Page 9 of Sully

“Well, hi, Bonnie. Thanks,” I said to Callow. “Now get the fuck out,” I said, casting him the smallest of glances.

“No.”

“Go,” I demanded again. “And take the prez with you,” I added, taking a deep breath as the timer ticked down to a minute and a half. “Now,” I hissed.

He wanted to argue.

No man left behind and all that brotherhood shit we lived and breathed in the service.

But he and Fallon, they had women, kids, people they needed to worry about.

If I went up in flames, it was just me.

Not that I was planning on that happening.

As soon as Callow and Fallon were gone, it seemed like my mind cleared, like my vision got sharper.

There were so many fucking wires.

Too many.

Like the maker had attempted to make it seem more sophisticated than it was.

At its root, any bomb was a pretty simple set up: battery, timer, wires, blasting caps. And the explosives themselves, usually filled with all sorts of gnarly shit—nails, ball bearings, broken glass, pieces of metal. And, of course, some sort of chemical to make them go boom.

But bomb makers would know that any fool would know those basics, would be able to cut the wire from the battery, and therefore the power, so they did shit like adding a capacitor and a few transistors.

This bomb was full of shit that made it look complicated as hell, that made you want to second-guess yourself, thinking that if you cut the battery wire, you might trigger the bomb.

The closer I looked, though, the more it all seemed for show: wires that went nowhere, boxes that weren’t live.

It was a really fucking simple device, despite appearances. Like some novice found plans online and put the most basic effort into it.

“Alright, Bonnie, honey, take a deep breath with me,” I said as I slipped the wire cutter under the wires leading from the battery compartment.

If I was wrong, it was over for the two of us.

And the clubhouse.

But the timer was ticking down.

Twenty, nineteen, eighteen…

Inaction would have us just as dead.

“Here we go,” I said, squeezing my hand together on the cutters.

There was a second of absolute fucking terror.

But the timer stopped.

“Okay. Alright. That’s it,” I said, dropping the wire cutters to the floor, then reaching for the bottom of the vest. “Arms up, baby. Let me get this off.”

And outside.

Just in case.

Her whole body was racked with shivers, but her shirt under the vest was wet with nervous sweat.

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