Mattis leans forward, tapping at the keyboard of his laptop. “There’s been chatter about some issues in South America and Africa.”
“You get that off the dark web?” Jagger chuckles with faux condescension through the monitor.
Closing his laptop slowly, Mattis retorts, “No. Minutes from a secure briefing at the Pentagon.”
Damon stands and stretches out the tension in his shoulders. “Fine by me. I’ll happily take a makeshift tent and have bullets flying over my head before dealing with another fucking orange crisis.”
Laughter ripples around the table, brief and sharp. I glance at each of them—the six of us who started everything—knowing that soon, the quiet will shatter. A job will come in, orders will come, plans will change, and we’ll be back in the fire. We are all more than eager. We don’t do this job because we have to, but because we all thoroughly enjoy it.Even the occasional bullet whizzing past our heads.
But, for me… the good we do is the penance for the night that showed me who I am as a man.
In the side mirror of the SUV, the dust plumes behind us as we stir up the desert. We hit another bump, and the seatbelt digs into my shoulder again, but I bite my tongue.My driver can’t handle the distraction.The kid driving—he can’t be a day over nineteen—already looks like he’s balancing on the edge of a spiral, and if I push him even the slightest, he might break.
Private Jacobson is the only guy the base would afford me today. A one-man security detail, who is fresh out of basic training by the look of his still-uncomfortable uniform and the baby fat filling out his cheeks. The brass insist he’s “capable,” but the way his knuckles whiten around the steering wheel whenever we approach another vehicle tells me otherwise.
“You sure about this?” he asks again, his voice still pinched with discomfort. “Going this far from base, I mean. This village… even if it exists, why would you want to?—”
“Because I have a lead on a story,” I cut him off. I can’t shake the gnawing in my gut from yesterday. Adeya’s voice was shredded with fear. Even with how worried she was about her daughter, she was terrified to speak with me.
He doesn’t argue, but he doesn’t agree with me, either. Instead, he ignores my answer with a tight jaw and eyes focused on the dirt road ahead of us.
About fifty kilometers north of base, the SUV crests a hill, and my breath catches when the village comes into view. I expected it to be in ruins—rubble, silence, and maybe a couple of burned-down homes—but it isalive. It’s not bustling like New York City streets by any means, but it’s busy in a way I didn’t anticipate.
A string of Humvees is parked on the road between us and the village, creating a makeshift barricade. Uniformed men, their camouflage mottled with dust, stand sentry along the row of vehicles with their rifles casual but ready. Another group moves between the buildings with purpose. I lift my camera from my lap without a thought and take a handful of pictures through the windshield.
The kid slows the SUV, his shoulders tensing and fingers tightening around the steering wheel when the soldiers turn, their heads snapping toward us in unison. My stomach tightens at the sight.This isn’t curiosity.This is a threat. We roll to a stop, and the soldier nearest to us breaks storms in our direction, shouting as he approaches, his voice rough and sharp. “You can’t be here!”
I lower my camera, but it’s too late. With eyes locked on me, fury contorts his face. He gestures hard at the kid behind the wheel. “Get her out of here. Now!”
My driver stammers, “Si… Sir… We were just?—”
“Now!” the man snaps again, his hand twitching toward the pistol strapped around his thigh.
Startled, the kid jerks the SUV into reverse. I grab his arm and squeeze it firmly. “Wait. Just wait.”
Ignoring my plea, he stomps on the accelerator. The tires spit dirt as he tears away from the row of personnel and buildings. The soldier’s eyes don’t leave us as we fly over the hill, not slowing until we crest the other side and are out of the superior’s view.
“Stop the car!” I bark, slinging the camera strap around my neck and unbuckling my seatbelt.
The kid slams on the brakes when I reach for the door handle. “Ma’am. Ma’am, please. Don’t,” he begs. Not heeding his request, I push open my door and slide from the passenger seat.
“Just wait here,” I inform him, my voice deadpan like I’m not quaking inside. “Park in the brush. I’ll only be a few minutes.” I shove the door shut, meeting his wide, panicked stare through the dust-covered glass. His lips part, and I can’t tell if he’s going to argue with me or cry. Finally, with what I can only assume is a muttered curse, he hits the gas. The SUV travels about fifty yards down the makeshift road, and he disappears behind tall shrubs. I wait until the sound of the engine fades, then head toward the village.
Using the shadows of the setting sun, I slink past the men holding sentry along the road. The village looks ordinary as I make my way through the narrow alleys with my camera poised. My heart is hammering so hard that it whooshes inmy ears, and I’m surprised I can still hear my boots crunching over the dry sand beneath them. I weave between stone walls—keeping low to the ground and silent—needing to know what they didn’t want us to see.
When I hear two voices approaching, I pause, telling myself I’m prepared. That nothing can surprise me anymore, but then I see them. Wearing uniforms darkened with sweat, they strain as they carry a woman’s limp body between them. Her hands drag, fingertips scraping against the dirt. Streaks of crimson stain her arms, and when her head lolls, I know why. My breath catches in my chest as I lift the camera.Click. Click. Click.My fingers tremble, but I force them steady. The shutter is too loud, echoing in the narrow alley like gunfire.
One of the men glances up, and his narrow eyes lock with mine.Shit!. “Hey!” he barks, dropping the woman’s feet and running toward me as he reaches for his sidearm. “Freeze!”
I spin on my heel, running as fast as I can, no longer worrying who might see me. My lungs burn as I reach the edge of the village. Shouts rise from behind me, and my heart is no longer pounding in my chest; it’s detonating in my throat with every step I take. A whistle blows, and the commotion in my wake only grows louder.
When I reach the summit of the hill, a gunshot ringing out almost stops me in my tracks. The SUV is just down the hill. The kid is in the driver’s seat with the door open and one foot out, like he’s been pacing while he waits for me.
“Start the engine,” I shout, breathless, as I close the distancebetween us. He looks back at me, completely frozen in place. “Get in the car!”
He stares at me like a deer in the headlights before fumbling his way into the driver’s seat. “What did you do?”
What did I do?
