Page 80 of Her Faithful Protector

In this empty space, I can only think about Quinton. As long as Jack is with him, I know he’ll be safe. And as long as I breathe, I will fight for my survival.

28

JACK

I wipe Quinton with a warm washcloth. We sing along to the music pulsing through my phone, its volume turned up. Ava often compliments me on my swift baby-changing skills. Little does she know, my secret lies in my choice of playlist. Without fail, the rhythm and beats captivate Quinton, coaxing him to cooperate effortlessly.

“Mama.”

“She’s just outside, buddy. But don’t tell her about the music, okay? It’s our little secret.”

After changing him into fresh clothes, I gather the dirty pile and stuff it into a plastic bag.

“Okay. You’re ready for the real flight, Captain Q-Bear.” I kiss his belly, taking in the delicate fragrance of white lilies and jasmine from his baby powder. “Who am I, Quinton?”

“Emmo…”

“No. Come on, say ‘dada.’”

The cheeky little one simply laughs. I believe he’s aware of how amusing it is to everyone when he refers to everything as Elmo.

“You’re not gonna say it, are you?” I give him a funny face, and he continues giggling. “All right. How about ‘aloha?’”

“Oaaa.”

With a chuckle, I praise him as I stop the music and pack up Quinton’s diaper bag.

How my life has changed. A good day used to mean successfully pushing my Marines to their absolute limits. Now, simple things like singing a duet with a baby are enough to fill me with satisfaction.

I lift Quinton into my arms and carry him out of the room. The air is still. The house is quiet, as if I’d just stepped into a museum.

“Ava?” I meander from room to room. “Elmo…”

I search both the front and back porches, but there’s no sign of them anywhere. All I come across is an abandoned trash bag by the door.

Desperation creeps in.

I put Quinton in his baby carrier, strapping him securely on my front, facing me. For the first time, I feel a real threat while Quinton is with me—on me. I carefully don my ballistic vest. It’s got to be in an unconventional way because, somehow, I have to adequately cover both Quinton and me.

With Quinton fully protected, I reach for my SIG.

I cautiously step out of the front yard and onto the street. When I hold a weapon, my brain instinctively switches to military mode. I’m currently adjusting to the combination of this mindset while feeling the presence of Quinton hanging on my chest and wearing a vest that fits like a rice sack.

The baby moans, reaching up to me. He’s probably feeling a little warm, thanks to the Kevlar around him. “Easy, baby. Stay quiet,” I whisper, hoping the baby will understand. While keeping myself concealed behind the trees and bushes of the front yard, I yell, “Ava!”

The stillness is deafening, but suddenly, a faint whimpering reaches my ears, coming from the rear of the house. Without a second thought, I sprint toward the back, my heart pounding in my chest. And there, in a heartbreaking sight, I find Elmo, his body contorted in pain, dragging himself with a broken front leg.

My God… what has just happened?

I kneel as Elmo collapses at my feet.

“Emmo!” Quinton squirms in his carrier, eager to catch a glimpse, but his view is obstructed by the ballistic vest. Maybe it’s for the best that he can’t see, given the condition the dog is in.

The longer I stay here, the more I expose Quinton to danger. But there’s no way I’m going to give up on that loyal creature. In battles, I stand by the notion of ‘no Marine left behind.’ In life, I will never leave a friend behind—human or animal.

I run back to the house, grab a sheet along with Quinton’s bag which I’d forgotten, then come back. I wrap the sheet around the dog to create a makeshift sling. With great care, I lift him up and place him gently into the cargo area of Ava’s SUV. My senses heighten as if there’s evil behind every tree surrounding me. Keeping my gun within reach, I secure Quinton in his baby seat.

Free from the tenting ballistic vest, he looks around, searching. “Mama…”

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