Liz Johnson - SEAL Under Siege

A voice screamed a Lybanian curse, but his words were cut off in the middle of his rage. Something banged into one of the walls, shaking the whole house once again.

In the stillness that followed, she held herself together only by a string of prayers, her eyes still searching the thick darkness for any sign. Of what, she wasn’t sure. This was clearly more than just another card game gone wrong. But what was causing such a struggle?

On shaking legs she pushed herself to stand, tucking the piece of paper beneath her collar and into the lining of her undershirt. She ran empty hands along the crumbling wall and turned the corner when she reached it. Silence still prevailed below as she reached the door, jiggling the locked handle for the hundredth time.

But this time when she pulled her hand back, it rattled again. Someone was out there.

Scurrying backward to her safe corner, she tripped on her floor-length robe and fell sprawled on her backside.

Just as she landed, the frame around the door splintered and the panel flew open. She threw her hands over her eyes, protecting them from the sudden glare of light added to her world, but not before she made out the silhouette of a man whose broad shoulders filled the empty frame.

He screamed at her in Arabic as he ran toward her corner, his words drowned out by the ringing in her ears.

And then there were two men, a second silhouette materializing behind the first. Her eyes were stinging from the light, blurring the images, but the second man pushed the first man, who crumpled to the ground.

It was a dream. It had to be. Or maybe her eyes without her contacts or glasses were playing tricks on her.

But no matter how hard she squinted, there were still two men, one on the ground and the other standing over him, looking gigantic and ominous with the backlighting casting his face in shadows. Breath catching in her throat and heart pounding painfully, she pulled her knees even closer, pressing her forehead against them and praying, not for the first time, that she had dreamed the whole ordeal.

She heard the second man cross the room and squat down at her side. “Are you Staci Hayes?” His words were so soft that she looked up to read his lips, but she couldn’t miss her name there or the American accent she had only heard once in the previous week.

She nodded, but words failed her.

His white teeth flashed, and he pointed at himself. “I’m with the United States Navy. I’m here to get you safely back to the States.” His ice-blue eyes flashed with a strength that expected to be obeyed.

She tried again to speak, but her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. He put his hand on her arm, gentle yet firm. “Ms. Hayes, I’m going to get you out of here, but I need you to do everything I say quickly and without question.”

“What—what about Judy and Hank?”

“They’re safe.” He looked over his shoulder at the guard he’d taken down, who still lay motionless. “Can you run?”

“Yes.” But the shaking in her knees threatened to make her a liar, and she rubbed her hands up and down her shins.

“We’ve got to rock and roll, L.T.”

She jerked at the deep voice coming from the doorway, but before she could do more than that, he was by her other side, both men tugging her to her feet.

L.T. didn’t waste time with introductions, instead asking his tall friend, “Did you take care of them?”

“Yes. But one got a call-off. Backup is on the way, I think.”

“You think?” L.T.’s eyes flashed.

“Hey, I’m not the language expert on the team.”

She’d been so wrapped up in their rapid back-and-forth that she barely noticed that they’d crossed the room and were propelling her toward the stairway.

“Stay with me and, whatever happens, don’t let go of my hand.” He held her hand up to her eyes and squeezed her fingers until she squeezed his back. “Got it?”

“Yes.” She wrapped her other hand around his wrist as the two navy men sailed down the stairs. Her skirt whipped around her ankles and she stepped on the side of it, nearly sending her tumbling into L.T.’s back. She caught herself by the grip on his arm at the last minute, and he glanced over his shoulder at her, the look in his eyes asking if she was all right. She nodded quickly, and he spun around.

By the time they reached the front door of the building, she was breathing as if she’d climbed Mount Everest, her lungs screaming for air and heart pounding hard.

L.T. paused for a moment, looking down the midnight streets. She took the chance to gulp in deep breaths, sure that they’d be gone just as fast.

Without a word, the second man slipped into the night, his gun lifted to his shoulder in rock-steady hands. Staci and L.T. followed him into the cloak of darkness.

“Hang in there,” he whispered just as a bullet burst in the sand at their feet.

Every thought vanished as her feet pounded the streets, winding between buildings and down alleys until her ragged breaths were louder than her footfalls. Sweat ran down her back and arms, but she refused to loosen her damp grip on L.T.’s hand, even as he tucked her into his side.

Another round flew past them, slamming into a building, as men began shouting at them to stop. “Got to pick it up.” L.T. tugged on her hand, somehow pulling her forward and pushing from behind.

She gasped for a breath and swiped at the sweat rolling from her forehead into her eyes as their pursuers sent out an endless spray of bullets, peppering several nearby buildings in the process. Lights flicked on in the houses, the bright windows spotlighting their position on the streets.

The taller man dropped back, returning fire and telling the curious to get back in their homes.

“We’re almost there,” L.T. assured her.

How could he still talk? Her mouth felt like she was breathing through sand, her feet heavy and aching. As he pulled her around another corner, her foot caught in the hem of her robe, and she flew to the ground, landing hard on her hands and knees.

L.T. didn’t bother telling her to get up, instead lifting her to her feet. As soon as the soles of her shoes hit the ground, something screamed past her, setting her arm on fire. She grunted at the impact, stumbling three steps.

She waited for the feel of the ground against her side, preparing for the impact of another fall. But it never came. Instead, she was suddenly weightless, bouncing on L.T.’s shoulder, one of his arms wrapped around her legs.

“Try to hold still.”

“All right.” Easier said than done. It was quite possibly the most uncomfortable position in the world, each step jabbing her in the stomach. But at least she wasn’t on her own feet anymore.

She let her arms hang down his back, trying to figure out what to do with her hands. Finally she grabbed his belt to give her something to hang on to, but her left arm was useless. She couldn’t make her hand grasp anything.

What was dripping from her fingertips?

She rubbed her left thumb over her fingertips, which were slick and sticky.

It wasn’t sweat.

She swallowed the bile that rose in her throat, refusing to wonder if it was from the awkward position or the blood dripping down her arm.

“ETA thirty seconds.”

It took her a moment to realize he wasn’t speaking to her, but relief washed through her as they rounded one last building, greeted by the gentle crashing of waves against the sandy shore. She couldn’t see or hear them, but somehow she knew there were more soldiers waiting for them. More men like L.T.

L.T.’s steps slowed down as he splashed into the water. It was nearly to his knees by the time he stopped.

“We’ve got company,” he said to one of the others as he swung her to his front, holding her back and under her knees and lifting her into what looked like a black inflated lifeboat. “She’s been hit in the arm, but she hasn’t lost consciousness.”