TYLER (Blake Security Book 2) (6 page)

TYLER

It was a few days after the accident before I was alert enough to really grasp what had happened. My thoughts were jumbled up in my head, and I wasn’t sure what was real. I knew that I was in the hospital. I remembered that Sam had been there, but not Dad and not Ariana—and I knew why. First, I had killed my own mother, and then Dad threw me out of the house. Then I’d gotten drunk with Brandon, and now Brandon was dead. They probably all hated me. It was all so surreal; I wished that none of it was real.

When I first woke up in the hospital, I had just come out of surgery. I’d had a dislocated shoulder, a broken femur, a few broken ribs, and I’d lost my spleen and had a chest tube for a few days while my punctured lung healed. None of that mattered though when I finally got them to tell me what happened to Brandon.

A sheriff deputy came in to talk to me and told me that I had been thrown through the windshield and landed about twelve feet in front of the car on the pavement. That would explain all of the cuts and abrasions on my chest and stomach and arms. Brandon had his seatbelt on. When we impacted the tree, the car had crushed him, killing him instantly. The cop asked if we had been drinking, and I told him honestly, yes. There was a part of me that was hoping they would arrest me, a part of me that needed to be punished for killing my mom and my best friend. The cop said they knew Brandon was driving, and since he was the one that caused the accident, there wouldn’t be any charges brought against me.

“Can you do me a favor?” I asked the cop before he left.

“What’s that?”

“My mother died right before all of this happened. Can you call the mortuary for me and find out when her services are?”

“Sure,” the cop said with a sympathetic look in his eyes. I hated that. I didn’t deserve the man’s sympathy. I didn’t deserve anyone’s sympathy. A little while later, the cop came back and said, “It’s today, son, in a couple of hours.” I started to climb out of the bed. “Whoa, I don’t think they’ve discharged you yet.”

“I’m not missing my mother’s funeral!”

“Okay, stay in the bed for a second and let me get a nurse.” I watched the cop leave and then climbed out of the bed. There wasn’t a spot on or in my body that didn’t hurt, ache, or throb. I could barely hold myself up, as I searched the room for my clothes. I finally found a plastic bag that had the shirt and pants I’d been wearing the day of the accident. I pulled the shirt on over my head and looked down at it. It had holes in it and it was all bloody. I struggled with getting my jeans on because I couldn’t bend over. I had staples in my abdomen and shoulder, stitches in my face and arms and chest. I was a freaking mess…but still better off than Brandon and Mom.

I finally got my pants on and started looking for my shoes when the cop came back in. “I thought you were going to stay put.”

“My mother is dead. I’m going to the funeral.”

“You can’t go looking like that.”

I looked down at myself again. I remembered Dad throwing me out. I couldn’t go by there and change. I picked up the phone at the bedside and dialed in Sam’s number. When Sam answered, I said, “Man, I need a huge favor.”

*****

              I found out from Sam that Brandon was being buried that afternoon as well, two hours after Mom. The parish was so small that they were being eulogized and buried both in the same place. By the time Sam brought me some decent, clean clothes and I showered and got back to town, I was too late for Mom’s church services. I got to the graveyard as the pastor was speaking. There were a lot of people there, and I stood in the back where I wouldn’t have to endure their stares, or worse yet, my father’s rage again. I knew that most of those people would be attending Brandon’s burial as well. His church services should be over soon, and they would bring his body out. I thought about Ariana. What must she be going through? What must she think of me? It suddenly dawned on me that I was in the hospital for three days and she never came. Her brother was dead and that was horrible…but wouldn’t she have come to see me if she knew that I was hurt? Jesus…what if she never wanted to see me again?

              As Mom’s services came to an end and people lined up to file past the coffin and wish Dad well, Brandon’s family arrived for his burial. I didn’t see any of them at first. My eyes and mind were focused on the box they were going to seal my mother into the ground in. I just felt something on my arm all of a sudden, and I turned around. It was Ariana. I felt relief, until I saw the fire in her eyes.

              “What happened, Tyler? Why was Brandon driving your car? Why was he drinking and driving? He never did that. Zoe said when she left him at Sam’s, he was completely sober.”

              My head was still fuzzy about the details. I wasn’t sure where to start. I tried by saying, “My mother died…”

              Ariana’s face softened. “I know. I’m so sorry for your loss. But Tyler, my family is devastated, and we need answers.”

              “We don’t need any answers! Right here is your answer!” Ariana’s mother had arrived. “I told Brandon—and I told you too, Ariana—he’s bad. I told you both he would get you into trouble. I had no idea he’d kill your brother, my only son!”

              I was looking at the two women, feeling like I was in a state of shock. Ariana’s eyes were accusing, and her mother’s were full of venom. Meanwhile, my own mother lay dead four feet away. Nothing could be worse than this.

              “Mrs. Douglas…I’m so sorry about Brandon.”

              She gritted her teeth and reached out like she was going to slap me. Ariana put her hand on her mother’s arm and stopped her. “I hate you. You should have died and not my son!” she spat out. I looked at Ariana again and wondered if she felt the same. She was still looking at me, but I couldn’t read her thoughts. I looked over towards my mother’s grave again, this time locking eyes with Dad. His eyes told me exactly what he was thinking. I’d never been in a place before where so many people despised me.

              “I’m sorry,” I said, as I backed away. I walked as quickly as I could across the grass of the cemetery. I could hear Ariana and Dad yelling my name. There was nothing more they could say to me that I wasn’t saying to myself. I’d single-handedly destroyed two families in the space of three days. I had to get out of there and go where I wasn’t able to hurt anyone I loved ever again.

SEVENTEEN YEARS LATER

TYLER

Mortar fire was so common that my teammates and I hardly even noticed it anymore…but that morning it was different. They were the last ones left in the Helmand Providence, Afghanistan. The Marines had just pulled out, and Special Ops was scheduled to pull out the following day. The war was over…or so they said. The insurgents hadn’t let up on their mortar fire, but it was so non-lethal that sometimes it was even laughable. That morning, I woke to the sound of it hitting close to the barracks. My feet were on the floor, and I was slipping into my boots next to my buddy Two-Finger Mac who slept on the bottom bunk. We were both wide-awake and ready to move in seconds.

“What the hell?” Mac asked me, like maybe I’d thrown the mortar.

“Hell if I know” was my standard reply to most of Mac’s questions.

We were pulling our gun straps across our shoulders when the second round hit. That one was a lot closer, too close, and even more unusual was that normally the insurgents were one-hit wonders. The third followed it almost immediately and shook the barracks like a massive quake.

“Shit!” Freddie hollered out again before I heard the sounds of gunshots outside. We headed for the door, but before we made it, there was an actual explosion. The lights went out, and we were both propelled backwards as smoke instantly filled the room. I landed on my back but immediately rolled onto my stomach. It was the position we were trained to take. Legs crossed and hands over my ears to save what hearing I could. The barracks were filled with the sounds of coughing and hacking. I couldn’t see anything except for the smoke that filled the room. I made a near fatal mistake by holding my head up and sucking in a deep breath. Whatever was in the air set my lungs on fire. My eyes were burning too and watering so badly that I could barely keep them open. It was a chemical bomb!

Over the sounds of coughing, I yelled out to my men, “Everyone okay?”

I tried to listen for the sounds of all of my team. There were only eight of us. We were one of two teams left. The other had gone into town before the sun had come up on foot patrol, so I knew we had to account for eight that morning. I heard Hawk and Grayson yell out in the affirmative, followed by a wheeze and a hack. A few seconds later came Stitch, Lane and Colfax. Then there was silence. “Timber! Mac!” the coughing continued and as my heart raced into a panic I tried talking myself down. They just can’t talk, they’re coughing. Louder this time with my lungs searing in my chest I said, “Mac! Timber! Damn it! Are you okay?”

A few feet from me I heard a gurgle. As I was dropping to my knees I heard Mac call out behind me, “I’m okay, Staff Sergeant.”

“Timber?” I could barely make out his silhouette. I used my hands to feel along his face and chest like a blind man until I felt the thick rush of warm blood bubbling up out of his chest. I felt sick to my stomach even as I said, “Hang on, Timber. We’re going to get you out of here.” My own voice was unrecognizable. My throat was like raw meat.

“All due respect, Staff Sergeant,” the sound of my second-in-command, Colfax, floated in with the smoke from the east side of the barracks. “We gonna stay in bed all day?”

As loudly as I was able to manage it, I yelled at my men to get out. I could hear them shuffling and moving as they did. A pair of boots stopped next to me, and I knew they were Mac’s before I looked up. “Top or bottom?” was all Mac said.

“I got the top,” I told him. I grabbed Timber underneath his arms and Mac scooped up his legs. Timber was six foot five and had to weigh close to three hundred pounds in his equipment, but we weren’t leaving him there.

As we got closer to the door, I could hear the sounds of rapid gunfire. I looked at Mac as soon as we hit daylight, and without another word, we both crouched down low, holding Timber only a foot or less off the ground as debris from the building and gunshots rained down onto all of our heads. The air outside wasn’t much better than inside. I decided that it must have been a suicide bomber with a truck filled with chlorine. Sneaky bastards. The rest of my men covered us, firing off shots of their own until we reached the man-made barrier along the edge of the base. We laid Timber down in the mud and called for transport. I knelt down next to him, and that was when I realized Timber was already gone. I didn’t have time to mourn him, but I offered him what respect I could by moving his body further down into the pit where it wouldn’t be tramped or fired on. Then I pressed my gun into my shoulder and began firing toward whatever was firing at us. I still couldn’t see anything though, we needed to get higher, above all this smoke.

I looked to my team and said, “We have to get to higher ground. On my count we’re making a break for the lookout. Hopefully, we’ll be able to see these bastards from there.” My men all nodded their assent. I waited until there seemed to be a break in the gunfire and yelled at them to go. They all ran, sucking in the thick, contaminated air and still hacking and spiting as they moved.

We were like ducks in a shooting gallery as we ran across the open area. I was relieved not to hear any gunfire until just before the last man in front of me ran inside. I fired back, drawing the fire in my direction. I felt the first bullet rip through my side when I was about six feet from the door of the building. I only had enough time to register that it was probably only a flesh wound before the second bullet caught me in the left shoulder. The adrenaline kept me from registering the pain, but watching my shoulder explode was surreal.

I pushed on and ran up the stairs. My breaths were getting shorter, and the pain was fighting through the adrenaline mask now. I could hear bullets bouncing off the roof and the side of the building when I got to the top. I paused and waited for another break before I moved again. I ran toward the corner of the building where there was an Iraqi soldier. My men covered the other three corners. 

The gunshots continued, and I pressed my M30 into my non-injured shoulder and sighted it. I still couldn’t see anyone. I looked at the Iraqi soldier and asked, “Who are we shooting at? Where the hell are they?”

He shrugged. He didn’t know either. They were probably holed up in one of the buildings down below, but they had to have a sniper somewhere up high, too. I laid flat and scooted on my belly to the edge and looked over. With my gun perched against my shoulder, I placed my finger over the trigger and looked through the sight, as I moved it slowly across the seemingly deserted base. It took some time, but finally just slightly east of us, I saw him, the sniper. He was inside the open window of a room on the top story of the administration building.

“Sniper!” I yelled. I turned to fire and….

I woke up to the sounds of my own blood curdling screams…again. I was on the couch, and my body was bathed in sweat. It took me several seconds to remember where I was. I was home, sort of. When I was forced to retired from the army, I bought a small farmhouse in South Dakota. Every time I woke up like this, I was once again grateful that my nearest neighbor was three miles away. Otherwise, I’d have neighbors calling nine-one-one almost every time I closed my eyes. I hated this shit!

I pulled myself up and went into the small bathroom that connected the living room and bedroom. I’d stripped down to my underwear earlier, planning to have one more beer and then go to bed, but I hadn’t made it that far. I spent my days working on the farm from sun up to sundown, anything to keep from remembering, or dreaming. I looked at myself in the mirror over the sink. The scar across my left shoulder was deep and huge. Even underneath the tattoos that now covered it, it was visible. I let my eyes follow the tats down along my side to the next scar. That one wasn’t as big as the one on my shoulder, but as it turned out the bullet had nicked my liver and part of that had to be removed. The scars across my abdomen were remnants of the accident with Brandon, and I didn’t cover those out of a morbid need to remember. I didn’t remember the days I spent at the military hospital in Germany. Go figure. My mind held onto all of the crap leading up to it instead.

I leaned down and splashed water on my face. As soon as I stood up and reached for the towel, the image that my brain had fought off while I was sleeping, flashed before my eyes in the mirror. I’d yelled sniper and opened fire. To this day I can’t figure out why, but Mac stood up. I yelled at him to get down just before the bullet ripped through the side of his head just underneath his crooked helmet. The image of his head exploding haunted me continuously. Everything and everyone I touched seemed to die. I couldn’t stand to look at myself any longer. I pulled back my fist and let it fly and land in the center of the mirror. I watched it shatter even as thick pools of blood were already gathering in the sink.