his hole.”
Boom nodded and sent two soldiers to help Magee attend to the camp’s main medic.
“Did we lose any men?” Connor asked the captain.
“One,” Boom sighed. “We lost Wallace. Marr took a bullet in the arm. He said Liberty slipped into his position and doctored him up.”
Connor shook his head, once again amazed by the woman. “That explains why she didn’t stay put where I told her to.”
Liberty's Hope (Perseverance Book 2) Page 5
