Deadly Strain (Biological Response Team) (5 page)

He was going to die if she didn’t get moving.

The biohazard container hanging around her neck bumped into her arm. It appeared intact. Thank God.

She stripped off her suit—it wasn’t any use now—then crab-crawled below the smoke and over debris and bodies toward where the emergency supplies were supposed to be stowed. Stored in a series of bulkhead cabinets in padded containers and locked to the fuselage by heavy-duty straps, some of it should be okay. As long as there were IV sets and saline, she could cobble something together to keep the soldier alive.

She dug out one case, but it was full of bandages and splints. She’d gotten her hands on another one when she heard the voices and the laughter. From the sound of their baritones, men. From the language, Dari or Persian, locals rather than a rescue team. From their laughter, extremists or insurgents.

The soldier started screaming again.

There was a burst of gunfire and the screaming stopped.

She didn’t have to see it to know what happened. They’d killed the soldier. Murdered him. A wounded man, pinned to the ground, who had no hope of defending himself.

Anger rushed through her system like a firestorm, heating her blood and completely clearing her head for the first time since the crash.

The men laughed some more and she could hear the crash of debris being thrown aside. Gunfire erupted for a second time and her hands curled into fists.

They’d killed her patient, then moved on to shoot someone else.

They thought it was funny.

She was going to show them funny.

She was going to ram funny right down their throats.

She put the crate down with suddenly steady hands and searched for something she could use to school those giggling idiots. Next to the medical supplies was a small rack of backup weapons, three Beretta M9s. She pulled one out, grabbed a fifteen-bullet magazine and slowly, carefully loaded the weapon.

Gunfire echoed around her. They’d moved away, probably to the other side of the aircraft.

She crept out of the hidey-hole she’d been in and listened carefully to the voices, judging direction and distance. There was still enough smoke to make visual contact somewhat hit-or-miss, so she kept low and moved slowly toward them.

Movement had her ducking down. Two men in typical Afghan clothing, chattering away at each other in what she was sure now was Dari, walked quickly away from the wreckage. She couldn’t see where they were going, but they started to run, so it must have been something important.

She peeked over a piece of bulkhead and stopped breathing when she saw what they were after.

A soldier in a bio-suit lay at the end of a trail of debris as if he’d been spit out of the helicopter like a mouthful of something that tasted awful.

The two Afghans were only steps away from him, their weapons raised.

Grace lunged out of the aircraft and sprinted toward them. She yelled, “Hey!” dropped to one knee and fired two shots in rapid succession when they turned to see who’d called out.

They both fell. She leaped to her feet, running toward them, her gun up and ready to fire again if those first shots hadn’t done their job.

But they had. Both Afghans were dead.

She turned and looked at the American.

He blinked up at her like he’d just awoken from an unwelcome sleep. “Doc?”

“Sharp?” Grace nearly wept in relief.
He was alive.
“Can you stand? Are you injured? Your suit is torn.” She looked around, watching for more bad guys. “Did those men shoot you? There might be more of them.”

“I’m mobile and don’t need medical attention at the moment. How about I handle the shooting and you handle the first aid.” He held out his hand.

“Yeah.” She handed him the pistol and he palmed it with the ease of long familiarity. “I need to check for more wounded.”

He accepted her hand up and they walked toward the helicopter.

She noted his limp, but it would have to wait until their immediate problems were addressed.

“What did I miss?” he asked.

“We crashed.”

“I got that.”

She told him what she remembered of the crash and what happened after.

He glanced back at the two Afghani bodies lying on the ground. “How many bullets did it take to lay them out?”

“One each.”

“Damn, Doc, that’s fine work.”

She stared at him blankly. Too tired, too heart-sore to respond.

“Are you injured?” he asked.

“No.” She looked down at herself. Splatters of blood covered her uniform, but none of it seemed to belong to her.

“Anyone else alive?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t had time to look.”

“Okay, let’s look now. I’m also going to arm myself to the teeth and see if I can radio for help.” He took two steps away, then stopped and turned back to her. “You took your suit off?”

“It was torn in several places. Just like yours.”

“Good point.” He pulled it off.

They entered the wreck and Grace began checking for more wounded. She found Williams first, but he was dead, one side of his skull crushed. He’d always been so quiet, but the second she ever needed anything he’d be there helping out or pitching in any way he could. Grief surged to the surface of her mind, but she shoved it back down and put a lock on it. Next, she found another soldier from her security detail, a bullet hole in his head. Finally, after some digging through debris, she found Rasker. He was breathing, but unconscious. Her palms moved up his body, checking for injuries, and found broken bones and at least one skull fracture.

“Doc.”

She glanced up. Sharp crouched in front of her cradling an M4 in one arm with the pistol she’d fired in his other hand, butt toward her. “I want you to keep this.”

She took it and holstered it. “The pilot?”

Sharp’s expression was so carefully bland she knew the news was bad before he said it. “Dead along with the copilot. The radio is junk too.”

Chapter Five

Grace’s stomach dove into her combat boots. “How long until we can expect a rescue?”

“Don’t know,” Sharp said, his gaze roaming the area around the aircraft. “It depends on whether the pilot was able to radio our situation out before we crashed or not. If he did, then we should see help soon. If he didn’t, we’ll be on our own for a while.” He glanced down, a grimace creasing his face. “How’s Rasker?”

“He needs immediate surgery. He’s got a skull fracture and probably a hematoma.”

“His brain is swelling?”

“Yeah. If it swells too much, it could kill him.”

“Can you do anything to help him now?”

“The only thing that’s going to help him is if I drill a hole through his skull and drain away some of the fluid collecting in the bruise.”

“Fuck.”

“I don’t have the equipment or the drugs. Plus, so far, it’s just you and me. And one of us needs to watch out for more bad guys with guns. We need another pair of hands.”

“I’ll keep a lookout and stay with him while you see if we can find anyone else who might be in better shape and able to help.”

Sharp turned to move away, but she stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Wait. Your leg. It’s bleeding pretty steady. Let me bandage that up for you.”

He looked like he was going to refuse, but then he nodded. “Make it quick.”

She grabbed a bandage out of the pile of medical supplies she’d found earlier and quickly wrapped his thigh. “I’ll need to take a closer look later.” He nodded while scanning the area outside the aircraft.

She left Rasker with Sharp and continued searching, praying she’d find someone else who was healthy enough to help her. But she only found bodies, none of them alive.

Time to talk to Sharp.

She headed back to where she’d left him watching over Rasker, but Sharp wasn’t there.

Gunfire erupted and she ducked down over her patient, then looked to see where it had come from. Sharp was laid out on the ground a few feet from the aircraft, firing his rifle at three Afghan men. They returned fire, bullets ploughing into the ground all around him, but Sharp didn’t move or stop firing until all three were dead.

He left them where they lay, got up into a crouch and approached her. “Any luck?”

She snorted. “No. Everyone else is...dead.” That last word got stuck in her throat and she had to struggle to breathe around it.

She glanced at Sharp. He was staring at her hands. They were covered in blood and shaking.

His gaze met hers and he asked, “How much water do we have?”

“I don’t know, hadn’t even thought about it.” She should have. Had the crash scrambled her brains?

“Can you take stock of what’s useable? Water, food, first aid. Gather what you can and get it ready in case we have to leave in a hurry to find shelter.”

“I’m not leaving Rasker. Not unless there’s...” The words stuck in her throat, but she shoved them out anyway. “No hope.”

“Doc, I don’t want to leave him either, but we’ve got to have a plan B ready. Okay?”

He was talking to her like she was a two-year-old. “I’m not going to freak out.”

He smiled at her; it wasn’t on his face long, but it was enough to tell her he didn’t believe a word.

“I hate it when you do that.”

“Do what?”

“Give me the
I’ll take care of the poor defenseless female
look. I did save your life a few minutes ago, remember?”

“That you did. My apologies.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll let you know if I need you to slap me out of my hysterics.”

That made him laugh and he shook his head. “I’m never bored around you, Doc. You say the craziest things.”

She let out a sigh. “For some reason crazy doesn’t seem like a bad thing right now.”

“Ready to get back to work?”

“Yeah.” She glanced around. Smoke from the wreckage rose into the air. It was probably visible for miles. “How much trouble are we in?”

“This is going to draw unwanted attention, but if we leave, our rescue won’t be able to find us.”

She looked out over the desert, searching for movement or the flash of sunlight reflected off a weapon in the distance. “How long can we stay?”

“As long as we can. How’s Rasker?”

She went back to check on his vitals. Sharp followed, his gaze alternating between watching her and the landscape.

“Not good. His breathing is shallow. If we can’t get him some advanced medical assistance very soon...” She didn’t finish. She didn’t need to.

“Understood.” His voice vibrated with restrained violence. “I’m going to walk the perimeter. Gather supplies as you can.”

Men often dealt with grief by getting mad at it. It was probably the healthiest response for the situation, but she was going to have to watch him close. Make sure he didn’t do something stupid. Or brave. Or both.

Grace checked her patient again—no change—then began collecting water, food and assembling a comprehensive first-aid kit that wouldn’t slow them down if they needed to run. She found and grabbed three additional magazines for her gun, then added them to the pile.

“How’s it going, Doc?”

“Bare necessities are ready, but time is running out for Rasker.”

“We’ve got movement,” he said, sliding behind a large piece of metal. “Take cover.”

Grace moved to try to cover the injured man with anything that might protect him from gunfire.

She was dragging a wrecked jump seat over when Sharp yelled at her, “Get down, Doc.”

A bullet pinged off something metal above her head. She dove for the ground, and discovered the Beretta in her hand. She stared at it like it was a live grenade for about half a second before turning and firing it out at the desert and the men coming toward them.

“Sharp?”

“I’ve got incoming on my side, too!”

“I’ve only got one extra magazine on me!”

“Look in your back pocket.”

She slapped a hand on her back pockets and discovered one additional magazine. “How the hell did you put that in there without me knowing?”

“I did it when you were having your hysterics.”

The cad. “So you figured that was a good time to cop a feel?”

“I’m a guy. It’s always a good time for that.”

They’d survived a helicopter crash that killed most of their team, armed extremists were trying to kill them and he was thinking about getting his hands in her pants? “Asshole,” she yelled.

“What? I can’t hear you over the hail of bullets trying to kill us.”

“You’re lucky there are worse assholes for me to shoot at.”

“Promises, promises, Doc.”

“Just don’t get shot. If anyone gets to shoot you today, it should be me.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She focused on the men approaching her side of the wreck. She hadn’t hit anyone yet and she was down to five bullets. Taking time to reload was dangerous. Dare she change her tactics? Would hesitating now, letting them rush forward to give her bigger targets, make the situation worse or better? She’d hesitated before while under fire and had regretted it ever since. She chose to wait, her stomach twisting, hands shaking and breathing coming in pants. She waited, allowing them to get closer. Closer.
Closer.

She took aim and fired.

One. Two. Three. Dead.

Relief shot champagne into her blood, which went straight to her head.
This time she’d made the right choice.
“You still shooting at yours?” she asked Sharp.

The only answer was a burst of gunfire. “Not anymore.” He came through the wreckage and glanced out at the bodies on her side. “You’re a good shot, Doc.”

She’d killed three more people. Five altogether. The fizzy feeling went flat. “Yay me.”

“When you say it in a monotone like that, it doesn’t sound so happy.”

She stared at her hands, which were vibrating at a rate that would have done an earthquake proud. She’d been fine,
fine
until Marshall had reopened the emotional wounds Cranston’s death caused.
Son of a bitch.
She wasn’t like this. Wasn’t someone who couldn’t handle her shit. Until today happened. “Sharp, I think I need that slap now. Um, just as soon as I throw up.” She stumbled a few steps away and let her stomach complete its protest. She stood there bent at the waist, her hands braced on her knees until the nausea and dizziness passed.

She turned to check Rasker’s pulse. Weak and slow. He didn’t have long.

She glanced outside. The sun beat down on the desert with unrelenting heat, but it was getting closer to the horizon. Nighttime wasn’t far off, and darkness would bring out even more predators. Rasker wouldn’t make it without surgery. If he didn’t get that surgery soon, he wouldn’t make it at all.

Time, the weather and the men trying to kill them were all the enemy. She and Sharp had precious little to fight them off with.

“Have you been thinking about our escape plan?” she asked him.

He didn’t stop his inspection of the horizon. Moving from side to side of the aircraft, watching for more unfriendlies. “Yes.”

“I’ve got everything you asked me to gather. I just need to find a couple of packs to carry it in.”

“Check the same spot as those medical supplies. There might be some at the very back.”

She did and found three that were relatively undamaged. She quickly packed two of them and placed them where they could grab them on the run if they had to.

“Have you got enough ammunition?” she asked.

“I grabbed everything I could get my hands on.”

She glanced out at the desert. Desolate and empty of life. No help or safe place in sight. “Is it going to be enough?”

“Probably not.”

She grunted. Sharp had something huge going for him. He didn’t lie.

Grace checked Rasker’s pulse again and found it had slowed even more. He wasn’t going to make it and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do to change it. Tears cooled her face, but she let them fall. No one besides Sharp would see them.

People said she was cold behind her back, thinking she didn’t care, that she really was as unfeeling as she often appeared, but they were wrong. She cared too much, and sometimes her emotions got away from her no matter how hard she tried to lock them down.

Keeping the fingers of her right hand on his carotid pulse point, she smoothed her left index finger down his nose. “It’s okay to go, Rasker,” she whispered to him. “It’s okay.”

The pulse under her fingertips slowed and disappeared.

She stood, looking down at the dead body of her brother-in-arms, then glanced at Sharp. “I’m done,” she said, and was shocked at how bleak her tone sounded. “I’m so done.”

He looked at her. “I wish we could
be
done, but for us the shit’s just getting started.”

She glanced at him. His face was drawn in sad, angry lines, his mouth pressed tight and the muscles in his jaw clenching and unclenching. “I need you to keep up. Can you do that?”

She swallowed a bitter mouthful of regret. “Okay.”

Sharp came over and picked up one of the packs. “We’ll head northeast for a bit, get lost in those hills.” He paused for a moment, then met her gaze with a frankness that told her she might not like what he was about to say. “I won’t let anything happen to you, Doc.”

Who did he think he was, a superhero? “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Sharp.”

He put his hand under her chin and took a small step closer. “I don’t make those kinds of promises.”

Despite the temperature, she shivered and stepped into him so she could soak up his body heat and strength. She was going to need it. “I’m one lucky gal to have a friend who’s as badass as you.”

He didn’t answer, just stared down into her eyes as if trying to convey a lifetime of messages in just a few seconds.

The moment passed, he stepped back and moved out.

She grabbed the other pack, shouldered it and followed him away from the wreckage.

How would a rescue team find them now?

How long could they last on their own?