Fireteam Delta by J. Halpin (ebook reader that looks like a book txt) 📕

Asle understood their distrust, but she didn’t have to like it.

After a few more minutes, Asle closed her eyes, doing her best to quiet her thoughts and let sleep take her.

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Creeeak.

Asle stirred at the noise. She’d assumed the sound was one of the others climbing onto the wagon. Then she felt a hand on her thigh.

“What?”

She felt a weight sliding off her leg, and her hand snapped to the half-drawn pistol at her side. Another hand covered her mouth before she could scream. Asle had no time to think. She operated on the instinct that had been drilled into her, pulling the weapon in close and squeezing the trigger.

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“Bang.” Asle finished the story, her legs curled up toward her head.

The others had moved off to handle the scene, while Summers tried to make sense of what happened. As far as he could tell, Beorn had tried to take her gun, and Asle had reacted just as they’d trained her to.

Why he’d done it, Summers couldn’t say. Maybe the kid thought that if they were going off on their own, he’d need the protection.

“Anything?” Summers called over to Nowak. His sergeant was outside, hunched over Beorn, trying to get a pulse. They’d done everything they could to staunch the bleeding from his chest, but after fifteen minutes of trying, and failing, to get a response out of him, it was clear the kid was gone.

“No,” Nowak replied.

Summers had already written the kid off, so Nowak’s flat response didn’t surprise him. He noticed Asle clench her knees even tighter. And the shouting from outside was getting louder.

“Stay here, all right?”

Asle nodded.

Summers jumped out of the wagon. He saw Cortez holding back an increasingly agitated Eirik. Beorn’s father looked down at the corpse, such naked grief on his face that Summers stopped in his tracks.

“Let him by, Cortez,” Nowak called over. He’d done what he could for the kid, but that ultimately amounted to nothing.

Cortez nodded for a moment before she stepped away from the older man. He rushed over to cradle the boy’s body.

Summers moved back to the wagon. The camp was waking up now, in part due to what was happening. He saw Synel ordering several guards to pull stakes and get started heading out. They’d be leaving soon. Something told him the family wouldn’t be following.

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“Think they’ll make it?” Nowak asked Summers.

They’d taken a post against the back of the wagon, blocking off access to Asle in case anyone got too curious. The last thing she needed right now was visitors. Summers had explained to the family what had happened as best he could, and they’d left soon after. From the way Eirik looked at him . . . well, he was just glad Asle wasn’t around. He couldn’t blame the guy, but that was the last thing the girl needed.

“We’re two days away, and the roads seem pretty safe. I think they have a decent shot.” Summers paused, thinking how best to phrase his next question. “Who was watching the wagon?”

“We’re not gonna start throwing around blame.” Nowak’s voice had an edge. “I gave Asle the okay to give the family some rations. Cortez probably thought the kid was heading in to thank her. She’s not taking it well, either.”

“Right. Sorry.”

Silence descended over them. Summers watched as a guard rushed by their wagon, heading to Synel’s. He recognized the guard as one of the scouts Synel had sent to check the road after their last run-in.

Summers stood on the wagon, trying to see further ahead.

In the distance, a large group walked toward them. There had to be about fifty figures. With no wagon in sight, it looked like a small horde.

“What the hell?”

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Summers watched as men and women with haunted eyes looked hungrily at their wagon. They stood at the side of the road, watching the caravan as it passed. Some yelled words Summers couldn’t completely decipher. Most looked sick, starving, injured. It was clear they were refugees, and that whatever Beorn’s family had encountered was not an isolated incident.

“Jesus . . .”

“Don’t suppose we have enough food to help?” Cortez was looking at the sheer number of people in front of them.

“No.” Nowak spoke with finality. “We help one, we could end up with a riot on our hands. At worse, we might make whoever we gave handouts to a target.”

“And we need to think about ourselves. I’m not liking the odds we’ll resupply in the city,” Logan added.

“What?” Cortez looked at Logan, confused.

“He’s right,” Summers agreed. “They’re starving, walking down a road that leads away from the city. Do the math on that.”

“I’d say we have a month left on our own if we ration it. No idea if that’ll get us to safety.” Nowak looked to Cortez. She wasn’t happy.

Summers watched a family tend to a wounded man. They looked to be changing his bandages. They eyed him as he passed. Summers only caught a glimpse of the man’s back as they left, but he’d seen enough bullet wounds in his lifetime to recognize them even at a glance.

“Hide your guns,” Summers called over.

The others listened, catching on to his line of thinking and tucking their rifles behind the cloaks they wore on their backs. They’d already experienced one group that could recognize an M4 at a glance. They were lucky they hadn’t made themselves a target already.

Cortez just sat, silently observing the groups as the wagon passed them by. Most were adults, but he saw a few families as well. Some with children even younger than Asle.

Some of the kids were alone.

“Nope. Fuck this,” Cortez declared. She hopped down and approached the kids with a hunk of bread she must have snatched from the back of