Page 7 of Seasons of War
A lead blanket settled over his insides, one that blocked out the world, the people, and himself, so he only processed the necessities to keep his people alive. He didn't register the wails of the injured, or the fear blazing in young eyes—only the threats against his division.
Explosions, weapons, movement in the formation of soldiers.
Nothing else.
A bullet whizzed past Zayne’s ear; he fired on a target hunched by a window and opened a small hole between his eyes. Small. Neat. Effective.
A cry ripped through his intense focus, and beside him, Edwards crashed to one knee. Fumbling for her weapon, her hand staved off the dark blood pooling at her abdomen.
Shit. Fucking shit.
Zayne pivoted for his friend, skidding across the gravel, and yanked her to him. She struggled to grab the clotters that would swell inside her and pack the wound. So, Zayne snatched them, shoveled away the blood, and forced the applicator in. Edwards bucked against him, shrieking.
He wrapped his arms around his friend and held on with all his strength. “I've got you.”
Edwards couldn’t die here. She couldn't.
The thoughts felt distant, like someone yelled them from across the city.
Zayne dragged her to an alley, a prick of hope hitting him at the sight of the blood-soaked clotters bulging from her wound. A good sign that it might save her from catastrophic blood loss.
And then she vomited blood and bile all over her wound.
The pain stabbing into his heart felt as real as if he'd been shot, too. He raked his sleeve across her stomach to clear the mess away. How did he let this happen to her?
Edwards lifted four trembling fingers—always vigilant.
Four o’clock.
Zayne twisted. Caught the glint of the rocket-propelled grenade launcher aimed at a group of his privates hiding behind a dumpster.
On reflex, he trained his weapon on the enemy who stood exposed on the roof, and sheltered Edwards when he shot.
Fire.
A wall of hot air slammed into them, and he understood that he'd been too late. That he'd shot at the same time as the other man. The force of the blast threw Zayne back, and he bounced hard against the pavement, landing with his arms above his head and his fingertips brushing the cold of his weapon. Pain splintered across his back and leg.
Edwards lay at an awkward angle on top of him.
Smoke rolled up from the dumpster.
No mercy.
He stared, smothered by pain and the weight of Edward's limp body. Stared and watched for movement from the dumpster that wasn't coming because he'd failed them all.
Dragging himself toward his squad, fire tore through his leg and hip. He slid his hand through blood to feel the mingling of torn flesh and the piping-hot projectile embedded in his own thigh. A hunk of twisted metal protruded from Edward's side, piercing them both.
No, no, she couldn't take more.
Dizziness dragged his head down beneath an endless gray sky.
Soldiers rushed past him with weapons raised. Zayne strained for his own as his eyes slid closed. As he slid, not into silence, but into screaming.
Screaming and fiery words that burned defiantly above the Phaedra's tower.
SEIZE YOUR LIFE
CHAPTER 2
