Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 102549 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102549 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Wherever the fuck here is.
If it weren’t for the raging hot fire in my leg, my clammy skin, and the chances of surviving this hell running through my mind, I could pretend I was on vacation.
I glance down at my leg again, hoping that the sight before I passed out was a dream. It was not. My left knee is twisted, and there, sticking out of my skin, is either my tibia or fibula. I can’t tell which.
Other than the burning sensation, I can’t feel much of anything, so that’s a bonus. Or maybe it means I’m so far past gone that I’m numb to everything else.
All the possibilities I could have after something like that.
The actual moment it happened is all a blur, but there’s a clear memory that’s replaying in my head over and over. The alarms in the helo, the rapid descent, the moment of impact where water smashed through the cockpit windshield, and then … darkness. Painful, fiery darkness.
Don’t ask me how we got to land because I don’t know.
“You know,” Shanahan says beside me. He’s been designated my official babysitter while the others try to figure out where the fuck we are. The ones who can move, that is. Our pilot, Levenson, and copilot, Moran, lie on either side of me, and I’m too scared to ask if they’re dead or alive.
“You know what?” Fuck, talking hurts. I try to shift to get comfortable, but that makes sharp pain shoot through my body.
“All those times when being asked hypothetical questions like, what would you do if you were on a deserted island, none of them ever included this part of it.”
That doesn’t even make sense. “What?”
“Well, to get on a deserted island, there has to be some big event before it. No one would choose to have no technology—that’s not a vacation. So really, that question is asking, ‘what would you do if you almost died?’ It’s dark if you think about it too hard.”
I close my eyes. “While you think of that, I’m more asking myself how it’s possible that I’ve been on dangerous missions, faced enemy fire, lost teammates to war, and it’s a mechanical failure on a training op that takes me down.” That’s what they think it was, anyway.
It all happened so fast. One minute we were completing stealth exercises, the next, we were in a tailspin and hurtling toward the ocean. Most likely, it was minutes, but the crash seemed like seconds. We didn’t have time to do anything to stop it or get ourselves out or anything.
I’ve had days of being in and out of consciousness, in agonizing pain where I’ve been close to asking one of the guys to end it for me, but my thoughts always venture back to that question. How is it that this is the thing that kills me?
Kit and Brady are a close second. Because while I’m here begging for death, I can’t help thinking what it would do to them. How I never got the chance to tell them how I truly feel. Telling Kit I need him and miss him is one thing, telling them both that I can no longer live without them is another.
My thoughts over surviving don’t even revolve around whether or not I’ll still have a navy career after this. They’re all about them.
“You’ll be back on your feet in no time,” Shanahan says, but we both know that’s an empty promise.
Has he seen my leg?
I can’t feel anything in my other one, but I’m hoping that’s only because my left is giving me so much pain, even through the painkillers and trauma treatment the guys could manage to give me.
“Either we’re on an island that’s so deserted the guys can’t find anyone for help, or we’re on a party island and they forgot we’re here,” I say. “It’s been three days. Right? I remember seeing the night sky at least that many times.”
“Two,” Shanahan says. “You woke up last night screaming in agony. You probably thought another day had passed. Also, they’re not back yet because our indestructible locator beacon Terri grabbed from the Hawk was broken, so Woods is on that mountain trying to fix it.” He points to the east. No, west? Whatever direction is to our left. “Once that’s up and running, they’ll be able to find us.”
He’s already told me that, I’m sure of it.
“Comms?” I ask.
“Fried. Whatever happened to make us fall out of the sky, it fried everything.”
“How far offshore did we crash?”
“Miles.”
He’s told me that too. Finding us without the locator beacon or comms would be like finding a needle in a haystack.
My mind is fuzzy, and when I’m not focused on the burning sensation in my leg, I realize I have a killer headache.
“Shanahan?” I ask.
“Mm?”
“Do I have a concussion?”