Page 10 of Secrets in a Sandstorm

“Radio is nothing but static,” Teddy says.

The vehicle comes to a stop behind a rocky outcrop and everyone except the guy on the mounted gun piles out with their weapons ready. There’s six of us in total.

Without any words being spoken, they find a place to take up position with the sole aim of taking out the enemy. Only one vehicle is following us.

The other one is stranded some distance back. The storm is getting closer, a towering wall of wind and sand. Sand dances in front of me, skating over the surface before spiraling up.

All the guys have sunglasses on and bandanas pulled up over their mouth and noses. My mouth is dry and gritty, and my heart is beating hard, knowing that not everyone is going to make it to safety. I lie in wait with the sand sticking to my sweaty body.

Down the scope of the rifle, I watch the enemy. A bunch of men who happen to be on the other side of this war. Did they have a choice, or were they forced to enlist? Do they believe in what they are fighting for, or is it just a job?

The man on our vehicle fires at them, and bullets pepper the sand and the enemy vehicle. They return fire, but their vehicle lurches to a halt. They keep shooting at us, the rock, and our vehicle. Our shooter falls off and hits the sand. I wince as his blood stains the sand. Someone runs over to drag him out of the line of fire, then climbs up and takes his place.

That takes balls.

I zero in on one enemy soldier and wait for him to stick his head over the hood. Three rapid shots—each one hits.

“One down,” I say, already searching for the next target.

Our gunner takes out the Italian gunner. A new man steps up. The break gives our gunner a chance to go for the fuel tank and ammo on their vehicle. The enemy vehicle ignites with a bang, depriving them of cover, but their new gunner is ruthless. He knows he’s going out, and he’s taking everyone with him. My face is in the sand, rock chips hitting my back.

I hope they’re fucking rock chips.

Someone screams.

The gun on my left goes quiet.

When the shooting stops, I look over. I wish I hadn’t—I’ve see plenty of injuries, but this is somehow worse than acar accident. Half of his head is blown off. My stomach rolls. We’re going to die out here.

I don’t want to be here. I want to be back in the cave with Harrison. I want to live. Maybe when they reach the cave, I’ll wake up from whatever nightmare this is.

But to reach the cave, we need to fight our way out.

I lift my rifle and scan the area through the scope. Nothing is moving, but I don’t believe the enemy is all dead. The Italians are waiting for us to move so they can pick us off.

“Who’s still with me?” I hiss like I don’t want the wind to carry my words to the enemy.

“Willoby.”

“Connell.”

I wait a couple more seconds, my teeth pressed together. Did I make the right call in stopping to fight instead of leading the Italians to the caves? What were they going to do? Take shelter together and share rations?

I move slowly so as not to draw attention and assess our vehicle. I’m no mechanic, but I can tell it’s fucked, and so is the second guy to take the gun. He’s slumped over, clothes more red than green.

The storm has darkened the sky, and the wind is picking up.

I’m clenching my jaw so hard, I’m about to break a tooth.

We can’t wait forever, but neither can the Italians. Not unless they want to be caught out in the storm. I’m stressing. I don’t want to be in the storm, but I know Teddy and Brown don’t make it out of this alive.

So what the hell happens?

I catch myself. I’ve gone from thinking this is a dream to believing its real.

If I’m stuck either way, does it matter?

CHAPTER SIX

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