Price of Duty by Todd Strasser

Author:Todd Strasser [Strasser, Todd]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

ALJAHIM

The two insurgents, one with an AK, the other with an RPG launcher, are still creeping along the wall toward the guys dug in behind the tactical truck. I was going to try to pick them off from the roof, but at the parapet I nearly got my head blown off when that bullet ripped through the top of my helmet. Meanwhile, the firefight continues. Hundreds of rounds a minute snapping, popping, exploding. It’s mayhem.

I double back through the courtyard and into an alley, knowing each time I turn a corner I could run into someone who wants me dead. I’m passing a door when I hear something that makes me stop.

Pop! Pop! Someone on the other side of the door is shooting. And it’s a pretty safe bet that if they’re shooting from indoors, they’re not on our side. I need to get to Skitballs. I need to warn the guys hunkered down behind the truck about the approaching insurgents. But I have to take care of this too.

I smash shoulder-first through the door. Inside, a woman screams. The room is dim. In the shadows I can barely make out two women in black abayas, one older and one younger, and a baby. Across the room is another doorway through which I can see daylight and the shooter kneeling at the window, his weapon resting on the sill.

I barrel through and get to him before he can turn around. It’s a scrawny kid. Can’t be more than twelve. He’s got an ancient bolt-action rifle that looks like it could be a hundred years old. It’s so long and heavy, the kid can barely lift it. I grab it by the fore stock and rip it out of his hands.

The kid cowers. Now what do I do? He’s been shooting at Americans. For all I know, he may have wounded or even killed someone. Strangely, he’s not looking at me. Instead, he’s staring across the room. I spin, expecting to find another attacker. But it’s a man, lying near the wall. His stubbled face is pale and sweaty, his shirt completely soaked with blood. He’s glassy-eyed, his breaths fast and shallow.

He’s dying.

And I’ll bet every penny I have he’s this kid’s father.

Guess that explains why the kid was shooting at us.

I grab the kid by the arm and drag him into the other room, sit him down beside the old lady in the abaya, and stab a finger at him. The universal sign to stay put. Then I go back into the room with the dying man and close the door behind me.

I go to the window the kid was shooting through and look out just in time to see the two insurgents who are sneaking up on the men behind the truck. They’ve split up and are about to pounce.

“Hey, douchebags!” I shout.

Both spin. I plug the one closest to me, but the other has time to get off two shots. The next thing I know, I’m hurtling backward. The SOB got me.

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