American Bad Boy(63)
The sing along comes to an end and the news update comes on. “A tragedy today as we lost another soldier to an improvised explosive device in Afghanistan. With only three months left until our troops are finally withdrawn from the war, the loss of nineteen-year-old Private Beckett is particularly painful …”
“Turn it off,” Chelsea hisses at Lauren and jerks her head back toward me. Lauren quickly hits the button and the vehicle goes silent.
“You don’t need to do that, I’m fine.” But my voice won’t lie for me. My tone tells them the truth. They know how hard it is for me to hear about another of my brothers in arms losing his life over there.
Nineteen. Jesus, I’m almost a decade older than him. He was just a kid.
My eyes go back to the window and billows of dust waft past us. Chelsea slows the SUV down a bit as an orange sign informs us that we’re getting jammed up by construction. Damned road work, why don’t they just do repairs at night when most people aren’t out driving? I’ve never understood that. Instead, they tie up the roads with inconvenient traffic when everyone is rushing to get somewhere. Makes perfect sense.
“Is there a detour you can take or something?” I try to disguise the edge in my tone. My palms are beginning to sweat a bit at the thought of being stalled for too long.
“A detour? No, we’ve just gotta wait,” Chelsea slows down to a crawl as we near the stopped cars ahead of us. The road has been reduced to one lane and they’re letting the on coming traffic take their turn.
“Great,” I mutter, rubbing my hands together.
Outside my window, the dust from the gravel and dirt on the dug up road ahead is blowing around. It reminds me of the dust ups we used to deal with everyday in Afghanistan. Man I don’t miss those, the grains of sand whipping against my face like a million tiny razor blades. I instinctively rub my hand over the side of my face and narrow my eyes. Even though the swirling dirt is outside the window, the reaction is automatic.
“Wow, look at the huge trucks,” Lauren looks out the windshield as the ground beneath our tires begin to rumble and shake. Massive dump trucks travel toward us, carrying broken asphalt and rocks.
“They’re noisy,” Chelsea complains, raising her voice to be heard over them.
I close my eyes for a second and fight the panic I can feel rising up the back of my throat. Breathe. This is a construction zone, not a war zone. Just breathe. I look back out my window and feel prickles of sweat tingle my hairline as the oversized yellow trucks fade into battered old busses. The windows are covered with black plastic garbage bags so you can’t see inside them.
“Move! We’ve got to go! Come on!” I order, but my man at the wheel doesn’t move. “Why aren’t you going? We’re being swarmed!”
“I can’t move,” the voice is distant, like a bad transmission on a radio. “The guy in front of me isn’t moving!”
“We don’t have time for this. We’ve gotta get out of here.” I pop the door open on our Humvee and jump out. The sand clouds around my boots as I march over to the driver in our convoy who is deciding to risk everyone’s lives while the enemy is approaching.
“What are you doing?” I bang on his window. “Drive! Now! You’re gonna get us all killed!” I slam my open palm against the glass and the driver jumps up straight and looks at me. “Don’t just fucking look at me, I said to get in gear and go. We’re going to get swarmed! Don’t you see the busses coming?”
He doesn’t do anything, the insubordinate bastard. Maybe he’s afraid. They say some guys freeze up at the weirdest times. This guy couldn’t have chosen a worse one. I pop the handle on his door and grab him by his uniform, my face an inch from his. “Listen to me, you need to move or we’re all going to be killed! Do you hear me? Get this truck in gear now!” I yell. His co-navigator starts yelling too, but I can’t make out the words.
The driver just stares at me; he’s clearly not going to get this vehicle out of the way. I can’t lose my men like this. I’ve got to do something. Fast. I reach over and unclick his seat belt and pull him out of the Humvee. If he won’t move this truck, I will. I climb in and my stomach lurches.
The woman next to me. Where did she come from? I look around and the Humvee I was sitting in seconds ago has disappeared. Instead, I’m in a minivan. Terror grips my heart and my chest feels like it’s being crushed as the woman’s screams finally penetrate my ears.
“Oh my God, please, please! Don’t hurt us! Please! Let us go. You can have the van, just let me and the kids go!” she yelps.