ABOUT TEN YEARS AGO
“Stay with me! You fucking stay with me!”
Mattis jerks in rhythm with the Humvee, rag-dolling across the cargo area, as Gunnar races through what is left of this godforsaken city. His eyelids flutter, flashing the whites and blown-wide pupils below them. Garbled breaths and bloody spittle pass over his lips when he tries to talk, but he has too little strength to push out a single sound.
I press harder on the tourniquet wrapped around what used to be his thigh. It’s not enough.Nothing is enough.His entire pant leg is shredded, the tattered camouflage soaked with blood. Threads of muscle and tendon dangle from where his leg used to be, and they nauseously slap against the metal floor like meat on a butcher block as he jostles with each turn.
None of us saw the IED until it was too late. Gunnar swerved, trying to avoid it, but it exploded against the sideof the vehicle, beneath Mattis’s seat. Had we hit it a few feet to the right, I could be lying where he is. Instead, I’m holding his bone splinters and mangled flesh in my bare hands with his blood oozing between my fingers. The copper tang invades my mouth with every breath, and I taste him on the back of my tongue.
“Don’t you dare fucking die on me,” I growl through gritted teeth, as the flush fades from his face. His pulse is faltering under my palm. Growing weaker, each beat feels like it might be his last.
Damon tears frantically through the med kit—gauze, clotting powder, morphine—none of it enough to stop the crimson flood. His hands shake as he tears open another roll of gauze, and his teeth are clenched so tightly it looks like he’s holding back a scream.The same scream that’s pressing against my chest.Sweat trickles down his brow, dripping into his eyes, as he desperately tries to keep our brother alive.
“Hold on, Mattis!” Jagger kneels on the other side of our fallen comrade, his full weight wedged into his femoral artery, high in his groin, trying to stem what is left of the flow. His pants are soaked through, and he has blood up to his elbows. A mixture of fear and anger contorts his face as he pushes harder, trying to save Mattis without breaking him further. He won’t look at Mattis’s face. Neither will Damon. Yet, I can’t look anywhere else.
“Guardian, this is Talon One.” Gunnar’s voice is clipped, rapid-fire over the comms. “Humvee hit. IED strike near Sector Charlie-Niner.” The Humvee shudders—the tires eating the broken road—when Gunnar throws us around a corner too fast. My shoulder slams against the metal frameof the vehicle, causing my grip on what was Mattis’s leg to nearly slip. Damon lunges at me, steadying me with a blood-slick hand, before shoving more gauze against the pumping wound. It seeps through as Gunnar rights the Humvee. “Inbound. ETA five minutes. One critical. Severe blood loss. Requesting trauma team at the gate. Say again. Trauma team at the gate. Leg is gone.”
I don’t catch the words, just the tone when the comms crackle back.Urgency.They know… Talon One doesn’t call unless it’s bad.
The smell inside the Humvee is suffocating. Not just the blood, though it is everywhere, but the oil, gunpowder residue, the acrid burn of rubber, and the burned smoke of the IED blast clinging to all of us. I suck in shallow breaths, but every inhale tastes like metallic death.
Suddenly, Mattis convulses, his back arching from the slick steel floor and mouth opening in a silent scream. He chokes, and blood sprays from his mouth.
“Fuck, Mattis! Just a few more minutes!” I shout, and his eyes snap to mine, sharp for just a heartbeat.
His lips move, but I can’t hear him over the roar of the engine. I lean close and catch fragments. “Tell… my… I love…”
“No,” I snap, cutting him off. Pressing harder against his wound, I squeeze his flesh with every ounce of my being. “You don’t say that. You don’t get to… You’re not done. Do you hear me? You fucking stay with us, damn it!” His cold fingers twitch against my wrist, the last bit of strength he has.
Wehit a bump, and a fine, warm mist of his blood sprays across my vest and face. It runs down my neck, saturating the T-shirt beneath my collar. My heart is hammering, the thump deafening in my ears, but I still hear the wet sploosh of his blood pumping between my fingers.
“Base in sight!” Gunnar barks from behind the wheel, cutting through the chaos. The Humvee roars as he floors it, the gates opening as we approach. We pull through, and medics run toward us at a full sprint, swarming us before the vehicle even comes to a complete stop. Mattis is ripped from our grasp and thrown onto a stretcher. His body disappears into a sea of camouflage and shouted orders.
I try to follow, but someone—I think Jagger—grabs my vest and yanks me backward. We stand there, the four of us, dripping red in the dust. My hands are stiff and sticky, blood coating both of my arms. I’m covered in it.In Mattis.It’s in my boots—soaking through to my socks—sloshing when I shift my weight.
Looking like we need medical attention of our own, we jog across the base to the medical tent. They have Mattis in the OR by the time we arrive. All we can do is wait.
Damon sits in the dirt outside the tent, propping his elbows on his knees, head bowed, and blood-sodden utility gloves dangling from his fingers. He hasn’t said a word since the explosion. Gunnar stands at the entrance, arms crossed and staring inside, while Jagger paces the narrow walkway between this tent and the next.
I perch beside Damon, the sand sticking to the sticky crimson covering me. I flex my ever-stiffening hands,realizing that I’m still holding the shredded remnants of Mattis’s pants in my lap. “Fuck…”
We wait for hours, waiting for someone—anyone—to update us on Mattis, as we breathe in the faint antiseptic smell wafting from inside. The lights above us flick on as dusk settles over us. They hum, casting shadows that make our faces look even more grim.
“Did you see his leg?” Damon mutters, finally speaking.
“Yes.” I nod once. “I saw it.”
“He’s gonna lose it…” His voice cracks.
“He already did.”
Gunnar solemnly shakes his head, his jaw ticking slightly.
“His leg isn’t what matters,” Jagger insists as he walks past us. “Mattis is. As long as he’s still breathing, he’ll figure the rest out. Weallwill.”
Silence falls over us. No one argues with him. We can’t.
Hours later, a doctor walks out of the tent, her eyes flitting between the four of us, as she pulls off her mask. She looks tired.That’s not a good sign.Blood speckles the front of her scrubs and the top of her boots.That’s worse.
