Swap Out (33 page)

“Luca!”
Scott yells as my left hand slips free of the crack, and there’s only one thing I can do in my final moment on this earth.

With my knees and hands and everything I have, I launch back: praying I’ll clear him on my way down even as my stomach bounds into my throat, empty wind encasing me and my arms and legs unfurled in surrender.

And as I fall I have one glimpse of his outline rushing past me, the tall red rock touching blue sky and white clouds and then—

Something nudges my shoulder and my head lolls.

“Luca, hey man, wake up…”

I groan and my eyes open, my body flinching when I see the endless air in front of me and my feet dangling over nothing. But my view is outlined by the open doors of a helicopter, whipped air pounding through my ears and the ground flashing below as we fly over it.

My gaze drops to the M4 in my hands, and when I look to the right, Scott is chuckling at me. While
dressed in camo fatigues and a Kevlar vest, an M4 in his own hands and helmet on.

“What…” I start, and he rolls his eyes then flicks my helmet.

“One Cat Alpha, we’re fifteen minutes in since the mission dropped. You think you can stay awake until our shift is over?”

I blink and shake my head, looking around. Our third PJ is manning the other door, scoping the ground through his rifle. Two pilots and two gunners, and I’m absolutely in the back of a HH-60 Pave Hawk helicopter. Everything is where it’s supposed to be: medical equipment stashed and labeled, a splatter of blood on the edge of the door, and I
know
this. I practically lived in this helicopter for four years, but that was a long time ago.

I shouldn’t be here.

“Jaguar 6-1, Flight Ops,”
my commander’s voice says through my headset. “
Be advised: ground team had to evac due to other hostile contact in area. Open desert, flat terrain, entry is at POI. Out copy.”

“Copy, Fly Ops,” Scott says, then jerks his chin at me. “You okay with us going in Lone Ranger style?”

“Have to be,” I mutter, then let my hands relearn the feeling of my M4: the weight, the placement of the trigger, the sight through the scope. But I still have no idea what the fuck is going on. I lean over to Scott, covering my headset mic and saying as quietly as the roar of the helicopter blades will allow, “When did we get here?”

His eyebrow arches over his sunglasses, and I clear my throat.

“I just mean…does Zoe know where we are?”

“Who’s Zoe?” he asks, confused, and suddenly, I don’t know either.

Why would I ask him that?

“Hey,” he says, lightly punching my shoulder, “you all right, man?”

“Yeah,” I tell him, but I don’t know if it’s a lie. “I’m fine.”

We don’t say anything else over the next two minutes, and I watch the ground rush by below me, but it doesn’t look right. It’s a little blurry, but maybe that’s just from exhaustion.

I’m so freaking confused.

But I don’t have time to sort it out because the next thing I know, the pilots are telling us it’s a right door offload and we’re touching down in thirty seconds, and I hold my breath. Do I still know how to do this?

I pull my legs in and crouch down, scanning the area.

“Tail down in five, four, three, two, one. Tail down,” the pilot says and I hang on to the inside of the door, my body jostling as we land. “Jaguar 6-1 is wheels down.”

“Clear: one o’clock, one o’clock, one o’clock,” the gunner relays and then Scott moves, hopping down and taking three hesitant steps before he kneels, continuing to scan the area since we’re all alone and dangerously exposed: there could be IEDs, insurgents, anything waiting to pop up. I hate doing shit like this.

“Clear,” he claims and I’m out next, surveying the open desert to the left as I kneel beside him.

“Clear,” I repeat, our third coming up between us and taking point.

“Move out,” he commands and both Scott and I stand, my finger itching towards my trigger as we hurriedly make our way towards nowhere and away from the safety of our helo. And I’m not sure where we’re going, but it can’t be far. If we’re coming in at the Point Of Injury then she has to be close and they always give the coordinates before we land. Except I don’t remember hearing them and I don’t see
anything
: no blip of a body in the golden desert stretching out beyond. My worst suspicions are confirmed when I hear the lead PJ mutter, “Shit, where is she?”

My head whips forward from where I’ve been scanning our left flank, and I can’t stop thinking that this is wrong. Something is so wrong. We
never
go in blind like this. But we have to keep going.

My eyes scan for any possibility of where she’s hiding, and the flat desert is butting into a mountain. It’s steep and tall but not impossible, a plateau to the right about fifty feet up and suddenly, I know.

“She’s up top!” I call out, Scott following my gaze.

“There’s no way she’d make it up there,” he tells me, but I
know
with everything in me that’s where she is, and we don’t have the time to fuck around. She’s dying and we have to get to her.

I don’t hesitate: running past Scott and the other PJ.

“Luca!” they both call after me, but I ignore them as I swing my M4 around so it’s on my back. When I’m at the base I stop and scan the rock in front of me, covering my hands in sand and finally, I find a route.

And then I start to climb.

“Luca, can you hear me?” someone yells, but I block it out as I focus on finding the most stable hand and footholds, pulling myself up and determined not to think about the fact that I’m not tied in and that if I fall, I’ll be dead. Instead I grit my teeth and haul myself up higher; the sun raining down and pounding through my fatigues, my combat boots nowhere near the thin rubber soles that I need for this, but they grip and cling as I climb faster and my hands stay steady, grasping onto thin divots and small protrusions like they were made just for me.

I’m drenched in sweat and out of breath when I finally make it to the top, my arms pushing me over the edge as my right knee finds the plateau, then my body gives under a shriek of pain. A raw bellow screams out of me and I gasp for breath, but it’s impossible to find. I gulp air with everything I have, but it’s not coming.

Elevation, my brain says. It’s the elevation.

I manage to roll fully onto the flat surface, my muscles cramping with protest and my cheek scraping against rocks, then something pierces me, sharp and angry, directly in my chest. Shock paralyzes me, agony surging and remaking my existence.

My mind screams the words torture, suffering, blood and torn flesh and pain, pain, pain and it is
endless
.

But there’s a whimper from somewhere nearby and when my head turns, I realize I can breathe again.

The girl. I have to save her.

I grit my teeth and push myself up to my knees, hearing as Scott calls from below, “Hang in there, Luca, they’re on their way.”

“She’s up here!” I yell back, my ankle crumbling under me when I try to stand and as my body smashes back into the dirt, I cough out a splatter of blood. “Tell them to hurry!”

Slow and excruciating, I finally manage to stand and stumble around for what feels like forever, hours fading into what should have only been minutes, the plateau stretching out indefinitely and my vision blurring into obscurity after only three feet. But I know I heard her and she has to be up here. I just…I have to find her.

And as I stagger and search, I hear Scott talking to me in my headset: telling me stories of us going through indoc, of all the crazy stunts we’ve pulled since then and how all our friends think we’re crazy but he doesn’t care.

I don’t need that shit now. I need him beside me, to have my back like we’re supposed to do for each other.

“Stop rambling about the past and get up here and help me find her,” I say into my headset, coughing out more blood and a new pain slicing down my right side.

“Just…don’t give up, Luca,” he answers, and I swear to God the first chance I get I’m going to beat the crap out of him for bailing on me.

“I’m not the one still on the ground,” I grumble, then trip over something and crash onto the hard surface at my feet. I grit out a curse and look, then my eyes bulge and my heart stops and
oh my God.

Zoe.

As soon as I see her it all comes rushing back and I rip off my helmet and crawl over to where she’s lying motionless, my eyes filling with tears as my hands carefully search her body. She sucks in a desperate breath but her eyes are open and soft, a smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. Her stomach is huge, round like she must be close to nine months pregnant and her hands are hugged around it, cradling her belly protectively.

“Luca,” she breathes, and I lock my shaking jaw closed as I look her over again for injuries. “It’s going to be okay. You’re here now,” she whispers, and that’s when I see it.

There’s blood pooling in her chest, seeping through the red silk fabric of her shirt and staining it almost black. My eyes dart back to her face and a drop of crimson rolls from her eye back into the hairs by her temple, another forming at the corner of her lips.

“I’m here,” I choke out, laying my hands over each other and pressing them against the gunshot wound in her heart. “You’re going to be okay,” I promise, but she’s losing so much blood and I don’t have anything with me: no blood for a transfusion or a needle to start an IV, no gauze or Ketamine and she’s…she’s paling with every blink of my eyes and this cannot happen.

“Oh my God, Luca,” she says, her voice cracking as she bursts into tears. “What did you do?”

“I’m sorry,” I tell her, ducking my head to wipe my eyes on my sleeve. “I didn’t mean to—”

“We have to move,
now
,” someone says from behind me, and I whip around, the third PJ just staring at Zoe.

“She needs blood, O+, and we have to get her secured and radio the hospital that they need to be ready to do an emergency C-section,” I rattle off, but he doesn’t move. “Help me!”

“Okay,” she says to him, nodding solemnly, then dust kicks up all around us, swirling the world into a tornado of golden sand that burns and stings and hides everything except for her. I glance up and see a helicopter hovering, a rescue basket being lowered. Thank God, we have to get her to a hospital.
Now
.

A hand lays against my cheek, soft and warm and familiar, but when it’s followed by a ding that reminds me of subways and elevators, I look back to Zoe and her eyes are cold. Her hand falls away and I suck in a breath.

“Zoe?” I test, but she doesn’t move, doesn’t blink.

“Start a second IV for morphine, we don’t have time to wait,” the PJ behind me snaps, but I barely hear him.

All I can think is Zoe doesn’t seem to be breathing, someone nearby is crying louder and louder, a team of foreign hands are shining lights in her open and unseeing eyes, checking her pulse,
touching her
and rapid-fire spouting off things like, “BP dropping, pulse: thready and weak…”

“…possible internal bleeding…”

“…unknown head injuries…”

I bat the other hands away to check her pulse myself, but there isn’t one. The blood stains of my hands on her neck stay behind, and I gather her in my arms and slightly jostle her, but her head only falls lifelessly back.

“Zoe, baby, wake up…” I try but when she still doesn’t move, a raw howl pours out of my throat. “Zoe!” I scream, but there’s nothing. Nothing.

She can’t be…she can’t be…

I gently lay her back down and as fast as I can manage I start CPR, but she’s not responding. Dammit, why can’t I fix this?

Harder and faster I breathe air into her lungs and practically beat my fists against her chest, but it’s not working and I don’t know what else to do.

“…pulse is still dropping…”

“…not going to make it to surgery…”

“Do something!” I hear her voice shout, but her mouth didn’t move and I don’t understand.

“Someone get her under control!”

“Zoe…” I hear Scott pleadingly choke out, and my eyes squeeze shut as I re-gather her body and hug it to me. Her head is limp against my shoulder, hair sticking to the blood on my hands and her cheek is cold against mine. I only have one gulp of the scent of her before hands grip the tops of my arms, wrenching me back and ripping her away from me, and I thrash and kick but I can’t get free.

“We’re losing him!” someone yells as they drag me away and shove me into the basket tethered to the helicopter that was meant to save her and didn’t, Zoe’s body just lying there on the ground, broken and abandoned and forgotten.

“Get it charged!
Now!
”

“Zoe!” I shout again, reaching for her over the rail and tears ripping down my cheeks, but no matter what I do, I can’t get to her. I’m trapped, caught, and I can’t get to her. I can barely see the brown flashes of her hair blowing in the wind, her body disappearing under a wave of dust and sand and
I can’t move.

“Clear!”

“Luca!”
she suddenly shrieks, the sound shrill and desperate and it cuts right through me, and then my whole body jerks vertically as they pull me up.