The Fallen by Mark Terry

Author:Mark Terry [Terry, Mark]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Derek Stillwater
Publisher: Midpoint Trade Books
Published: 2010-04-05T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 45

Derek came to abruptly, jerking to consciousness as if thrust through a plate-glass window. One second it was black, the next he was in the light lunging for his assault rifle. Everything hurt. There were sharp, needle-like jabs of pain all over his body, exclamation points in a general background ache. He felt pressure on his right leg.

Blinking, he looked down. The hallway was littered with debris— concrete and wood and wires and bits of metal. A large chunk of concrete rested on his leg.

He tried to sit up. Inside his skull it felt like a great weight was sliding on a greased surface. The weight smashed into the front of his head, right behind his eyes. Fireworks went off and the world grayed out again. Gasping for air, he twisted sideways and retched.

This time when he came to he noticed the body of the Israeli terrorist. The corpse was a dozen feet away, twisted in a way nature had never intended, dark eyes staring blankly into whatever level of hell was reserved for terrorists.

A hand gently touched his brow. Blinking, Derek looked up. Maria sat near him. Blood covered her face and oozed from a vicious gash in her forehead. She was completely coated in grime and soot, her clothing torn and scraped.

“Sit still,” she said.

“Are you okay?” he croaked out.

Her smile appeared alabaster against the dirt. “I’ve had better days. Let’s see if I can get that cement off your leg.”

She staggered to her feet and stumbled over to him. Derek noted a deep cut in one of her thighs, blood running down her leg.

“We’ve got to take care of your leg,” he said.

“Later,” she muttered, and crouched down next to him, pain twisting her face. She gripped the cement block and with a grunt, shifted it a few inches. Derek thought he was screaming until his throat couldn’t take it, slipping back into the darkness, but a moment later he looked up to see Maria crouched by his foot studying the concrete.

“Sorry,” he said.

She turned to him, expression grim. “For what?”

“Uh, screaming.”

“You didn’t scream. You just passed out. That leg hurt?”

He started to shake his head, thought better of it, and said, “No. Yes. Never mind. Does your leg hurt?”

“Like a sonofabitch. Next time I decide to play commando, I don’t want to be wearing a skirt.”

“Next time.”

“I can’t lift this thing.”

“We need a lever. Maybe one of the guns.”

She looked around. “Okay, amigo. With the right lever you can move the world.” She limped over and picked up the Israeli’s MP-5. Walking back to Derek, she started to set the stock against the concrete block.

“Uh, Maria?” Derek’s voice was soft but urgent. “Take the fucking magazine out and put the safety on before you shoot yourself in the head.”

She plopped down on the floor, dropping the gun to the ground, put her face in her hands and began to sob. “I … I can’t do this! I can’t!”

Maria was out of reach, but he tried to touch her and reassure her.

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