“You got a key to his place?”
“I do.”
“If it gets disconnected, call me,” he said, folding his arms over his broad chest. “I’ll reconnect it.”
I mentally rolled my eyes at his foolishness. “You’d have to go inside to reconnect it. He’s infected.”
“He saved my life,” he said. “He could have been killed doing it, too. Been meaning for years to pay him back for what he did, but I never got the opportunity. I’ll take the stuff in, I’ll take his temperature, and I’ll reconnect the phone if it gets disconnected.”
A sigh of relief escaped me. “You will?”
He gave a sharp nod. “I sure will.”
A light bulb went off. “Oh my God. You’re Pratt! The guy that squashed the cookie sheet and the guy from his dreams.”
He seemed confused. “What dreams?”
“His nightmares,” I said. “He had them all night last night. He was talking in his sleep. I remember him saying your name. It came up over and over.”
He lowered his arms to his side. “What did he say?”
“Uhhm. He said. Let me see. He said, ‘Hold on Pratt. That bird. The bird is coming, can you hear it, Brother?’ Something like that.”
He swallowed heavily. Sweat burst from every pore in his brow. He began to speak several times but paused on each occasion, just before the first word passed his lips. I thought for a moment that he might break down.
“That was a long time ago.” He wiped his brow with his forearm. “Seems like. Hell, it seems like yesterday, now.”
“Can you tell me what happened?” I asked. “Can I ask? If I’m overstepping—”
“Sniper caught us while we were on patrol.” He cleared his throat. “Fucker waited for us to all get where he could see us. Then, one by one, he started picking us off. Shot up the entire rifle squad pretty bad. Rourke was our Platoon Sergeant. I took one in the chest and went down, but I didn’t realize Rourke—”
“One what?” I asked.
“A round,” he said.
I stared blankly.
“A bullet.” He pounded his clenched fist against his chest. “Right here. Missed my heart by about a centimeter.”
I couldn’t believe he got shot in the chest by a sniper and he’d lived to tell about it. Modern protective gear had probably saved more lives than I could imagine.
“But you had on a bullet-proof vest?” I asked.
He laughed. “Bullet-proof vests don’t stop sniper rounds. Small arms fire? Sure. But not a rifle round. SAPI plates are designed to stop them, but they’re too fucking heavy to wear, so we toss ‘em.”
Confused, I stared back at him wondering how he could have lived if he didn’t have a bullet-proof vest.
I shook my head in disbelief. “How then. How did you live?”
“Rourke,” he said. “Crazy fucker dragged me behind a burned-out Toyota. Was the only thing on that entire street to hide behind. Wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing.”
Everything clicked into place.
“Oh my God.” I gasped. “The ‘bird.’ That’s your lingo for a helicopter, right? He said he needed a medevac. You were that guy, weren’t you?”
“Correct. I was one of ‘em. By the time it was over, six of us were shot up, Rourke included. He was the first one. Took a round to the shoulder right before me. Never said a fucking word. Then, while we waited for the medevac, he took another in the back of his thigh. Refused to leave me, though. He got us all out of there. Every one of us. We didn’t have one casualty.”
“Was he in charge?” I asked.
“Who? Rourke?”
“Yeah. Was Braxton in charge?”
He laughed. “He was the one we listened to. I can tell you that. Our LT was a shit hat. Rourke made all the calls. Without him, we would have lost our entire platoon. Man’s got a sixth sense. He knows things. About people. About situations. Kind of eerie the way he does it, too.”
“He guessed my underwear color,” I whispered. “I’ll tell you about it some time when this is all over. Right now, I need to get him some water.”
“Got any scissors?” he asked.
It seemed like an odd request. “Sure,” I replied. “What do you need?”
“Scissors.” He made a scissors motion with his index and middle finger. “I don’t know. Do they come in different kinds?”
I laughed. “No. I meant what do you need them for?”
“I’m going to cut a mask out of my shirt,” he replied. “Left my house so fast I forgot mine. Not looking to get infected if that fucker coughs on me.”
“The pharmacist gave me a few masks and some rubber gloves. I’ve got some scrubs, too. I doubt they’d fit.”
He looked at me like I was crazy. “I’m not going to snuggle with the grumpy bastard. I’ll put some Gatorade beside him, take his temperature, and—it’s not a rectal thermometer, is it?”
“It’s all they had.” I shrugged. “They were sold out of everything else.”
He winced.
“I’m joking,” I said. “It’s one of those point and shoot deals.”
“I was about to say you could don those scrubs and one of those masks and come with me. I’d spread his cheeks and you could poke it in.”
“Reverse those roles, and I’m in,” I said with a laugh.
“Not happening. Gimme the mask and gloves, and I’m good,” he said. “If that prick infects me through that gear, it was meant to be.”
Although I was willing to do what I must, I was apprehensive to enter Braxton’s home. Now that Pratt had volunteered, I was able to exhale a sigh of relief. “You have no idea how much I appreciate this. I’ve been nervous all morning.”
He pulled a lollipop from his back pocket and peeled off the wrapper. “Want one?”
“No, thank you.”
“Got a box of ‘em in the truck.” He poked it in his mouth. “If you want one, I got every flavor these little fuckers come in.”
I chuckled. “I’m good.”
“Suit yourself.” He chuckled. “Rourke got me to saying that. Suit yourself. He says it all the time.” He gestured toward my car. “Go grab the stuff. I better get in there before I come to my senses.”
“If you don’t want to do it—”
He pulled the sucker from his mouth and wagged it in my direction. “Women, the elderly, and kids.”
I was lost. His comment made no sense. “Huh?”
“Women, the elderly, or children. Can’t let harm come to any of ‘em, or Rourke would have my ass,” he said. “One of his rules. You ain’t a kid or elderly, but you’re one hundred percent woman. I’m just trying to make sure Rourke don’t furlough me for breaking the rules once he gets well.”
I laughed. “Okay.”
It was obvious the comments Marge made about Braxton a few days earlier were right. Contrary to what one might perceive from his sexual antics, Braxton was a good man on the inside.
I glanced at Pratt and then turned toward my car. His existence on earth was proof.