have tipped off the terrorists that the Hawks were coming. Someone who knew times, dates, and apparently pickup points. There was no other explanation for the extra manpower back where the senator’s brother was being held, or for the ones closing in now. The NightHawks had been betrayed.
He slipped quietly into the dark doorway with his charge.
“I just want to go home. Please, you said I could go home.”
Wonderful, his robot was turning into a real boy. Now was definitely not the time for him to come to life.
Eyes still on the alley, Kyle put his lips to the kid’s ear. “We’ll get you home. You just need to stay quiet a little longer and do exactly what I tell you when I tell you. Nod if you understand me.”
A couple of heartbeats passed before the nod came.
“Good.” He straightened and tapped his earpiece. “Rash—”
The sniper fire came out of nowhere. The first bullet slammed into his knee with the impact of a sledge hammer. Kyle bit off the roar of pain that burst out of his throat as he returned fire. More bullets tore into him. Pain exploded, white hot starbursts that expanded and merged, trying to block out everything else. He fought his way past it. Joshua was depending on him. He had to get their target to the roof. He had to get the kid on that chopper.
Rashid’s voice on the com. “I think I got him. You two okay? Ghost, anyone hit? Ghost!”
Kyle fell back, eyes squeezed tight against the pain. He wanted to answer Rashid’s frantic call, but couldn’t. He could only suck air in through gritted teeth, pushing back the unconsciousness that threatened. He didn’t dare pass out now, but oh, how he wanted to. Anything to escape the pain that only promised to get worse, did get worse , as something pressed hard on his leg. He swore, swinging his fist and opening his eyes at the same time. Luckily, the kid knew how to duck.
“Sorry,” Kyle gasped, letting himself sag against the doorway. His estimation of the senator’s little brother went up a notch when he realized that throughout the swing and duck, the guy’s hands had stayed put, applying pressure to the worst of Kyle’s wounds.
“Y-you’re bleeding,” the kid stammered. “I-I know first aid. Took a course in college last spring.” His gaze dropped to his red-stained hands. “This is bad,” he whispered. “Really bad.”
Kyle didn’t doubt the kid’s diagnosis for a second. He could already feel the blood, hot and sticky, soaking his pants. Lots of blood. Another bullet zinged down the alley. Cradling his rifle in one arm, he tried to scoot deeper into the doorway. Cover was at a premium, and he wanted his impromptu field medic to have as much as possible.
He knew he’d made a mistake trying to move at the first sensation of bones grating beneath skin. He grabbed reflexively for the worst area of pain. A firestorm of agony from his busted knee plunged him into a mini hell. The searing pain swamped him, taking breath, sight, and finally, against every bit of willpower he had, consciousness.
Voices roused Kyle. Gruff, hard, urgent. Impossible to ignore. So was the constant agony pounding through him with every beat of his heart. For a moment he could barely breathe, much less think. When his mind finally did decide to work, it locked on one vague thought: something to do with the helicopter. Something he desperately needed to remember.
Have to get the senator’s brother on the chopper!
The thought jolted him. Kyle tried to roll, to sit up, but didn’t get far. Just that first, brief tensing of muscles sent a fresh wave of pain through his body sharp enough to slice steel. He wanted to scream, to howl, to swear the world a solid blue streak. Somehow, he kept everything behind locked lips and gritted teeth. Stay quiet. Don’t let the enemy know where you are. No matter what, stay hidden.
Hands pressed his shoulders flat. Another one grabbed his hand in a tight grip as a voice said, “Easy Kyle, take it easy.
He slipped quietly into the dark doorway with his charge.
“I just want to go home. Please, you said I could go home.”
Wonderful, his robot was turning into a real boy. Now was definitely not the time for him to come to life.
Eyes still on the alley, Kyle put his lips to the kid’s ear. “We’ll get you home. You just need to stay quiet a little longer and do exactly what I tell you when I tell you. Nod if you understand me.”
A couple of heartbeats passed before the nod came.
“Good.” He straightened and tapped his earpiece. “Rash—”
The sniper fire came out of nowhere. The first bullet slammed into his knee with the impact of a sledge hammer. Kyle bit off the roar of pain that burst out of his throat as he returned fire. More bullets tore into him. Pain exploded, white hot starbursts that expanded and merged, trying to block out everything else. He fought his way past it. Joshua was depending on him. He had to get their target to the roof. He had to get the kid on that chopper.
Rashid’s voice on the com. “I think I got him. You two okay? Ghost, anyone hit? Ghost!”
Kyle fell back, eyes squeezed tight against the pain. He wanted to answer Rashid’s frantic call, but couldn’t. He could only suck air in through gritted teeth, pushing back the unconsciousness that threatened. He didn’t dare pass out now, but oh, how he wanted to. Anything to escape the pain that only promised to get worse, did get worse , as something pressed hard on his leg. He swore, swinging his fist and opening his eyes at the same time. Luckily, the kid knew how to duck.
“Sorry,” Kyle gasped, letting himself sag against the doorway. His estimation of the senator’s little brother went up a notch when he realized that throughout the swing and duck, the guy’s hands had stayed put, applying pressure to the worst of Kyle’s wounds.
“Y-you’re bleeding,” the kid stammered. “I-I know first aid. Took a course in college last spring.” His gaze dropped to his red-stained hands. “This is bad,” he whispered. “Really bad.”
Kyle didn’t doubt the kid’s diagnosis for a second. He could already feel the blood, hot and sticky, soaking his pants. Lots of blood. Another bullet zinged down the alley. Cradling his rifle in one arm, he tried to scoot deeper into the doorway. Cover was at a premium, and he wanted his impromptu field medic to have as much as possible.
He knew he’d made a mistake trying to move at the first sensation of bones grating beneath skin. He grabbed reflexively for the worst area of pain. A firestorm of agony from his busted knee plunged him into a mini hell. The searing pain swamped him, taking breath, sight, and finally, against every bit of willpower he had, consciousness.
Voices roused Kyle. Gruff, hard, urgent. Impossible to ignore. So was the constant agony pounding through him with every beat of his heart. For a moment he could barely breathe, much less think. When his mind finally did decide to work, it locked on one vague thought: something to do with the helicopter. Something he desperately needed to remember.
Have to get the senator’s brother on the chopper!
The thought jolted him. Kyle tried to roll, to sit up, but didn’t get far. Just that first, brief tensing of muscles sent a fresh wave of pain through his body sharp enough to slice steel. He wanted to scream, to howl, to swear the world a solid blue streak. Somehow, he kept everything behind locked lips and gritted teeth. Stay quiet. Don’t let the enemy know where you are. No matter what, stay hidden.
Hands pressed his shoulders flat. Another one grabbed his hand in a tight grip as a voice said, “Easy Kyle, take it easy.
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