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the edge of the dugout with his head
still looking out into the wasteland. He thought he saw movement to
his right, and then another shadow to his left. He tried to grope
for the pistol in his waistband but the movement seemed to attract
more fire so he lay still.
    He tried to see if Delilah was okay, but the
angle was all wrong. He called to her, but there was no reply. He
tried to allow himself to fall below the lip of the dugout, but his
injured leg was caught. He couldn’t move. It was his fault Delilah
was hurt...or worse. If he had stayed down she wouldn’t have had to
rush to him. He felt tears creep down his cheeks. Bullets continued
to slap the dirt around him. The pain where he had been shot
reached a point where it merely throbbed. Was that a good sign
or was he already slipping away?
    He had to help Delilah. He gritted his teeth
and screamed as he tried to move his injured leg. Pain seared
through him and he felt his head swim. He bit down on his lip and
tasted blood in his mouth. He put all his remaining energy into
forcing his dead limb to move. Once the leg moved, gravity took
over and he fell back into the dugout. He wasn’t entirely sure if
he passed out but the level of fire from the other defenders was
suddenly far less than before with only an occasional shot to
signify that anyone was left.
    He had fallen on his face into the dirt. It can’t end like this, he thought. They had come so far,
achieved so much. He lifted his head to search for Delilah. Was she
hurt, unconscious? No, he wouldn’t allow himself to even think
that. She had to be okay. He pulled himself over towards where she
had fallen. He heard more screams to his left as another defender
was hurt. He groped blindly for Delilah, ignoring the rocks that
banged into his fingers. He reached further, dragging his useless
body behind him. He could feel blood seeping from his wounds but he
forced himself on.
    Finally, his fingers brushed something. He
stretched and felt a jacket. He groped further and then felt a
hand. So cold . His heart beat faster as he dragged himself
further. His fingers traced Delilah’s body to her face. Her neck.
He couldn’t feel a pulse. He pulled himself closer until he could
see her face. He pulled himself to her side and placed his cheek
against her mouth. Was that a breath? It was so damn cold he
couldn’t tell.
     
    * * *
     
    Antonio Cabreezi hurried down the corridor
as fast as he dared. They passed a number of bodies but he tried to
ignore them. He was no use to anyone if he ended up dead. Already
he could hear gunfire further into the complex. The high-pitched
chatter of the enemy’s weapons was one he was used to, but it was
answered now by the lower rumble of Jones’ XM8 Heckler and Koch.
Fowler looked at him, the man’s eyes pleading for them to hurry,
but he shook his head firmly and motioned for him to continue at
the present speed. Fowler glared at him but followed orders.
    Jones could easily have passed part of the
enemy force in his haste. There was no point in all of them dying
for a few extra seconds. The high-pitched chatter continued
relentlessly for a few seconds and there was no answering rumble. Shit , he thought. Fowler looked at him again, his glare
accusing but Cabreezi ignored him. He continued at his steady pace.
Suddenly there was an answering bark of an XM8, followed by the
dull thump of a grenade. He felt the ground shake beneath him.
Good, Jones was still alive. He picked up the pace, approaching the
corner with less caution than his training Sergeant would have
liked. In fact, his old Sergeant would have ripped him a new one if
he had seen him now.
    He motioned for Fowler to take the left
while he flattened against the wall and peeked around the corner.
He gagged. The floor was covered in bodies, blood covered the
walls. Terrified faces of children seemed to look into his eyes and
accuse him for being too late. There were so many. It was too much.
He felt a hatred burn in his