I leaned out the window and sighted in on the men below. I knew I was taking a huge risk, but I could not just sit there and do nothing while Rojas fought for his life. The reticle settled where I wanted it to go, half a breath fogged the air in front of my face, and I squeezed the trigger. The man lying closest to me jerked and cried out in agony. The man beside him looked startled for a second, then stood up and began running away in a serpentine pattern. I moved to adjust my aim, but something whizzed past my ear close enough to feel a tug of wind on my skin, and a thudding whack hit the wall behind me.
“Fuck!”
I spun away from the window, went flat on my back, and kicked my feet until I slid back into the classroom. From outside, there was a burst of fire, a scream, and then silence.
Static. “Rojas?” It was Tyrel.
Nothing.
More static. “Rojas, you still there?”
“Yeah, man. I’m here.”
I let out a breath. Ty said, “What’s the situation?”
“Both bad guys are down. Caleb got one, I got the other while he was running for cover. You two all right up there?”
“More or less.”
“All right. I’m on my way.”
“Copy.”
“Stick to the treeline,” I said. “That sniper is still out there somewhere. He just took a shot at me.”
“Acknowledged. Out.”
“Hey Caleb,” Tyrel said over the radio.
“Yeah.”
“Unless my math is wrong, that’s nine accounted for. Right?”
Tyrel got four, I got four, Rojas got one. “Yep. Four plus four plus one equals nine.”
“Good. That grenade blast knocked the shit out of me. My head’s all loopy.”
“What do you want to do?”
A moment of silence, then, “I’m thinking they split their forces evenly, six on each side. We know three on your side are dead, which leaves three more.”
“I’ll wait until you get here.”
A minute later, Tyrel crawled to the doorway, his rifle held in front of him. “Let’s go.”
We stayed low until we cleared the last window on the way to the stairwell, then stood and edged our way toward the door. Tyrel went first, using a technique called ‘cutting the pie’, which basically meant aiming your weapon around a corner in such a way as to present a small target profile. I waited behind him, holding my breath, until he relaxed and lowered his weapon.
“Jesus,” he said.
“What?”
“I found our other three hostiles.”
“And?”
“I think the dumb sons of bitches missed the door with that grenade they threw. Looks like it blew up on the landing. Ripped ‘em to pieces.”
“They didn’t miss.”
“What?”
“They didn’t miss. It came through the door just fine. I kicked it back at them.”
Tyrel turned to look at me, eyes white around the edges. “Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
He stared a moment longer, then tossed his head back and laughed. “You crazy-ass motherfucker.” His hand bounced off my shoulder.
I said, “What happened with the one they threw at you?”
“Didn’t toss it far enough, blew up a few feet shy of the doorway. Saw it coming and jumped back. Still hit me like a fucking hammer, though.”
I peered down the stairway, caught sight of a ragged, bloody stump of leg, white bone protruding through flesh, and stepped back quickly. “Shit.”
“You all right?”
“Man, I’ve seen some things, but that …”
“Don’t feel bad about it. They tried to do the same thing to you.”
I was about to say something else, but Tyrel stiffened and turned his ear toward the window. “You hear that?” he asked.
“I can’t hear shit right now.”
Tyrel fished a telescoping mirror from his vest, edged over to the window, and held it out. I noticed it was pointed down, as though he were trying to look at the ground. I watched his eyebrows come together and his mouth tighten into a hard, flat line.
“We got trouble.”
“What trouble?”
He looked disappointed. “What just happened here, Caleb?”
“A firefight.”
“And firefights are …” He held an open hand in my direction. I blanked for a few seconds, then had a flash of insight and slapped myself in the forehead.
“Loud,” I said. “Firefights are loud.”
“And who likes loud noises?”
I dropped my magazine, stowed it, and popped in a full one. “Infected.”
“Here’s what we’ll-”
A crash and a scream echoed from downstairs, making us both jump. Tyrel keyed his radio. “Rojas, you all right?”
No response.
“Rojas, can you hear me?”
Silence.
“Rojas?”
FIFTY-SIX
“We have to go down there,” I said.
Tyrel pointed his rifle down the stairwell. “On me.”
As I followed him down, I did my best not to look at the shredded limbs and gutted torsos littering the stairs, or slip in the disturbing amount of blood. The air in the narrow passage smelled of copper, raw meat, and shit. I had to bite down hard to keep from gagging. Finally, we emerged at the second floor exit.
In the hallway ahead of us, Rojas sat with his back to the wall holding his mid-section. He turned his head when we opened the door.
“Stay there!” he shouted.
“What happened?” Tyrel replied, although I am certain he already knew the answer as well as I did.
“Goddamn sniper.”
“Can you crawl over to us?”
“Probably.” He sighed and winced. “But I don’t see much use in it.”
Tyrel blinked. “Are you insane? The infected are coming!”
Rojas, his face twisted in pain, moved his hands. A torrent of blood spilled from his midsection. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I won’t let them get me.” He patted his pistol.
“Oh no …” I muttered, staring at the gunshot wound. My stomach felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. If my recall of Gray’s Anatomy was correct, the bullet had hit one of the large arteries running near the centerline of Rojas’ body.
“Rojas, I want you to listen to me,” Tyrel said. “I can treat that wound. There’s still a chance you can survive. But that’s not going to happen if you stay there.”
The man I had come to know and respect over the last seven months turned his head and smiled. “You a doctor now, Jennings?”
“No, I’m a SEAL. I have medical training, you ass. Now get the fuck over here.”
Rojas chuckled. “SEAL, schmeal. Y’all ain’t shit. Buncha spoiled, overrated glamour boys. You wanna be a real man, be a Ranger.”
“We can argue about it upstairs. Come on, man, you can’t stay here. If you don’t start moving, I’m going to crawl over there and drag your sorry ass.”
“Nah, man. Don’t bother. It’s over.”
“Don’t talk like that. Nothing’s over.”
Rojas leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes. “You wanna know something? I’m not scared. I always thought I would be, but here at the end of it, I think I’m just relieved.”
Tyrel’s fists balled up. “Rojas, stop it. I don’t want to hear any of this all-hope-is-lost bullshit. I’m coming over there to get you.”
“I was married. I ever tell you that?” He rolled his head to look at us, eyes glassy, tears running down dark cheeks. “Had me a pretty wife and two little girls. Still got a picture of us all together.” He patted his chest pocket. “Take it with me everywhere.”
The tension went out of Tyrel. He sat down and leaned against the doorsill. “I didn’t know that, Miguel,” he said, using Rojas’ first name. “You never told me.”
“Yep. Met her not long after I graduated AIT. Got married down in Rosarito, near where I grew up. You ever been down there, by any chance?”