Leave Me Behind

Bradshaw draws out the map from memory on the tile floor with a marker. He circles our location and taps where the Ghosts’ headquarters is. “It’s a day and a half walk from the bunker we’re at now. If we keep close to the ridge line of the western mountain that follows near the remaining bunkers, we can keep an eye out for Eren and the rest of Malum.”

I nod, but worry sits cumbersomely on my chest. “What if they attack me? I’m not so sure Eren will be willing to talk.”

Bradshaw leans in close and smooths his hand over mine. I meet his gaze. “They won’t. Eren won’t tell them about his order to get rid of you. He’d never share the details of his shady side dealings.”

“Don’t you worry about what he’s not telling you?” I query.

He shakes his head as his brows knit. “No. If it’s important, I already know about it. Anyway, you don’t need to worry. I trust my brother.”

Well, that doesn’t make me feel better.

I doubt Eren tells him everything necessary. It’s sad how ignorant to corruption we all are when we care about a person. I never noticed how cold-hearted Jenkins truly was, not when I was by his side.

“You’re betting my life on that? I think he wants me dead no matter what.”

Bradshaw lets out a breath. “Have faith in me.”

I roll my eyes. “Like I have any other choice. You know the way in once we find their headquarters, right?” Bradshaw shakes his head and I groan, adding: “We can figure it out when we get there. I’m more worried about Eren than a security system to break.”

He stares at the map for a few seconds before nodding and muttering, “Yeah, me too.”

The uniforms dry by nightfall. We’re dressed with masks pulled over our faces, ready to reenter the cold world above. My lungs are filled with fire. Who is targeting the dark forces? Eren knows, yet he won’t even tell Bradshaw. It unsettles me that Eren knew how lethal I was. If he genuinely knew about my hand in Abrahm’s death all along, why would he put me as Bradshaw’s second?

I mull over those thoughts while Bradshaw tightens his vest and he finally gives the signal for move out. He starts to climb the ladder. I grab a step and start to haul myself up behind him.

BOOM.

The ground shakes and the fluorescent lights switch to red before we can even react to the aftershocks. Bradshaw looks over his shoulder at me and makes the hand signal for fall back. I hold my M16 tightly across my chest and duck behind the bathroom door. Bradshaw is a second behind me and takes the other side of the door. We both watch the bunker hatch, guns raised and ready.

I focus, listening for any footsteps, but there are too many to determine how many people are up there. It’s an ambush. The Ghosts know we’re down here. Fuck!

“Here they come,” Bradshaw mutters as he pulls the pin to a flash grenade with his teeth. He times it perfectly, boots hitting the ground just as he tosses it. I shut my eyes against the flash of white. The second the light goes out I set my gun down and unsheathe my combat blade.

“Bunny, use your M16,” Bradshaw hisses at me, but the weight of his words is lost as two soldiers rush into the bathroom. They were expecting us to be behind the door, but not from so low. I don’t wait to see who it is and my blade is thrusting up before the man has any clue who he’s fucking with.

The soldier notices at the last second and blocks my blade from being buried in his gut. I twist my hold on the handle to keep him from knocking it out of my hand with his counterblow. The butt of his gun hits my forearms. Pain crackles through my bones and I gnash my teeth at the ferocity this man fights with.

They have specialized training, but their goal is obviously to detain us. I can tell he’s trying not to kill me. Big mistake on their part.

I sweep my leg across his feet and he hits the ground hard. His gun fires and shatters the mirrors. Shit! We’re in a metal box. Loose bullets will be a problem if they ricochet.

My eyes flick to Bradshaw—he’s wrestling a soldier to the ground and both their guns are two feet away from them. More voices sound from the other room. If we can’t get control in the next few seconds, we’re fucked.

His uniform looks familiar. It takes me by surprise. He takes advantage of my pause and grips my face mask. He rips it off, stinging the back of my ears. I clutch my knife and tear it behind the soldier’s knees, severing the tendons. His legs go limp and he screams in pain. I take the chance his hysteria brings and go for his throat. My blade glides smoothly across his soft flesh and his pupils enlarge with the endorphins.

His body slacks instantly to the side. I grab my M16 and put three bullets into the soldier beneath Bradshaw just as he snaps his neck.

“I had him.” Bradshaw glares at me, but I ignore him and kick him his gun. His mask was torn off in the scuffle, his bottom lip bleeding. He picks it up and stands in one fluid motion. “Night vision,” he orders, knocking his goggles down over his eyes and shooting out the lights above us. I pull mine down too.

Going dark is the best option we have.

I shoot the ones in the main area and the bunker goes pitch black. The backup soldiers must’ve returned up the ladder because the room is empty. Shit! The hatch is open and I’d bet money they’re waiting for us up there. We can’t stay holed up in here forever; all they have to do is wait for reinforcements.

Bradshaw grips my wrist and I hesitantly look at him. He signals for me to follow him. He leads us to the cabinets and opens one door, motioning for me to get in. He pulls his goggles up and raises an implying brow. I shoot him a look that says, Are you crazy? but he just flattens his eyes more at me.

Goddammit. I crawl inside and he makes his way in beside me.

“Great. Now what?” I breathe uneasily. The space is cramped and although I can see with my night vision my stomach curls uneasily with our predicament.

Bradshaw gives me a shit-eating grin and pushes on the inner wall of the cabinet. The thin board slides out of place, revealing a narrow tunnel that likely leads somewhere outside.

“Did you think Eren would plan on having our squad stay in a bunker with only one way in and out? I thought you were a bunny. That’s like rule number one for animals, isn’t it?” He laughs and I can’t help but smile at his cocky comment.

I nudge him. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

He takes the lead, crawling on his hands and knees with his gun slung over his back. I slip inside the damp tunnel and close the board behind us in case the soldiers think to check the cabinets. The air here is earthy and thick with moisture.

The walls grow tight around us as we crawl and when Bradshaw turns to check on me for a second, I don’t see him. I see Jenkins. He reaches his hand out for me. That’s right… I’ve been in a tight place like this before.

“You can die anywhere, Gallows, but you don’t want to die in a hole. So get the fuck out. Save the panic attack for after you’re out.”

I smile. He was an asshole, yet his words are what I need to keep going.

It can’t be more than a few minutes, but it feels so much longer before we see moonlight dripping through an exit. Bradshaw stops and listens for several minutes to gauge where the hostiles are. I can’t hear anything above my pulse hammering in my ears.

Bradshaw moves thoughtfully, quietly pushing through branches and exiting the tunnel. I wait for his signal. A second later, he dips his hand back inside and beckons me to follow.

Relief overcomes me as I hurry out of the tight space. Once I’m out, I move beside Bradshaw and we walk carefully through the underbrush. I’m facing a wall of trees. There’s no sign of hostiles, but I’m not letting my guard down now that they know we’re out here.

We find cover half a klick east and crouch low to regroup and determine our backup plan. I keep my hand curled tightly around my knife. It’s already slick with blood, parts of the handle sticking to my glove as it dries. Bradshaw checks his gear and points northeast. “That way. We’re going to push until we hit the ridgeline and can find cover.” His voice is low and firm.

I clutch my knife tighter.

“Did you see their uniforms?” My throat is raw from the fight and I sound scared. I am scared.

Bradshaw’s concerned expression tells me everything. He nods.

My hand trembles. “And what did you see?”

He stares at me briefly before muttering, “It was the Hades Squad.” He hangs his head and shakes it.

I thought so. I scan the forest warily for them. What the fuck are they doing? We are here to save them, aren’t we?

“Bones… what does this mean?” I bring my focus back to him.

He lets his hands hang off his knees before lifting his head up. “It means we’re fucked. If Hades is a part of this rogue operation, then who’s to say who else is? This is bad. Really fucking bad.” Bradshaw sounds uneasy. Nervous. And I’ve never known him to be nervous.

“Focus. Let’s get out of here before they hunt us down.” I tug on his arm and he stands, but his will to fight seems to have fled his spirit.

“God, this is so fucked up,” he chokes out. He clasps his hands around his head and his shoulders tremble. Fuck, don’t tell me he’s having an episode.

I smack his cheek to see how together he has it and his head tilts, lagging to correct. Goddammit! “Bones, hey. Look at me. Bones!” I whisper-shout, but his body starts to slump against me.

No, no, no. What am I supposed to do?

Snap.

My head jerks to the left in the direction of the tunnel and spot three soldiers slowly sweeping the area for us. This couldn’t be a worse situation. My chest clammers and my mind whirls.

Leave him. Run. My instincts have my legs twitching, but I refuse to leave him vulnerable like this. “It looks like this is where our mission together ends. Find Eren,” I whisper against his parted lips. I kiss him gently before rolling him under the thickest part of the underbrush. I army crawl far enough before I’m ready to draw attention away from him.

This is suicide.

I stand and take off sprinting through the trees. Small branches and twigs smack loudly against my gear and a sharp shout rolls through the air behind me. Good. They’ll follow me. I take off toward the river and ignore the shots they fire at me.Exclusive © content by N(ô)ve/l/Drama.Org.

I’ll get them as far away from Bradshaw as I can and then I’ll take care of them. I slide on the beach sand and roll to my stomach, facing the pursuers, M16 aimed at the top of the riverbank. The first soldier that runs over the edge gets a bullet in his neck and the force of it sends him flying to his back. He squirms and covers his throat.

Two more rise over the bank and I fire at the one to the left.

Miss. Shit!

He shoots back and hits my shoulder. The impact alone takes my breath away, but I grit my teeth and shoot a second time. This time I hit him right in the dick. He screams and falls, rolling down the slope and crying like a fucking baby. I smile against the pain that blooms across my shoulder.

The third soldier is on me by the time I face him. He has his knife unsheathed and goes for a thigh stab. I roll in time so he only nicks my calf, but the blood still pours from the wound instantly.

“Fuck you, bitch. You killed my partner!” He stabs at me again and this time he lodges it in my forearm. I scream at the pain and muster all my strength to strike him across the head with my gun. He’s a tough motherfucker, he doesn’t even flinch as blood gushes from the gash above his left eye. He grabs my arm with his knife sticking out of it and pounds it against the ground until I drop my M16.

A guttural scream rips from my throat and tears spring to my eyes, but I refuse to give up. I’ll kill this asshole and anyone else who comes for us.

I buck my hips up as hard as I can and send him flying over my head. I roll to my side and unhitch my pistol from its holster—bang, bang, bang. I shoot him at point-blank range in his chest, but he’s still coming. Bulletproof vest—high grade too.

“Fuck—” I choke out as his hands come around my throat and he pins me against the sand. His grip leaves no air, no hope of finding breath without knocking him off of me.

I gnash my teeth together and grab the knife that’s still lodged between my radial and ulnar bone. One, two, three. I brace myself and pull the knife from my flesh, cutting his throat all the way to the bone with the same singular motion.

His body spasms violently and then slacks. He gurgles blood all over me. “Fuck you. Fuck you!” I scream at him as his eyes start to widen with death. I bury the knife between his collarbone and neck five times until it’s mushy. His blood spills over my chest and neck.

I stagger to my feet and take a few labored breaths. The cold mountain air makes all the blood spilled on the sand steam in plumes.

My entire body trembles with adrenaline. The pain spreads with each breath I take. I know if I can’t stop the bleeding I’ll be dead in twenty minutes.

Gasps and groans bring my mind out of its fog. I look slowly up and stare hollowly at the last two breathing soldiers. I limp to the closest one. He’s still holding his throat and trying to keep himself from bleeding out. I bury my knife deep into his chest. He convulses and chokes on his own blood before going still.

For some reason, I think of Jenkins as I jerk the blade from the soldier’s lungs. He loved killing this closely—loved making me do it too. I did anything he wanted me to, even if I hated it. And I do hate killing this sloppily.

That leaves only one man left. I look over at him, holding his dick and still crying about it. He sees me coming and tries to flee but I keep my limping stride steady. I reach him and tear off his helmet and mask. A scared man stares at me. He shakes uncontrollably.

I keep my tone as smooth as I can. “Are you going to tell me anything or am I wasting my time?” I lift my blade and he gasps, tears and snot mixing down his chin. His eyes trail over to his comrades, the ones I fucking butchered.

He shakes his head, eyes hardening. “Kill me.”

“Done,” I chirp, twisting the blade in my hand for the killing blow.

A sharp knife caresses my throat, giving me pause.

“Drop it.” A deep voice seeps into my spine.

Jenkins taught me how to escape this very situation, although I’m fuzzy now with the blood loss. I breathe and slowly lower my arm as if to drop my weapon. Then I throw my head back against the man’s face and grip the sharp part of his blade so it’s not against my throat. My helmet strap is cut and flies off in the attack.

Blood spurts from my glove and my fingers go limp. Shit. Adrenaline keeps me moving. I reach for my pistol but the soldier already has his pressed against my forehead.

I breathe like a wild animal who’s just run out of options. My chest rises and falls over and over with great burden. I expected him to pull the trigger already, so I slowly look up at him. His black mask covers the majority of his face, but those eyes… They’re practically black as they bore into me vehemently.

I shudder but hold his stare.

“Always look them in the eye. Show them you aren’t afraid to die,” Jenkins told me many times. I do my best to follow his words.

The soldier stands silently for a long time. I’m starting to feel dizzy and my head bobs a few times before he pulls his gun a few inches away.

“Who are you?” he asks.

I don’t move a muscle. I just continue to stare at him, waiting patiently for the bullet in my head.

He lets a sharp breath push between his teeth as he lowers to my level and studies my face, letting his eyes linger on my scars and neck tattoo. I lower my chin, but he grips my jaw tightly and forces me to look at him. He holds my face like this for a moment, his gun to the side of my head.

He clicks on his headset and mutters, “It’s her.”

He doesn’t get to say anything else before a bullet flies straight between his eyes. His head is thrown back and I stare down at his lifeless body.

Who was he reporting to?