Page 42 of Deadly Strain

She peeked.

Sharp wasn’t sitting up anymore. He was lying in a fetal position, motionless except for breathing.

At least he was still alive.

Two men were tending the fire and talking softly to each other. No one else was visible.

Perhaps the rest were out hunting the person who set off the flare. She hoped they were searching farther away, because if the rest of those men were close, her goose and Sharp’s were both cooked.

She palmed her gun, took in a deep breath and resigned herself to killing at least two more people, then popped out from behind the wall and shot the first man in the chest and head.

The second man raised his weapon, but he was standing close to Sharp, who kicked out at the man’s knees, proving the Special Forces soldier was only playing possum, knocking the Afghan down. He didn’t get up.

Grace ran over, gun in front and ready to fire, to check the man, but sightless eyes stared back at her.

“He must have hit his head on a rock,” she said to Sharp as she went to work on the knots in the rope binding his hands behind his back. “Where are you injured?”

“Gunshot to my right leg, some contusions, and a possible concussion.” His voice was low and tight.

Grace looked him in the eyes. Both pupils seemed the same size. “Headache?”

“Yeah, and I was a little nauseated after one of them punched me around for a while. You set off a flare?” Sharp asked as he grabbed a knife from the dead man next to him and cut the rope tying his feet together.

Grace looked around, waiting for another man in Afghan garb to appear. “It was the only distraction I could think of.”

He growled at her as he shouldered one of the Soviet rifles. “About that. Why the hell didn’t you make a run for it after I was captured?” He took three limping strides, then plucked his backpack out of a pile of stuff tossed to the side. Then he grabbed her by the arm and towed her with him as he jogged away from the bodies, heading in the opposite direction from the one the Afghans took earlier.

“I was thinking you might appreciate a rescue. You know, from certain death?”

“Death is everywhere, including the Christmas present attached to your back. You want to try for a better answer?”

Anger gave her the strength to yank her arm out of his grasp. “There’s a difference between you dying at eighty-six of a stroke and dying because I didn’t do anything while some asshole put a bullet through your head.” She poked him with one finger. “Besides, you’re a thousand times better at the survival-in-the-field stuff than I am. I need you.”

“It’s damn difficult to plan an attack or a response to one if I can’t predict what you’re going to do. It’s my job to protect you, not the other way around. Stop thinking with your heart and start using your head.”

“Well, excuse me for giving a shit, Sergeant,” she said through clenched teeth. “But don’t we have somewhere to go?”

He paused. “Fuck me.” He looked around. They’d stopped some time during their argument. He grabbed her hand and pulled her along with him, muttering, “Damn doctors always wanting to save everyone but themselves. How can I keep you safe when you throw yourself into harm’s way every other hour?”

“I thought we were a team. You know, the kind where we help and protect each other?”

“This team,” he said, pointing at himself and her, “has very defined roles. It’s my job to keep you alive and get you back to base. It’s your job to do nothing to jeopardize your own safety.” He started walking again, but kept hold of her hand so he could tug her along.

What did he think she was going to do? Have a hissy fit and run off like some spoiled brat?

“What a load of bullshit,” she said to his back.

He didn’t respond except to squeeze her hand, then drop it.

Scream at him or silence. It was a difficult decision, but she chose silence rather than giving away their position.

Sharp set a tough pace, one she struggled to keep up with. His helmet was gone, so were his body armor and the rifle he loved like a pet, and he was even dirtier than before. For a man who had the kinds of injuries he did, and then was beaten and shot on top of it all, this showed how strong and fierce a warrior he was.

She found herself watching the rocky ground as she jogged behind Sharp, trying to be sure she didn’t put a foot down wrong and twist her ankle.

There was blood on the ground.

“Sharp, your leg. We need to stop and bandage it up.”