Page 26 of Whispers and Warriors (After #2)

TWENTY-SIX

Chris ducked behind a crate as a hail of bullets peppered the deck where he’d been standing a split second before. The acrid scent of gunpowder filled his nostrils, the din of battle a familiar symphony to his battle-hardened senses.

A quick sweep of his surroundings revealed a scene of barely controlled chaos. The attackers were a ragtag bunch, their movements erratic and their strategy haphazard. In contrast, Chris’s unit moved like a well-oiled machine, their formation tight and their response disciplined. He’d lost sight of them for a moment, but they’d found each other again.

“Flank left!” Chris barked into his comm, already moving to cover the right side. “Neutralize the hostiles on the bridge!”

His men obeyed without hesitation, trust and training overriding any fear. Chris felt a swell of pride even as he coolly assessed the enemy’s weaknesses, his mind racing to formulate a plan.

These bastards had no idea who they were messing with. Chris had faced far worse odds and come out on top. And now, with the stakes higher than ever, with Emma and his brothers’ lives on the line? Failure was not an option.

Chris gritted his teeth and reloaded his weapon, preparing to lead the charge. He would end this, swiftly and decisively. And then he would return to his loves, holding them close and never letting go.

“On me!” he commanded, his voice ringing with authority. “Let’s show these sons of bitches what happens when they mess with our family.”

With adrenaline pumping through his veins and ice-cold focus sharpening his every sense, Chris stormed forward, a man possessed by the need to protect what was his. Heaven help anyone who stood in his way.

Nearby, William ducked and wove through the chaos, his agility and quick reflexes serving him well. He moved like a dancer, fluid and graceful, even as he struck with deadly precision.

Chris couldn’t get to him as a man with a knife lunged.

With a snarl of determination, William lunged forward, grappling with his attacker. They struggled for control of the knife, muscles straining and breaths coming in harsh pants.

But William was fueled by a fierce protectiveness, a burning need to defend his loved ones. With a burst of strength, he wrenched the knife free and plunged it into his attacker’s neck, a spray of crimson staining his hands.

As the man gurgled and fell, William staggered back, his chest heaving. The battle raged on around him, but for a moment, all he could hear was the pounding of his own heart.

“Will!” Chris’s voice snapped him back to the present. “On your right!”

Instinctively, William spun, raising his weapon just in time to block another blow. He fell back into the rhythm of the fight, his movements sure and deadly.

The helicopter seemed to fall back, its blades slicing through the air with a menacing thrum, but shifting far enough back it wouldn’t crash on the ship. The vehicle was heavily armed, a flying fortress bristling with machine guns and rocket launchers. It hovered over the ship like a predatory bird, ready to rain down destruction.

“Take aim!” Chris roared over the chaos, his voice cutting through the din like a knife. “Concentrate fire on that helo!”

Rifles snapped up in unison, each man finding his target with practiced ease. A hailstorm of bullets peppered the helicopter’s armored hide, sparks flying as metal met metal.

But the aircraft was built to withstand such an assault. It shuddered under the onslaught but remained airborne, its weapons swiveling to return fire. The deck erupted in a series of explosions as rockets slammed into the ship, sending shockwaves through the metal structure.

Chris gritted his teeth, his mind racing. Conventional weapons weren’t enough. They needed something with more punch. His eyes fell on William’s ammo bag, a plan forming in his mind.

“Will!” he shouted, gesturing toward the bag. “Grenade!”

William didn’t hesitate. He yanked a grenade from the bag and tossed it to Chris, the movement smooth and practiced. Chris caught it deftly, his fingers curling around the cool metal.

The helicopter banked around for another pass, its guns spooling up with a high-pitched whine. Chris knew he had only seconds to act.

With a deep breath, he pulled the pin and let the spoon fly free. The grenade was heavy in his hand, a promise of destruction waiting to be unleashed.

“Fire in the hole!” he bellowed, his arm cocking back.

Time seemed to crawl to a halt as Chris unleashed the grenade with every ounce of strength he possessed. It soared through the air like a harbinger of doom against the vast, indifferent sky. For a fraction of a second, the entire world seemed to hold its breath. Then, with deadly precision, the grenade struck its target, vanishing into the helicopter’s open doorway.

The explosion erupted with a cataclysmic roar, a thunderous blast that shattered the very fabric of the air. The helicopter was obliterated in a fiery inferno, a hellish maelstrom of metal shards and blazing fuel cascading down onto the turbulent waves below. The shockwave of the detonation jolted the ship violently, sending men sprawling and grasping desperately for anything to anchor themselves.

Amidst the pandemonium, Chris stood resolute, his eyes steely as he watched the smoldering wreckage of the helicopter succumb to the ocean’s depths. The acrid stench of smoke and burning fuel invaded his senses, and the searing heat of the flames licked at his skin with a fiery vengeance.

He turned to his men, his expression grim but determined. “Regroup and reload,” he ordered, his voice steady despite the adrenaline pumping through him. “There can’t be too many left. Let’s give them a proper send off.”

The staccato bursts of gunfire gradually dwindled, the echoes fading into an eerie silence that settled over the ship like a heavy shroud. Chris lowered his weapon, his breath coming in measured pants as he surveyed the aftermath of the battle. The deck was littered with bodies, some still twitching in their final moments, others lying in grotesque poses of eternal slumber.

Chris’s heart sank as he surveyed the aftermath of the battle, the weight of the lives lost pressing down on his shoulders. But as he looked around at his team, battered but alive, a flicker of gratitude pierced through the gloom. They had survived, against all odds.

His gaze fell on a body near his feet, and he recognized the face of a young man who had joined their group just weeks ago. Chris closed his eyes for a moment, a silent prayer for the fallen. In this harsh new world, death was a constant companion, but it never got easier.

“Bash, Alex, William!” Chris called out, his voice cutting through the eerie stillness. “It’s over. Doesn’t look like any of the attackers made it out alive.”

Bash emerged from the shadows, his face grim as he wiped blood from his knife. “Guess they didn’t expect us to fight back so hard.”

“They didn’t realize military was on board, whoever the hell they were,” Alex said, his usual cocky grin replaced by a somber expression. “But we showed them what happens when you mess with our people.”

William limped over to join them, his hand pressed against a bloody gash on his arm. “What now, Boss?”

Chris nodded, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “Everyone else good?”

“We’re good,” Bash added as he and William stepped into view, both bloodied but standing.

With a final sweep of the deck, Chris strode to the edge of the ship, his keen eyes scanning the horizon for any signs of a larger vessel. The ocean stretched out before him, an endless expanse of gray beneath a leaden sky. For a moment, he allowed himself to feel a flicker of relief. Perhaps this had been an isolated attack, a desperate gamble by a group of marauders.

But as his gaze drifted back to the carnage on the deck, the reality of their situation crashed over him like a frigid wave. So many dead, their blood staining the weathered planks. How many more would they lose before they found a safe haven?

Chris clenched his jaw, his fingers tightening around the grip of his gun. They had come too far, fought too hard, to let this world break them. His family came first, helping the ship would come second.

Here’s to hoping the military built this one solid, because she needs to keep sailing.

Chris met each of their gazes, the weight of leadership heavy on his shoulders. “We check on our injured and make sure Emma is safe. Then we come back and clean up this mess.” He nodded to a guard he recognized from the other group. “We’ll be back to help with the bodies, but right now, our priority is our own.”

As they made their way below deck, Chris’s thoughts turned to Emma. He prayed that she was unharmed, that the chaos hadn’t reached her. The thought of losing her, after everything they had been through, was almost too much to bear.

Emma didn’t think as she pressed her ear against the cold metal door, straining to make sense of the muffled chaos erupting outside the room on the deck above and hoping it had stayed on that deck. Distant gunshots echoed like firecrackers, punctuated by urgent shouts and the occasional heavy thud that sent vibrations through the floor. Ranger whined softly and nuzzled against her leg, his warm presence a small comfort amidst the turmoil.

Exhaling shakily, Emma pushed away from the door and closed her eyes, trying to regulate her breathing. Worries for each of them consumed her thoughts, but especially Chris because he seemed so tightly wound the last week. She pictured his rugged face, those piercing eyes that could see into her very soul. Was he out there now, putting his life on the line to protect them? Her chest constricted painfully knowing that if push came to shove, he would give his life to protect others in a way the others wouldn’t. Because he’d already tried to.

Moving to sit beside Liam, Emma grasped his hand, needing to feel his palm against her own as an anchor. Ranger laid his head in her lap, warm and reassuring. She focused on the rise and fall of Liam’s chest, the rhythmic proof that he was still with her.

As the battle raged on beyond the walls, Emma retreated inward, grasping for any memory that could carry her away from the present danger. She thought of golden fields stretching to the horizon, the satisfying ache after a day’s work on the farm. Her father’s laughter as they shared a simple meal. Ranger bounding through the tall grass, all gangly puppy limbs and unbridled joy.

But even as she tried to lose herself in the past, the relentless clamor of violence dragged her back. Gunshots cracked like whips, each one making her flinch. Enraged cries and pain-filled screams filtered through, painting a gruesome picture in her mind’s eye. She couldn’t shake the sickening dread that one of those agonized voices could belong to someone she loved.

“Please let them be safe,” Emma whispered, her plea lost amidst the din. “Chris, Bash, William, Alex…please come back to me.”

William wouldn’t make her that promise, and she respected that, but she was going to hold Chris to his.

She squeezed her eyes shut tighter, as if she could will them to survive by the sheer force of her desperate hopes. In the darkness behind her eyelids, their faces appeared like beacons— Chris with his unwavering strength, William’s roguish charm, Alex’s gentle wisdom. They had to make it through this. She couldn’t bear the thought of losing even one of them.

As the battle stretched on with no end in sight, Emma clung to Liam and Ranger, her lifelines in the storm. She prayed that when the dust settled, she would find herself in the arms of all her loves once more. For now, all she could do was wait, hope, and hold fast to the belief that their bond was stronger than any force that dared to tear them apart.

A soft groan from beside her made Emma’s heart leap into her throat. Liam stirred, his brow furrowed in pain as he struggled to open his eyes.

“Em...” he rasped as he put on his glasses and his uninjured hand groping for hers. “I’m sorry. I tried to get to you, but...”

Tears spilled down Emma’s cheeks even as a watery laugh bubbled up. “You idiot,” she choked out, gripping his hand like a lifeline. “You need to stop being so stupidly brave.”

Liam’s answering smile was strained but genuine. “Can’t help it. Have to protect my girl.”

Emma leaned down and captured his lips in a gentle kiss, mindful of his injuries. “Hush now,” she whispered against his mouth.

As if on cue, Liam tried to lever himself upright, grunting with the effort. Emma placed a firm hand on his chest.

“Oh no you don’t, tough guy. You’re patched up, but you’re in no shape to go anywhere. Your dominant arm is a bloody mess. You are staying right here.

Liam opened his mouth to argue, but Emma silenced him with a look. Slowly, he sank back down, resignation and reluctant acceptance warring on his face. Emma stroked his hair soothingly, her heart aching with love and worry in equal measure.

The moment was shattered by a particularly loud blast from above. Emma tensed, her breath catching in her throat. Somewhere in the midst of that chaos was Chris, leading his men with the same fierce determination he brought to everything.