Page 35 of What I Should Have Done

“Where’s Crow?” I asked, as we approached the sand rails.

“Crow,” Dom radioed. “What’s your status? Over.”

The comm crackled in my ear. Nobody spoke as Bernie loaded Powell into the back of the first buggy.

“Crow? Report,” Dom asked again through the radio.

Sweat dripped down my back as the sun ticked higher into the sky.

“Load up,” Dom instructed the rest of us.

I hesitated, staring at the open desert, hoping for any sign of movement.

“Crow! Status, now!” Dom urged into the radio, standing still beside me. Bernie remained with Powell in the buggy, but both Duncan and Ford continued to wait next to us, sharing a worried glance with everyone.

Crackles snapped through my ear, muddying the world around me. One of us should’ve stayed with her. She’d been left alone, far away from the danger—at least that’s what we’d thought. But now, there was no sign of her. No sound. Nothing.

Determined to do something, I said, “I’m gonna go—”

“C-coming,” Scottie’s voice stuttered through the comms.

Relief filled my frame, and I briefly closed my eyes.

“Where the fuck are you?” Dom asked, anger and ease mixing in his tone over the radio.

“Almost…there…” she answered, her words slow. Heavy breathing passed through the comms before a muffled over silenced her radio. In the distance, a blurry figure morphed into sight, taking jagged, stumbling steps inching closer toward us.

Dom’s brows creased as he squinted through the pink light of daybreak. My lungs rapidly expanded as she neared. There was something off about her run.

“The rest of you, load up,” Dom instructed and turned around without another word, heading toward his buggy.

Waiting another half a second, I dug my hand into my pocket and snatched the key to the buggy out as Scottie finally drew near enough that I could make out her features. Red splotches covered the left side of her face and stained the side of her uniform.

I stumbled a step backward as Ford sucked in a sharp breath beside me. “What the hell happened?” he said loudly and through the comms.

“It’s not my blood,” Scottie answered over the radio. Something about the way she moved, the way she spoke had me immediately detecting a lie. But this wasn’t the time nor the place.

Spinning on my heel, Ford and I jogged over to the second tan buggy. He climbed in the back again, double checking everything with the gatling gun was squared away as I jumped into the driver’s seat. After Dom and I turned over our respective engines over, we idled while Duncan hoisted himself into the passenger seat by Dom, and Scottie limped up to my sand rail.

Her eyes briefly met mine before darting away as she climbed into the seat with a wince. Running my teeth together, I shot an accusing glare her way, but she refused to meet my gaze. And just before we shot off, a trickle of fresh hot blood dripped down her cheek.

Lie. Some of that was certainly her blood.

To say I was pissed was the understatement of a lifetime.

She simply stared ahead the entire drive back to the outpost. Sand sprayed into her face, clinging to the blood that dried upon her cheek, yet she barely blinked. She didn’t move as I steered us back to safety and what was hopefully not too much destruction. Unlike the ride out to our target where she could barely keep her gaze off me, now it seemed on purpose that she refused to look toward me at all.

It was as if she didn’t register what was happening around her, moving through a daze as we got Sergeant Powell to the medic tent, debriefed with the colonel, and then shuffled back to our sleeping quarters with the same instructions of “we’ll figure out what went wrong and let you know when we receive further intel on the Black Box.”

She sat down on her bedroll and stared blankly ahead as I began peeling the Velcro apart on my vest. My heart ached, wishing that I could say or do something to help, but I didn’t know what was going on with her, nor did I know what happened.

A hand clapped me hard against my back, snapping me from the lock box I was stuck in. “You look like an absolute psychopath right now, you know that?” Bernie joked and gestured to the blood around my mouth, then whipped out his phone and snapped a picture. “Maybe you are one.”

“He had me pinned. What else was I supposed to do?” I questioned with a wicked grin, and he shook his head.

“You should go clean that shit up,” Dom said, unpacking his gear beside his bedroll. “And Bernie, put that damn phone away. We don’t have service out here, and I told you not to mess with them right now, dumbass.”

“Showers aren’t open yet,” I replied.

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