Page 58 of Faron (The Golden Team #8)

Blue

M y rifle kicked hard against my shoulder as I dropped one of the bastards trying to flank us.

Faron was bleeding. Shoulder wound. He refused to stop.

Cyclone and Gideon pushed forward, laying down suppressive fire. River tossed a smoke grenade behind us—gray clouds burst to life, giving us cover.

“We’ve got to get to the river!” Gage shouted. “Now!”

“We’re not outrunning them!” Cyclone barked. “They’ve got us cornered!”

My eyes swept the ridge.

Then I saw it—half buried in sand and soot.

A drainage tunnel. Old. Cracked concrete. Probably irrigation. Might connect straight to the river.

“Tunnel!” I yelled. “Thirty yards north, past that burned-out truck!”

Faron followed my gaze. “You sure?”

“Nope. But it’s that or get lit up!”

River didn’t even blink. “MOVE!”

We bolted, weaving through fire and smoke. Every breath burned. Every step could’ve been our last.

Kash was dragging Grayson—blood soaked his pant leg. Gage took a shot to the vest and staggered, but shook it off and kept going.

We reached the tunnel entrance. It reeked—mold, rot, maybe something worse.

I dropped first, landing hard on my palms and knees.

Faron crawled behind me. Cyclone next. Then the rest.

It was tight. Slippery. The walls closed in, forcing us to crawl hunched over, slipping in slime and gravel. But we didn’t stop.

We couldn’t.

The tunnel angled down—and then opened.

We slid straight into the river.

The shock of the cold hit like a slap.

I surfaced gasping, grabbing Faron’s arm as he dragged Grayson up beside him.

Above us, a roar.

Chopper blades.

A black bird hovered over the opposite bank, sand and water whipping into the air. A figure leaned out, waving.

Faron squinted. “SEAL pilot?”

River raised a hand, signaling.

The figure responded.

Friendly.

“GO!” River shouted.

We swam hard, dragging ourselves from the river and scrambling up the bank. The wind from the rotors nearly knocked me sideways. A hand reached down—Gideon’s—and pulled me up into the belly of the bird.

Faron climbed in last, hauling Grayson up like he was weightless.

I collapsed onto the floor, soaked and shivering, adrenaline still racing.

Faron dropped beside me, chest heaving.

We didn’t speak.

He just reached for my hand, fingers threading through mine like they were made for it.

And I held on like I’d never let go again.

We were alive.

But we weren’t the same. It was like this in all war zones, after a fight.

None of us were, the same, at first. Then we slowly came back to ourselves.