Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 80431 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80431 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
It formed a memory that would haunt and terrorize him for the rest of his life.
Chief Styles Sawyer
Sawyer’s mind was suspended between reality and unconsciousness.
His head throbbed a deep, pulsating ache matching the rhythm of his heart.
He tried to move, but every muscle in him protested, constricting as if he were being wrung in a torture device. He wondered if he’d been captured. Was he in the hands of the terrorist clan?
Is that who was grasping and pulling at his limbs?
He tried to yell, “Stop, get away from me,” at the person touching him, but the words came out as a long groan.
“I got you. Hang on, chief,” the strong voice told him. “I gotta get us away from this bank. We ain’t out of the fuckin’ woods yet. Literally.”
He knew that voice. Even through the madness and panic surging through him, that rough timbre brought him a minuscule bit of comfort.
Short-lived comfort.
Sawyer just managed to open his eyes while he was being dragged over some kind of terrain with bulges of rough roots and soaked leaves beneath him.
Fuck, stop, Oakley! Stop!
His mind was screaming to end the torture, but again, the pain was so intense he could only cry out garbled nonsense.
He scanned the area around him, half expecting to find some of his crew, but he was met with the faraway sounds of sporadic gunfire, the sulfurous scent of smoke, and nitro fumes. Sawyer had been subjected to the stench of explosives during most of his years as a boat chief. There was no mistaking the rank stink of rotten eggs and overripened bananas that was detonated TNT.
Panic began to creep in, but he forced himself to focus on breathing.
Soon, the distant echoes of the war were replaced by the chirping and croaking of unseen birds and insects. The harsh chemicals of explosives morphed into a pungent smell of decaying vegetation, wet soil, and tree bark.
There was barely any light peeking through the dense canopy of leaves overhead, and the darkness of night caved in on him as he was being dragged through hell.
“Dammit, you’re fuckin’ heavy.” He heard it before he was suddenly released, and his body came to an abrupt stop. “This should be far enough.”
Instead of hollering, he clamped his teeth down hard enough to taste blood filling his mouth.
“I gotta check you out, Chief.”
Then those strong, unforgiving hands were back on him.
Sawyer grunted and strained not to curse Oakley out while he manipulated one extremity after the other. When Oakley got to his neck, he didn’t think he could take it anymore.
“I don’t think anything is broken, Sawyer. Lucky for you because I’m not a good medic and we have no supplies. No communications gear, scopes, rucks, nothing.”
Oakley muttered in a grim tone as if he were talking to himself and trying to figure out what to do.
“It’s too dark to be sure, but I think you’ve got second- and third-degree burns on the right side of your face and neck. Your chest and legs are fine, and your pants and jacket aren’t burned all the way through.”
His entire body ached everywhere, and his face burned so badly he wondered if he had any skin left.
Fucking great.
Sawyer wasn’t shallow. He wasn’t obsessed with his appearance and never minded war wounds. But he didn’t particularly want to look like Two-Face from Batman either.
A rumble started from deep within the ground he was lying on before the sound intensified to a deafening roar that sent crippling fear through his aching body.
A second before jets raced across the sky, Oakley fell over top of him, his mouth near his ear.
“Airstrike,” he gritted as the F18s unleashed payloads of targeted explosions where they’d once been. “We’re good. We’re good.”
He didn’t know how far away they were from the enclave they’d fought in, but it was far enough away that they weren’t in the blast radius.
Each explosion vibrated within his chest, followed by a haunting silence.
“Radio,” Sawyer managed.
Radio our goddamn position, Oakley, get us the fuck outta here.
“We’re too exposed here, chief,” Oakley said, sounding out of breath. “We’re gonna have to hump it to the rendezvous point and radio from there. I need you to get on your fuckin’ feet. We can’t stay here.”
No, no, no.
Oakley began yanking at Sawyer’s jacket until he had his shoulder exposed.
“I’ve got a tight kit I keep on my legs. There’s not much in it, but I have two injectors. This’ll have to be enough to get you moving, Chief.”
Sawyer felt the sharp sting of a needle in his upper arm seconds before a soothing wave of warmth filled his upper body. The relentless thrum of pain faded to a gentle pulsing.
It wasn’t enough milligrams to put him to sleep, but it was enough to dull the cacophony of anxiety and suffering.
He thought Oakley would yank him upright, but instead, he cradled his head in his arms and gave him a moment to savor the blissful detachment.