Firestorm: Book III of the Wildfire Saga (61 page)

Charlie faced Reginald's body and pulled a small camera out of a pocket on his chest rig.
 
He snapped a few pictures, replaced the camera and produced a vial, collecting some of Reginald's blood.
 
He stood and replaced the corked vial back in his pocket.
 

"Why?" he asked again.

Cooper shook his head.
 
"He had to die."

"And what about my family?
 
What about my son?" Charlie said with a barely contained fury. He paced like a caged animal, staring at Reginald's body.
 

Cooper frowned.
 
"That piece of shit was the one who started all this mess."
 

Charlie pointed his rifle at the body.
 
"He might've known what the Koreans were up to—where they took my family! But we'll never know now, will we?"
 
He stepped close to Cooper and punched him in the chest.
 
"Will we?" he shouted.

Cooper staggered back as Charlie hit him again.
 
He knew Charlie was right.
 
The secrets that Reginald contained inside the brain now splattered across the wall of his own castle could've saved countless lives.
 

He hadn't pulled the trigger—he couldn't do it.
 
He also couldn't have stopped 13.
 

"You let that bitch cap his ass right in front of you!" Charlie fumed.
 
"Coop—how could you?"

Cooper shook his head.
 
"Once she had the gun, there was no way I could've stopped her.
 
Not sure I wanted to, anyway.
 
I don't expect you to understand—”
 

"You're God damn right I don't understand!
 
This is fucking
bullshit!"
 
Charlie spat.
 
He turned in a circle, screaming his frustration at the crumbling castle.

Over the noise of the dwindling firefight, Charlie's ranting, and the continuous squawk coming from his disconnected radio, Cooper heard the steady monotonous
thuppa-thuppa-thuppa
of their exfil helicopter.
 
He reached down and put the bone phone back in his ear, wincing at the shouted commands for him to answer.

"Command, Striker 2-1, Actual."

"What the hell is going on over there?"
shouted a new voice.
 
General Rykker did not sound pleased.
 
"Actual, I need a sit-rep, and I need it now!"

Cooper glanced down at Reginald's body.
 
His eyes swiveled to Lady Brunner, whose own eyes had gone round.
 
She lay trembling, still hogtied by strips from 13's dress, her face smeared with blood.
 
13—he couldn't process that she'd called herself 'Danika' just yet—had not gagged her, yet she remained silent.
   

Cooper turned back to Reginald and watched a bit of ash float down to land on his chest.
 
"Command, Striker 2-1, Actual.
 
HVT is not viable, repeat: HVT is not viable.
 
Plus one is good to go."

"
God damn it!
" snarled Rykker.
 
"Can you confirm ID?"

"Roger that, Command.
 
Have positive ID and samples.
 
Plus one is still viable, repeat: plus one is still viable."

"Get your asses outside to the EVAC site.
 
Command out."

Cooper called Charlie over.
 
As he stood before him, Cooper put his hand on Charlie's shoulder.
 
"When this is over, the Team is yours."

Charlie shook his head.
 
Confusion replaced the anger on his face.
 
"What the hell are you talking about?"

Cooper reached up to Charlie's headset and snapped the camera off.
 
He looked at it for a second and dropped it to the ground before crushing it under his boot.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"Saving your ass.
 
I lost my camera a while back—during the cave-in.
 
But everything you recorded would've implicated you in the court martial that's coming.
 
I
told
you—you didn't make it here in time.
 
You were not here.
 
You get me?"

Charlie shook his head.
 
"That's not how we roll, Coop.
 
All for one and one for all, right?
 
This is a brotherhood,
 
not something you can walk away from that easy."

"You're going to walk away from this.
 
I'm not."
 
He indicated his leg.
 
"I'm through.
 
They'll discharge my ass no matter what now."

"Coop!
 
Charlie!
 
I need a hand with Jax."

"Sit tight, Overwatch, we're Oscar Mike," replied Cooper.
 
He stared into Charlie's eyes for a moment.
 
"You're going to let me take the fall."

Charlie looked down at his feet then glanced up through the smoke at the ceiling.
 
Cooper shook him, then gripped Charlie's face with his grimy hands and forced him to meet his eyes.

"Promise me.
 
For the sake of your family—swear to me you will let me take the blame for this."

Cooper saw the muscles in Charlie's cheek clench a split second before he nodded, but his eyes never wavered.
 
"Fine."
 
He pulled away from Cooper and looked down at the body.
 
"You're hurt—you help her," Charlie said jerking his head toward Lady Brunner.
 
"I'll get this sack of shit."

Cooper looked up and watched the fire eat its way across the roof to the beams directly overhead.
 
Embers and sparks continued to rain down and the temperature in the Great Hall rose noticeably.
 

"No time, Charlie.
 
You grab her, I'm right behind you.
 
This whole place is about to fall on our heads."

Charlie took one last look at Reginald's body, then moved to Lady Brunner and hauled her unceremoniously to her feet.
 
"Come on sweetheart, you're coming with me."
 
He pulled out his knife and slashed the bits of dress holding her feet together so she could walk.
 
Charlie reached up and touched the soft skin under her throat.
 

"I swear to God, you try to get away from me and I will cut your fucking head off.
 
I am
not
in the mood right now."
 
He brought his face close to hers.
 
"You understand me?"

She nodded silently, her eyes wide.

Charlie led her away to the open door, down the hallway 13 had vanished.
 
Cooper hobbled over to Reginald's body and spat on the corpse.
 
"You're right, she
was
better than me."
 
A chunk of flaming debris hit the floor, scattering sparks about six feet away.
 
Cooper took one last look at the ceiling and hobbled toward the door.

C
HAPTER
47

Salmon Falls, Idaho.

A
RE
YOU
FINISHED
?”
ASKED
Denny, examining the bandage on his forearm.

“Yep,” said Dr. Granger.
 
“You know,” he added, closing up his medical kit, “what you did out there was remarkable.”

Denny shrugged back into his filthy shirt.
 
His shoulders ached where a beer bottle hit his back.
 
The doctor assured him he already had a hell of a bruise.
 
He was stiff all over and expected it to get worse as the day wore on.
 

“I didn’t want to fight him.”

The older man nodded, inspecting his glasses in front of the single large window.
 
Dr. Granger had picked the town clerk's office as a makeshift exam room.
 
“I know you didn't."
 
He sounded tired.
 
"The people do, too.”

Denny could smell the rot even in here, a faint, sickly-sweet odor.
 
“Someone should…take care of the mayor.”
 
He got off the wide desk and sighed as his aching body reminded him it needed rest.
 
“It’s not right to leave him like that.
 
He may not have been the best politician in the world, but no one deserves to be…abandoned.”

“Not many people liked that he gave up power to Townsen as quickly as he did,” the doctor observed, polishing his glasses.

Denny tucked his ragged shirt in, wincing at the pain in his right shoulder.
 
“Still.
 
It isn’t right.”

Granger put his glasses back on.
 
“You’re not mad that he sold the town out to stay in office?”

Denny shook his head.
 
“We all did things we didn’t want to do…”
 
He remembered the first Russian he killed, the look on the man’s face as his tomahawk cut through flesh and bone.
 
Memories of the other Russians he’d hunted down and executed with the help of some of the men from town—they’d made sure the town had been safe, yet when they returned, Townsen had already taken control.
 
Denny shook his head.
 
“It doesn't matter.
 
The decent thing to do would be to bury him.”

“Well, you won’t get a lot of volunteers, I’ll tell you that right now.”
 
The old man said goodbye and left.

Denny followed him into the hallway.
 
People clustered about, talking among themselves.
 
He recognized a few faces.
 
Most of them had lined the streets when he’d made the long walk to surrender.
 
As they saw him, conversations died and a hushed silence descended on the people gathered there.

They looked like they were waiting for him to say something.
 
Denny walked toward the waiting area at the far end of the hall.
 
He limped, his left knee swollen from his tussle on the steps.
 
His boots made a hollow sound in the empty hallway before him.

“Mr. Tecumseh, what’re you doing?” asked a voice behind him.

He turned and peered at the faces gathered toward the front of the building.
 
“I’m going to get a shovel so the mayor can have a decent burial.
 
It’s not right that he's been left to…”
 
Denny couldn’t bring himself to say ‘rot’.
 
“It’s not right.”

The crowd murmured and but Denny wasn’t listening.
 
He turned and continued alone toward the plain wooden door at the end of the hallway, the one with the brass plaque that read ‘Mayor’.
 
He paused, tears in his eyes from the terrible odor, hand on the doorknob.
 
Footsteps—one pair at first, then more—echoed behind him as people moved to help.
 
Without looking behind him, he took a deep breath through his mouth and opened the door.

Denny stood, dusting cold, damp earth from his fingers.
 
He pulled the filthy red bandanna from his mouth and inhaled the sweet, chilled river breeze.
 
He closed his eyes, feeling the lingering light of the winter sun impart what little heat it could before dipping behind the mountains west of town.
 
Rubbing the small of his back, he dreamed of a warm bed and a cold beer.

Burying the mayor—who had not been a small man—had taken over an hour, despite the help of a dozen men and women who’d chosen to assist Denny with his morbid task.
 
They’d hardly said a word, following Denny’s silent lead without question as they hacked and scrabbled into the frozen ground.
 
When one grew tired, they stood and handed their shovel or pick off to someone else and climbed out of the hole.
 

Finally, Denny decided they’d gone deep enough to protect the mayor’s remains from scavengers and climbed out.
 
He bowed his head and prayed that
Mishe Moneto
granted him peace and asked the mayor to watch over the town—wherever he was.

Denny looked down at the fresh mound of black dirt surrounded by the white snow.
 
He looked up at the sky and spotted another storm front on the horizon.
 
It wouldn’t be long before the mayor's resting place was protected in a white blanket, with only a crude wooden cross to serve as a marker.
 
Denny wiped his runny nose with the back of his hand and walked back to City Hall.
 
The others fell in with him.