Dead Six

by Larry Correia; Mike Kupari

  God, she was beautiful. She was good and decent and strong. She deserved better than this, better than me. “What do you want me to say, Jill? I don’t think I’m the man you think I am.”

  “And . . . I know you’re wrong. I can see it. I just wish you could too.” Jill turned back. Her eyes were full of moisture. She kissed me gently on my battered lips. She slung the bag over her shoulder, opened the door, and stepped onto the sand. She had a beautiful smile full of perfect white teeth. “Thank you for saving my life, Lorenzo.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “I just don’t think I could do the kind of things that you do. It’s nothing personal, but I just don’t know if I could live in your world.”

  So that was it.

  I held out a slip of paper. “That’s a number I check periodically. If you ever change your mind, or if you ever need me for anything, leave a message. don’t use any names. I’ll know who it is.”

  She took the paper from my outstretched hand. “Thanks. You know . . . if things were a little different . . .”

  “Things will never be different.” I smiled. “If you change your mind and decide to come with me, you don’t have to wear the blindfold back to base.”

  “Goodbye, Lorenzo,” she said softly. “Good luck. Thank you for everything.” Jill closed the door and walked down the pier.

  I watched her climb onto the boat. She never looked back.

  Chapter 22:

  Casualties

  VALENTINE

  Location Unknown

  Date/Time Unknown

  Someone was singing. It was a woman’s voice, soft and warm. It seemed to fade in and out. I couldn’t tell where it was coming from. I couldn’t see anything or feel anything. That voice was the only thing I had to focus on as I tried to collect my thoughts. It was like a dream.

  I don’t know how long it took, but eventually I was able to open my eyes to find an unfamiliar gray ceiling. The singing continued, but now I could hear it clearly. I wasn’t alone, wherever I was. The room I was in was small. The walls appeared to be metal. Against the far wall was a small desk. A woman sat at the desk, facing away from me, hunched over a laptop. She had long black hair.

  My mouth was so dry I couldn’t speak. My throat was sore. All I could manage was a hoarse, raspy cough. The woman in the chair perked up and turned around, pulling small white earbuds out of her ears as she did so. Ling?

  Ling stood up and quickly crossed the room. “Mr. Valentine!” she said. “My God. You’re awake.” I struggled to sit up. Ling helped me. I pulled an oxygen line from my nose. I had all manner of tubes, hoses, and IVs stuck in me. A cardiograph rhythmically beeped with the beating of my heart. “You should leave those in,” Ling said.

  “Where am I?” I croaked. “What happened? How . . .” I trailed off, coughing again. It hurt to talk.

  “Hold on,” Ling said, hurrying to the door. “I’ll get the doctor!” She was gone, and I was alone again.

  A minute later, several people rushed back into the room, including a man who strongly resembled Albert Einstein. He had a bushy mustache and a wild shock of white hair. He was wearing a lab coat. He put a hand on my shoulder and asked me to look at him. I slowly turned my head, only to have a flashlight shined in my eyes. I flinched; it was so bright it hurt.

  “I’m sorry about that, Mr. Valentine,” the doctor said. He had a German accent. “You’ve been in a coma for more than a week. Oh. Forgive me. I am Dr. Heinrich Bundt.”

  I took several deep breaths. “Where am I?” I asked again.

  “You’re on the Walden,” Ling explained. “It’s an Exodus ship. You’re safe here.”

  “How did I get here? Why . . . ?” I trailed off again. My head hurt.

  “You were very badly injured,” Ling said. “We almost lost you.”

  Dr. Bundt straightened his glasses. “Mr. Valentine, I’m afraid you sustained a coup-contrecoup injury. That is to say, a traumatic brain injury affecting both your frontal and occipital lobes.”

  “Brain injury?” I muttered, suddenly very worried about my aching head.

  “That’s correct. You had a subdural hematoma to both the front and back of your brain. We were forced to place you in an induced coma after neurosurgery. Given the—”

  “Wait, wait, wait,” I said, interrupting. “What the hell did you do? Drill a hole in my head?”

  “That’s correct,” the doctor said, sounding very reassuring, all things considered. “It was necessary to drain the hematomas to reduce the pressure on your brain. You should consider yourself very lucky that you suffered no permanent brain damage, given the time that elapsed between when you were injured and when we were able to treat you.”

  “So . . . am I going to be okay?”

  “Time will tell, but I believe so.”

  I rubbed the sides of my head. “Where’s Sarah?” The room suddenly got very quiet. Ling, the doctor, and a couple of orderlies just looked at each other stupidly.

  “Where is Sarah?” I demanded, sitting up.

  “Mr. Valentine, please!” Dr. Bundt said.

  “Let me talk to him,” a familiar Tennessee twang said. “Give us a minute.” The doctor, Ling, and the orderlies left the room, leaving me alone with Tailor. “Hey, brother,” he said quietly.

  “Tailor, where the hell is Sarah? What happened?” I was getting scared.

  “Christ . . . You don’t remember, do you?”

  “Remember what, Tailor?” I asked, a pit forming in my stomach.

  “Sarah didn’t make it, bro.”

  I looked at Tailor for a few seconds, then closed my eyes. My stomach twisted into a knot. I rubbed my head again, struggling to remember. Images flashed in my mind. I fell into the mud. I was hit. Sarah turned around. She came back for me. I was screaming at her to keep going, but she didn’t listen. She was hit. She went down. She died.

  “Oh God,” I said, burying my face in my hands. “Oh my God.” The knot in my stomach began to hurt. My chest tightened. It was hard to breathe.

  “Yeah,” Tailor managed. “Bad op, man.”

  “Bad op,” I repeated, my voice wavering. “What the hell happened? How did I get here?”

  “You were hit,” Tailor said. “So was Sarah. A grenade went off near you. Hudson saw you go down, then lost you in the smoke. There was a lot of shooting. Then the charges on the wall went off. We had to go.”

  “Why did you come back for me?”

  “We didn’t. I told Hudson to get in the truck. We took off. I thought you were dead.”

  “Wait,” I said, rubbing my eyes. “How did I end up here, then?”

  “We managed to get out of the city, just by pure luck,” Tailor explained. “We went to that contingency safe house south of the Al Khor district. You know, the one Hunter told us to never use unless it was a dire emergency. We made it. Somebody else knew about it, though, because after we got there a truck rolled up, dumped you, and took off.”

  “What?”

  “I’m serious,” Tailor said. “Someone pulled you out of the fort, tailed us to the safe house, left you, and disappeared. I have no idea who.”

  That didn’t make any sense. “Was it the Exodus guys?”

  “They say they don’t know anything about it. That’s what I’m telling you. I have no idea how you made it out of there alive. Anyway, I used that phone Ling gave you, got a hold of her. Took some doing, but I was able to talk her into getting us out. Told her you were wounded. That seemed to work. I think she likes you.”

  “Who’s left?” I asked.

  “You and me,” Tailor replied. “Hudson. Frank Mann. That Nikki chick that translated the documents. One of Hunter’s security guys. Baker’s entire chalk. Hal the medic. Couple other guys. Eleven total. Would’ve been twelve, but Cox bled to death in the truck.”

  “Eleven,” I lamented. “Jesus Christ.”

  “Hey, man,” Tailor said, trying his best to sound consoling. “At least that many got out. Could’ve been a lo
t worse. We’re still alive.”

  “Still alive.” I looked up into my friend’s eyes. “Tailor, I . . . Sarah’s dead. She . . . I promised her I wouldn’t leave her. I don’t know what I’m going to do now.”

  Tailor’s brow crinkled with concern. “You’re going to get some rest, bro,” he said. “I’m going to get the doc. Don’t worry about anything. We’ll talk later. Okay?”

  I didn’t respond. I just closed my eyes again.

  VALENTINE

  Exodus Ship Walden

  Port of Mumbai, India

  May 16

  0700

  I was alone in my little metal room, picking at my food, when Tailor came in. “How you doing, Val?” he asked.

  I shrugged. “I walked all the way to the galley and got this food,” I said. “I’m mobile again, anyway.” The wound to my left calf had gone deep, but it hadn’t shattered the bone or cut anything vital. It was slowly healing.

  “That’s good,” Tailor said. “I need you mobile. We’re pulling into port right now. The crew says we should be at the pier in less than an hour.”

  “So?”

  “So, we’re leaving,” Tailor said. “I collected your stuff for you. It’s in a bag ready to go. Hudson’s trying to find you some fresh clothes. You’re hard to fit, you big son of a bitch.” I was five inches taller than Tailor, and that always seemed to piss him off just a little.

  “Where in the hell do you think you’re going to go?” I asked. Tailor’s plan sounded ill-thought-out to me.

  “Val, listen. Between me and Hudson we’ve got three hundred and seventy-five grand, okay? We have plenty of money. It’s enough for all of us to find room and board for a while, get some supplies, and lay low.”

  “Lay low?”

  “Right, until things calm down. Then we can start thinking about going home, if it’s safe. Now come on. You gonna be ready to go? You feel okay?”

  I gave Tailor a hard look for a long moment. “Tailor, I’m not going anywhere,” I said flatly.

  “What are you talking about? We know for a fact that this ship is going to dock in Mumbai. We’re getting off here. We don’t know where in the hell they’re going after this. We need to go while the going’s good.”

  “Tailor, I’m not running away to India. I’m not going to go hide in a dirty safe house somewhere. I’m staying right here.”

  “Goddamn it, Val,” Tailor said, anger rising in his voice. “Don’t argue with me. You’re not thinking clearly right now. Trust me. Get your shit and get ready to go.”

  “Trust you?” I said. “Trust you? Tailor, trusting you is how I ended up in Zubara in the first place!”

  “Well, shit happens!” Tailor said, louder still. “I didn’t force you. You wanted to go just as bad as I did, and you damn well know it. Now we need to get off this boat before these Exodus nut-jobs drag us off someplace and we disappear!”

  “No, goddamn it! I’m sick of your shit! These ‘nut-jobs’ have saved our lives twice now. Maybe you didn’t notice that they didn’t charge you for getting out of Zubara? They helped us even though they’re not getting anything out of it!”

  “That we know of,” Tailor interjected. “You don’t know what they’re planning. You can’t trust these people. You don’t know them. You need to listen to me. We both know I’m right.”

  “Listen to you? You were ready to take Gordon up on his offer!”

  “What? Val, I—”

  I cut Tailor off. “Shut up! If I hadn’t been ready to shoot him, you would’ve probably signed up and left the rest of us behind! I know you, man. I know you. You just can’t pass up an opportunity like that, can you? You know what the difference between you and me is? I don’t know why the hell I do it. You, you do it because you’re addicted to it. You’re a goddamned war junkie!”

  “You’re about to piss me off, Val,” Tailor warned, pointing a crooked finger at me.

  “I don’t give a shit!” I shouted. “Go ahead, get mad! What the fuck are you going to do? Huh? I have nothing left, Tailor! So hit me! Shoot me! I don’t care! You’d be doing me a favor!”

  Tailor’s harsh expression softened just a little. “Val . . . ,” he started.

  I interrupted him again, much more quietly this time. “Tailor . . . I’m just tired. I can’t do it anymore. Hell, it’s all I can do to get out of bed. I’ve spent the last three days trying to think of reasons to bother, and I keep coming up short. I’m not going.”

  “I’ve already talked to the others, Val. We’re going.”

  “I know. I understand. It’s okay. If you guys want to go, then go. I know how it is, man. Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.”

  “I’ve gotta go get ready,” Tailor said. He turned to leave, but paused by the door. “I’ll see you around, man,” he said, and was gone.

  VALENTINE

  Exodus Base

  Somewhere in Southeast Asia

  May 20

  Strange music echoed in my ears as I pushed open a heavy wooden door. I crossed the threshold and entered the room beyond, despite the suffocating sense of apprehension that squeezed my heart. Directly across from the door was an ornate four-poster bed. A painting hung on the wall above it, but I couldn’t make it out.

  Slowly I turned, looking across the room I was in. It was familiar; I’d been here before. At the far end of the room a woman hung from the ceiling, her hands bound above her head. I approached her, unsure of what was compelling me onward. The apprehension was turning into dread. My skin began to crawl.

  I looked up at the girl as she hung from the ceiling, motionless. Her body had been cut open, her organs removed. Black hair hung down over her eyes, and her face was shrouded in darkness. I tried as hard as I could to focus on her, but I just couldn’t make out her face.

  I couldn’t stand it anymore. I was overwhelmed by fear and confusion. I knew where I was, but I couldn’t remember where that place was or why it was important. I didn’t know how I got there. I turned to leave.

  Something clamped down on my arm as I turned around, and squeezed. The girl was now standing behind me, grasping my arm with her hand. She lifted her head, the dark hair moving aside. It was Sarah. Her eyes were gone.

  “You said you’d stay with me.”

  My eyes snapped open as I was wrenched back to consciousness. I sat up in bed, looking around the room, trying to remember where I was. It was dark. I nearly knocked my lamp off the table trying to turn the light on. The little fluorescent bulb flickered to life, and the room was illuminated with pale light.

  My heart was pounding so hard I could feel it in my ears. I sat in bed for a few minutes, breathing through my nose, trying to calm down. I’d had that nightmare before. I had a nightmare every time I went to sleep.

  I sighed and rubbed my face with my hands. The clock on the wall told me it was just after three in the morning. There would be no getting back to sleep tonight. Resigned to that, I swung my legs off the bed and stood up.

  Exodus had housed me in a small metal Quonset hut that, despite its utilitarian appearance, was actually pretty comfortable. It lacked a kitchen but had its own bathroom. (In any case, I’m a terrible cook; I was more than happy to get my meals from the nearby cafeteria.) I headed into said bathroom to take the first leak of the day.

  My heart was finally slowing down as I washed my hands. I missed Sarah so much it hurt. I knew her death wasn’t my fault, but that didn’t make it any better. She died because she came back for me. Worse still, she died and I lived. That was so unfair it made me sick.

  Sarah was one of the kindest people I’d ever known. I, on the other hand, had spent most of my adult life shooting people for money. I had blood on my hands, and I knew it. If anyone deserved to die, it was me. Worst of all, I’d broken my promise to her. I told her I’d stay with her until the end.

  Looking down at my hands again, I realized I’d been washing them for several minutes straight. I got lost in thought like that once in a while, especiall
y since I’d woken up on the Walden. I wondered if it was a side effect of them drilling holes in my head.

  I turned off the water and looked at myself in the mirror. I barely recognized the man that looked back at me. My hair was buzzed short, military style. There was a horizontal cut across my forehead, just above the hairline over my right eye. This had been from a Zubaran grenade, I think. Another gash went from my left cheek up my face, splitting my eyebrow in two. Lorenzo, whoever the hell he really was, had given me that one. Missed my eye by a fraction of an inch. My right arm had been similarly carved up.

  There were more still-healing scars from where Exodus doctors had treated my injuries. There was the mark on my shoulder from where a bullet grazed me after we assassinated Al Falah. Yet another one cut across my left calf, where a Zubaran bullet had winged me and caused me to fall on my face. Small frag marks peppered my arms and legs. I frowned at my reflection in the mirror before turning off the bathroom light.

  Later in the morning, I found myself sitting on the bed, digging through the backpack that served as my bug-out bag. Inside were all the things I thought I’d need for a quick escape, or if I had to be on the go for a while. I’d had it with me when I’d been hit at Fort Saradia.

  I laid several stacks of bills on the bed, my half of the money we’d taken from Adar’s safe. It was a shame I’d lost my share of Lorenzo’s money. I found a zippered pouch. Inside were my driver’s license, passport, concealed firearms permit, and other personal identification documents that had been confiscated from me. I wondered if it was safe to use any of these documents. Were they looking for me? Did they think I was dead? Would I get flagged at the airport or something?

  Hidden beneath a box of .44 Magnum ammunition was an envelope. I’d tried several times before to open it, but hadn’t been able to bring myself to do it. But this time I succeeded. I carefully opened the envelope and removed the pictures inside.