He groaned as he came to. The window was gone, and it looked like the bus had landed on its side. A roaring filled his head, but only one thing drove his body.
“Tia!” he screamed out her name, looking around for the only person in the world that mattered.
Beside him, Bent groaned. The bassist lay in a crumpled heap, his arms tucked beneath his large frame. A glance to the back of the bus showed Warren grabbing a ruck and chucking it out the shattered windows overhead.Where was everyone else?
“Tia,” he screamed again, checking the destroyed interior for his girl.
“She’s good,” Warren said. “Tia’s outside. I just lifted her out. Skye’s there, too, along with Collins, Drummond, Marks, and the band.”
“Shit,” he said. “Did I black out?”
“Knocked out cold,” Warren said. “We’re good, Ryker. Everyone’s alive, but we’ve got work to do.”
“Are we under fire?”
Dumb question because, if they were, they wouldn’t be unloading the bus, and he didn’t hear the exchange of gunfire. He turned to Bent and squatted to feel for a pulse. Strong and sure. Another groan escaped Bent’s mouth.
“Hey, bud, you okay? Can you move?”
He performed a cursory exam, moving quickly. Behind him, Warren found another of their team’s rucks and tossed it outside. There would be only one reason Warren was focused on their supplies rather than the wounded.
“Why are we the last?” he demanded.
“T checked on you both, stable but not critical. Everyone else is walking wounded, and we have other priorities.”
“What about Bent?”
“Collins didn’t want to move him,” he said. “He’s worried about cervical instability.”
“We can’t leave him here.”
“We’re not,” Warren said, lifting the last ruck into waiting hands.
“Is he up?” Scrabbling noises outside the metal frame of the bus had him tracking the sound.
Tia’s dirt-smeared face popped through the broken window. “Lyons, if you’re done fucking around, I could really use you outside.”
“You left my ass,” he said.
Her brows drew together. “I’d never leave you. Checked you out first, but if you’re feeling up to it, it would be nice to have you out here.”
“I need to get Bent out of here.”
“We’ll take care of him,” a throaty voice boomed.
The entire bus creaked as Forest lowered himself through the gap. He laced his fingers together and cupped them near his thigh. Warren placed his hands on Forest’s shoulders and his foot in the makeshift stirrup. Without much effort, Forest assisted Warren out. That same set of hands reached for him and drew him out.
“Your turn,” Forest said.
Ryker turned to Bent. “I think his arm is fucked up,” he said.
Indeed, Bent’s left arm was bent at an unnatural angle.
“Looks like,” Forest agreed. “I’ve got him, Ryker. They really do need you.”
That meant there were wounded in worse shape than Bent. With a sigh, he admitted Forest had a point. The world flickered; he had double vision, and his head ached, but he seemed no worse for the wear. Forest gave him a lift up, and two of the security detail pulled him clear of the bus.
The Humvee in front of them lay on its side. Security forces took positions, barrels pointed out, searching for threats. Unexploded ordinance and roadside bombs were an ever-present threat. There had been ten vehicles in their convoy. The first three had passed over the bomb without triggering the device. The fourth, the Humvee, hadn’t been as lucky. Nor had the bus.
