“Striker,” 2-Stroke yelled, and his brother broke off combat and started after Saint. 2-Stroke turned and ran after him, holding Chry close, his legs pumping. Sweat poured off him. As he neared the border, the automatic gunfire stopped, but he didn’t turn around to find out why. He kept running.
Then a single shot cracked in the air. Something hit him in the back and punched the air right out of him, a pinching, burning pain that spread to his chest and stung, then turned sharp. He felt dizzy, a cold, damp flushing feeling suffusing his face. He made it a few more steps, then started to crumple as the energy seemed to be sucked out of him.
Hands and arms were there taking Chry, but 2-Stroke was already falling. He hit the ground, immediately tasting blood, coughing and having a hard time taking a breath. He heard a dissonance of voices above him, but he suddenly couldn’t breathe.
Chry, he thought, realizing that he’d been shot. I’m sorry.
16
2-Stroke woke slowly. It was like walking through a field of cotton candy, the pink behind his eyelids. The first thing he thought was that taking a breath didn’t hurt, though there was discomfort in his upper chest. He opened his eyes and realized that the soreness was because his chest was tubed up, a machine whirring rhythmically beside him.
“Hey, there,” Saint said. “Welcome back.”
“What happened?” 2-Stroke asked. Then the memory came rushing back at him. “Chry! Where is she? Is she all right?”
“She’s fine,” Saint said, pushing on his shoulder to keep him against the mattress. “She’s in LA. She got shot in the upper thigh and it required some surgery. The Navy flew her home to get treated as one of the best surgeons for her type of injury is there.”
He closed his eyes, his relief flowing out of him as the tension in his shoulders subsided. “My brother?”
Saint’s jaw tightened. “He was called back to San Diego. The brass was pretty pissed. We haven’t heard anything yet.” He leaned forward. “He didn’t want to leave you, but he had no choice.”
“I understand. He’s not going to get out of this unscathed.” He was also relieved that Dean was all right, but he could only hope the brass would overlook his rash actions and give him a pass. It wasn’t likely, but there was always hope.
“I know. He knows it, too.”
“Aella?”
“She’s here at Walter Reed. She had a compound fracture of the tibia, and she’s in traction after her surgery that repaired some muscle and nerves. She’s looking at about eight weeks of recuperation, but the orthopedic doctor expects she’ll make a full recovery.”
Aella must hate this as much as he did. She was looking at a much longer recovery time. What he knew of the ATF agent, she was going to chaff against her physical restrictions.
“And Alek?”
“Anna pulled strings and he’s currently with his mom’s cousin here in Bethesda. The guy was overjoyed to see him. He’s a wealthy lawyer and plans to get Alek somewhere safe along with beefed up security. He’s in good hands.”
“I wish I could have said goodbye.” He felt nothing but gratitude for the teenager who had risked his life to save them all.
“Yeah, the kid was broken up about the two of you. Maybe in a day or two you can talk to him on the phone.”
“I would like that.”
Saint smiled. “Now that we’ve got everyone out of the way, how are you feeling?”
“It doesn’t hurt to breathe anymore.”
“That’s good.” Saint sat down in the chair next to the bed. “Darko sniped you, but as soon as you went down, they turned around and left. We had Federal Government troops to back us up. It seems that the President of Republika Srpska is in some hot water for failing to stop Darko in Banja Luka. The State Department is demanding answers, but he keeps saying that he does his best with the criminal element and can’t control what they do.”
“That’s because he was part of the conspiracy to kill a federal agent and a Navy SEAL.”
Saint nodded. “You’re doing great, by the way.”
“What’s all this?”
“A few chest tubes since you experienced a pneumo-hemothorax. We flew you out the next day once you’d stabilized.”
“English, Doc?”
“When you have a hole in your torso, air comes into the chest cavity. When there is enough air from the outside, it gathers around your lung and collapses it. This air surrounding the lung keeps it from expanding and that keeps you from breathing. You were also bleeding, which compounded the problem.”
“Now was that so hard?”
Saint chuckled. “The even better news is that the bullet didn’t hit anything vital, so your lung is already expanding as we drain the fluid. You had to have surgery and that’s why you were flown here. Dr. Charles repaired your lung and pleura…tissue around the lung. They did it through these tiny cameras which cause less scarring and will give you a quicker recovery. Your doctor doesn’t expect there will be any long-term repercussions. You should be out of here in a couple of weeks.”
That was great news and maybe it was the painkillers kicking in, but he couldn’t seem to hold on to the anxiety of knowing Darko and Zasha were still out there. He was sure when he was recovered, his worry about them plotting something else would grip him again.
“Okay, bro. I will talk to you later. I’ve got another twelve hours before I have to be on a plane back to San Diego myself. Want to say goodbye to Aella.”
2-Stroke nodded but grabbed Saint by the sleeve before he could leave. “I wanted to thank you for coming after me. I know I’ve been…reserved, but I appreciate everything you’ve done for me and Chry. I can’t imagine what would have happened to her if you hadn’t been there.”
“You have to know we will always have your back.”
“That’s what LT said.” 2-Stroke smiled and nodded. “Yeah, I get it loud and clear.” He took a breath. “Hey, before you go, could you get me some drawing materials…a notebook, a couple of pencils?”
Saint grinned. “Yeah, I think I can manage that. Rest and listen to the doc. I’ll be back later with your stuff.
After Saint left looking like he had one heck of a heavy heart, 2-Stroke took another two weeks to recover enough to go home. He only got periodic texts from Chry that her surgery went very well, and she was on the mend. Her messages were bare-bones, and 2-Stroke couldn’t help wondering if, now that they were out of that life and death situation, maybe she was having second thoughts about him, about his lifestyle, about his choice of job. There were things they needed to talk about, but he was reluctant to bring up anything that could be tension-filled after they had been through months of torture, starvation, pain, and terror, not to mention a desperate run for their lives and getting shot multiple times.
On the day he was to be discharged, the team was being recalled back to San Diego, but 2-Stroke wasn’t going back there. He was going to LA to finish his recovery, see his brother, and visit Chry.
As he was getting dressed, the stitches in his side itching beneath the simple white bandage, he took a deep breath, feeling no pain. He wasn’t exactly one hundred percent, but he would be once he rejoined the team.