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"Think it'll work?" I ask the second the squad disappears down the hill.
Zombie sends me a small frown. "'Course it will," he says. "Has too." He nods to the bottom of the hill. "Wait there. When it blows: run."
I hold up the grenade. "Team work, remember? We're an alien fighting duo now. What kind of sidekick would you be if you left me by myself?"
He shakes his head. We settle on our knees and he hits frozen cap with the butt of his rifle. "Why would I be the sidekick?" The cap comes off with a pop, followed a long hissing sound.
Ten seconds to do what we have to do and go. I pull the pin off the grenade, drop the fucker in the tank, and take off down the hill with Zombie in tow.
It's cold and dark and of course Zombie is a fucking idiot who trips up on a rock, knocking his ass straight to the pavement, head colliding with the asphalt. I haul him up and pull him towards the road, on the way to the squad.
"That's why you're the fucking sidekick," I grit out, heaving for breath. That's when the truck blows.
The explosion tosses me into the air, blows me straight off my feet and into the office window beside me. My body crashes into a desk, flips rightside up and lands on the other side in a jumbled heap. I curl into a ball, tuck my burning face to my knees. The world is on fire.
Someone screaming snaps me out of my trance. I groan and stretch out, rubbing the itch of my sweltering face. I try and stand, but immediately fall back down, body weak and needing rest. Zombie rushes toward me just as the glass next to him shatters-- a bullet this time, not an explosion. He ducks and covers his head, then yanks me up on my feet and begs me not to die right now.
We're still half a block from the garage.
My legs feel like jello despite the gruelling training we endured and suddenly I understand the intensity of it all. Everything we've done-- the laps, the push-ups, the fucking obstacle courses-- it was all to prepare for this.
Oompa's body crumpled on the ground. Poundcake kneels beside him. I don't register the situation, I yank up Poundcake and practically throw him down the street. Away from the fire and the dying squad member.
The giant piece of metal protruding from Oompa's spine glints as the orange flickers from behind us. I feel the urge to vomit. It's deep inside his lower back, completely severing the spinal cord. Even if he lives-- which he won't-- the chance of paralysis is 300%.
Zombie hoists his little pudgy body over his shoulder. The sniper takes out the concrete right beside my head. We're on the move again. Poundcake lifts himself up, tumbles over the side of the waist-high concrete separating us from the first level of the garage. I leap over it, legs to the side and body fully suspended in the air. I land on the other side on my feet, twisting my body in record time to help Zombie throw Oompa over it. He lands next to me with a thump.
Zombie is next to me then, panting. We barely have a second before the concrete beside his head explodes. Zombie crawls to Oompa on his hands and knees, gives a once over on the wound and comes to the same conclusion as me; he's going to fucking die. Zombie won't admit it.
"Private Oompa," he whispers in the boys ear. "You do not have permission to die, understood?"
He nods and I don't have the heart to tell either of them that he's going to die regardless of Zombie's orders. The second the tank exploded, we lost him. And I lost Ghost when I saw another dying brother.
Zombie heaves the boy over his shoulder again and we ascend the stairs, keeping as low as possible. I try and help Zombie keep his balance but he's going up the stairs two at a time and I almost topple down them myself.
The squad is crouched behind a line of cars. Dumbo is treating Teacup's calf where a bullet must have skimmed her. I see Flintstone's face and lift a finger, lips curled in anger. "Don't say a fucking word."
He shuts up.
I fall to my knees beside Oompa and stare down at his petrified face. His head is tilted to the side, facing Zombie and I as fresh tears stream down his face. Chubby cheeks flushed and rolls tucked under his chin. I wonder if the chocolate bar he snuck on the Black Hawk tasted good enough to be his last.
I look to Dumbo when I realize he said something. He's shaking his head and looking at Zombie and I really do think I'm about to vomit right here and now. And when I look at Ringer to see how Teacup is holding up her mouth moves to form words but I can't pay attention to any of them. I look back down to Oompa.
Ringer passes me Teacup and she squirms then latches onto my throat, tiny arms almost suffocating me. I smooth down her hair and try and pass her to Zombie but the kids like a fucking leech, attached and needing to be burned off. I leave her be.
Zombie turns to Poundcake. "Cake, go with Ringer. Take that SOB out."
They duck behind two cars and vanish from sight. Oompa screams and Teacup whimpers so I back away, unable to bear the screams myself. He's only eight-years-old.
Dumbo pulls the shrapnel from Oompa and when he withers and screams I tuck Teacup under my chin and hold her as tight as I can. Oompa was her best friend. She's watching her best friend die right now. Oompa is flipped around and we see the other side, the shrapnel tore right through the middle of him, Flintstone vomits. Teacup stills in my lap. The strong, badass little girl that I've grown to learn is me in a teensy tiny body is going into shock.
Then again, so am I.
Sofia is crawling back to me from the pits of hell. The circle where my bullet made home inside of her head is there, planted dead centre on her forehead as she drags herself across the frost bitten ground to wrap her thin and perfectly painted fingers around my ankle.
Oompa is in front of me, dying. I know he's dying because he whispers his real name to me and I repeat it back to him in horror. He knows he's going to die. He's going to die and he's eight-years-old and he's dying a soldiers death.
A soldiers death. How many more of us would die before the chopper comes back? How many more of my family would death rip from my arms and throw into the dark abyss? Would I die, here, as another soldier lost in the line of duty? Just like Oompa. Just like the others who probably won't make it either.
Sofia snakes her way up my body and takes a hold of my pounding heart and she squeezes until it feels like my chest is about to implode or collapse in on itself or just completely stop. She's plucking at my tear ducts and rattling my rib cage like 'it's time to feel, Ghost. It's time to admit you have feelings and you're absolutely devastated about the boy dying in front of you' and oh my god I want to shoot her in the head again so she'll shut up.
My body is shutting down and I'm propelling myself backwards like Parker is standing in front of me and asking questions about the blood on my hands, and I'm back there and bleeding and scared and unsure of what to do.
Zombie is gripping my biceps and trying to get me to open the eyes I didn't even realize I had closed. He's begging me not to lose my shit right now because no one will live if I do that.
My eyes snap open. Cold, hard brown eyes. Dead. Sofia was kicked off and sent six feet under again. Ghost took control. Oompa is dead and that sucks but even more of my family will die if I doesn't get my shit together.
"I'm fine," slips past my chapped lips. Zombie is staring at me in complete and utter relief and I don't know if it's because he didn't want to lose me or he didn't want to deal with Ghost gone Dorothy.
I mean, Normal Ghost is bad enough. Crazy Ghost? Good fucking luck.
