Chapter Text
“You’re to escort her to the objective, and then upon retrieval, escort her back to the extraction site,” Price explains, passing Ghost the mission file. “Easy breezy, you both’ll be home in time for supper.”
“So, I’m babysittin.” Ghost drops the file on the table, scanning over the documents as he flips through them.
“She’s no damsel. Former special ops.” Price adjusts his hat, watching Ghost pause his perusing.
“Former?” Ghost looks up, but the Captain just shrugs.
“Some kind of injury. You’ll have to ask her about it if you really wanna’ know.” Price gives him a wry smile. “Somethin’ to talk about on your little field trip.”
“Fuck that.” Ghost closes the mission file, tucking it under his arm. “I’ll keep her in one piece, Captain.”
“Counting on it.”
—
“Ghost, this is Fox. Fox, this is Ghost, he’ll be your escort,” Price introduces, gesturing to each of you respectively.
“It’s a pleasure, Lieutenant,” you offer politely, sparing each of you the discomfort of a handshake by keeping your arms by your side.
You look young, most likely mid-twenties, maybe late twenties if he was pushing it. Regardless, you’re far younger than he is.
“Fox?” He questions, glancing between you and Price.
“Not really sure where the nickname came from. I was a medic,” you explain with a small shrug, having to tilt your head back a bit to meet his eyes.
You give him a quick up and down look, rather boldly eying over his mask before settling on his gloves. Your features just barely twitching into something that might be amusement.
“Better keep those hands to yourself then Doc.” Ghost clears his throat, adjusting the strap of his pack on his shoulder. “I’m afraid a’ needles.”
“I do hope you’re up to date on all your vaccines.” The smallest smile pulls at your lips as your eyes flicker back up to his and he scoffs.
“Not a chance.”
“Alright kiddos, your ride is here,” Price interjects, gesturing for you to follow after. “The heli’s droppin’ you off about 10 klicks south of the retrieval site. Intel says it’s not an active combat zone, but they’re expecting a lot of security so I'd like to remind you we’re encouraging stealth. The extraction point is the safe house 13 klicks west of the retrieval site, the heli will be there at 0500 sharp to pick you lot back up.”
Ghost watches you squint against the sun as you step outside the compound, raising a hand to shield your eyes as you approach the helicopter.
“Fox will have her M17 and knives but Ghost you’ll be packing the muscle.” Price stops, pointing a finger firmly at Ghost’s chest. “You’re not to let her out of your line of sight, Riley. Fox grabs her intel, you watch her six, and then you get the hell out. Keep it short and sweet. Clear?”
“Crystal,” Ghost confirms.
Price’s eyes flicker between Ghost’s before he nods, patting him on the shoulder before stepping back.
“See ya’ in 15 hours.”
You and Ghost climb into the helicopter, both of you tucking on your headsets as you settle into your seats. He fills out his seat significantly more than you do, long legs stretched out in front of him, forearms resting against his slightly spread thighs. You watch him shift and settle, head leaning back against the wall.
“We got ears?” The voice through the headset makes you jump, quickly turning away as Ghost’s eyes slide back open.
You both give a vocal affirmative, feeling your face go warm when you glance towards Ghost and realize his eyes are on you.
“Everybody settled in back there?” The pilot asks as the rotors kick on.
“Nice and comfy.” Ghost adjusts his mic as he speaks.
It’s a wonder he doesn’t sound more muffled through all the fabric of his mask.
“Copy that. We’re lifting off.”
As you climb in altitude even your tactical winter jacket isn’t enough to completely block out the cold, shivering at the malignant chill that settles within the fuselage. You flex your fingers within your gloves before reaching up to pull your balaclava over your face.
“They didn’t give you a skull one?” Ghost asks and you glance over at him, the man the visual definition of lounging as he watches you.
“Guess I wasn’t cool enough for a party invite.” You readjust the fabric over your nose as you speak, finding it difficult to maintain eye contact with the man for more than a few seconds at a time.
“Well-” he tilts his head slightly, fingers drumming idly against his inner thigh “- we’ll have to fix that.”
The helicopter jostles a bit with a strong gust and you jolt, heart lurching up into your throat as your hand flies out as if to steady yourself.
“Easy there, kid.”
“Sorry.” You quickly settle back into your seat, trying to make yourself small as you mutter, “not a big fan of turbulence.”
“Nervous flier?” You swear you can hear a hint of amusement in his voice and it has heat crawling up into your face.
“Something like that,” you offer, fixing your eyes on the toe of your boot.
The rest of the flight is shared relatively in silence. Ghost very much seeming the type to not have a whole lot to say, and you’re not particularly in the mood to run your mouth and make yourself look like an idiot in front of him. Not that the silence is uncomfortable. It’s just not exactly preferred. You’re not used to working one on one, you’ve always had a crew and even if you’re silent there was still always someone chattering in the background. This is different, almost peaceful, but also solemn.
The two of you quickly exit as the heli lands, trading out your headsets for radios and earpieces.
Ghost is carrying almost everything, not that it seems to phase him, but your measly little rucksack feels like nothing in comparison.
“We got a long walk, let’s move,” Ghost says and you give a sharp nod.
The snow isn’t thick at least but it’s definitely still harder to move through than solid ground. Any type of slope immediately becomes treacherous as you try not to slip down it, looking for rocks and footholds underneath the snow as you navigate down. You also have to half jog the entire time to keep up with Ghost’s longer stride, the cool air burning your throat even through the fabric of your balaclava.
“How’s a medic end up in intel?” Ghost asks after what feels like eons of just crunching snow and heavy breathing.
“I was injured, and it was either change career paths or leave,” you explain, your calves beginning to ache but this stretch of flat land seems to go on for a while at least.
“How long since you were last in the field?” He glances over at you and you realize he’s slightly slowed his stride so you’re actually walking next to him and not about five feet behind.
“Three years,” you tell him before adding, “don’t worry though, intel’s made sure to keep me whipped into shape.”
“Sure they have.” You’re pretty sure he’s raising a brow the next time he looks at you. “They make you do push-ups at your desk?”
“Dick,” you huff, but he can see you fighting back a smile. “They actually don’t let us have chairs, make us squat the whole time.”
He lets out a quick puff of air that you’re going to choose to take as a laugh as he gives a short shake of his head.
“Good on ‘em. Can’t let you kids go soft.”
You pass through an area that looks like it was once a village. Most of the structures are still entirely intact, but roofs are mounded in snow, some doors almost fully buried from what’s sloped off onto the roads. Like everyone at once had simply just decided to pack up and leave.
A part of you is grateful for the cover at least, but it also makes you nervous. Far too many nooks and crannies for people to be hidden in. Suddenly hyper aware of how loudly your boots crunch in the snow with every step forward. Even Ghost seems more on edge, his M4 raised as he does tight sweeps around corners and alleyways. You pull your own gun from your holster, keeping it low at your side just in case, eyes shifting restlessly over the terrain.
“We’re approaching the retrieval site, stay low,” Ghost whispers, the low gravel of his voice doing something strange to your heightened nervous system, every hair on the back of your neck standing straight on end.
“Yes sir,” you exhale, waiting until he’s no longer looking at you to pull more air back into your lungs.
You follow close behind, lowering to a crouch as he leads you behind a slope just small enough to offer some cover.
The building is an old warehouse from the looks of it, a large metal bay door and loading ramp are slightly off to the right, two armed men on either side of it. Around the corner are two more men, one posted at each corner of the walkway, standing almost up against the railing.
“I’ll sneak around, see how many are on the other side,” you whisper, waiting for Ghost’s nod as permission before you carefully begin to circle around.
Ghost watches you until you leave his line of sight, slightly restless until he hears you whisper over the radio.
“There’s four more on the other side, all armed. I think I see an opening. I can sneak past.”
“If you’re sure,” Ghost settles into his spot, using the top of the slope as a place to steady his rifle.
“Going in.”
The next five minutes feels like forever, Ghost waiting for some kind of alarm to go off or for everyone to suddenly start sprinting towards you. Instead he just hears you in his ear, slightly winded.
“I’m in. Heading for the package.”
“Copy.”
Ghost watches one of the men at the bay doors shift, rolling his shoulders and muttering something to the man beside him. His partner just shrugs.
“I’m at the terminal, but Ghost-” the uncertainty, verging on fear in your voice immediately sets him on edge, heart kicking into overdrive “- there’s no one in here.”
“What?” He scowls, eyes flickering to the other two men in his line of sight.
“I haven’t seen anyone, it’s almost fully wiped out in here. It doesn’t feel right.”
“Get the hell out of there,” he breathes, quickly scanning the area to see if there’s more people hidden somewhere.
“But I don’t have-”
“Get. Out. Now.”
“I’m not leaving with-” your transmission is ended with a clipped shout, static ringing in his ear.
“Kid, you copy?”
Nothing.
“Fox, can you hear me?”
The men posted outside suddenly shift to alert, turning and gathering themselves.
“Shit,” Ghost spits, quickly adjusting the aim of his rifle.
He takes out the two men by the bay door, the sudden sound enough to get the other two men in view to pause. They go down next, one of them tumbling over the railing as he goes limp.
Ghost pushes himself upright, sliding down the slope and moving back to his feet at a full sprint. He vaults the railing, turning sharp around the corner but the other four men are already inside, the door they’d entered through still swinging on its hinges.
He sweeps the area as he steps inside, the main area of the warehouse is empty. In fact it looks like it was abandoned a long time ago. Had they known you were coming somehow? Was this some kind of set up? You’re intel, you have valuable information, it would make sense to view you as a high value target if they could manage to get you in the field.
A ringing, almost animalistic sound rips through the left side of the building and his feet are moving before he fully has time to process it. He hears three gunshots, then a fourth.
The man in the doorway had just turned to face into the room as Ghost rounds the corner, raising his rifle and shooting him once in the back, and again in the head as he goes down.
He steps over him into the room and freezes.
You’re backed into the far corner, shoulders rising and falling fast as you pant. Three men are scattered across the room, each of them with a bullet now buried somewhere in their brains. Your pistol is clutched in your right hand, your left arm hangs limp at your side. There’s blood dripping from your fingers, just enough light in the room for Ghost to see it steaming. Your eyes are wide, face pale as you stare up at him.
“What happened?” Ghost crosses the distance between you, giving you a quick look over to spot any more possible injuries.
“Guy came out of nowhere, tackled me. Dislocated my left shoulder,” you slump back against the wall and grimace as you try to move your fingers. “Need you to help me put it back.”
“Not here, too dangerous.” Ghost pulls you off the wall, rifling through your rucksack before shoving a wad of gauze into your hand. “Get that bleeding under control or you’ll lead them straight to us.”
You quickly wrap the gauze around your hand, reaching down to wipe the blood off your hand and onto your pants.
“Let’s get out of here.”
“Wait.” You step around him, exiting the room and entering another a few doors down.
He follows, watching your skirt another body, this one’s in a pool of blood, a knife sticking out of his right eye socket. You grab the drive from the terminal and walk straight back towards Ghost, unzipping one of his rucksack compartments to stick it inside.
“Alright, now we can go.”
Not that you can see it, but you’re pretty sure he’s scowling at you under that mask. His eyes boring straight into you as he stares down at you.
“We came here for that intel, I’m not leaving without it.” You frown back at him but he just turns away, starting back out towards the entrance.
“You realize your intel was bad,” he talks at you over his shoulder, gun raised as he sweeps through the area before peeking around outside.
“Not my issue. I’m completing my objective regardless.”
“Careful, starting to sound like a soldier there, kid.”
You feel some of the tension unfurl in your chest at the realization that he’s not really mad at you. Though you’re sure he’s still probably not particularly thrilled with you at the moment.
“Was that a compliment, L.T.?”
“Take it however you want.” He shrugs, motioning for you to follow.
You settle back behind that little hill, thankfully all is quiet and no one new makes any appearances.
“We need to get to that safe house.” You talk as you rummage through your pack for more gauze, realizing you’ve almost fully bled through what Ghost had given you.
“You won’t make it, not like this.” Ghost drops down beside you, back propped against the hill as he scans the tree line.
“I’m fine-”
“You’ll maybe make it two, three klicks before that blood loss catches up to you,” Ghost cuts you off, voice and eyes firm as he shakes his head. “We need somewhere to hunker down for the night. I need to make contact with Price, let him know what’s going on.”
You scowl, tying the gauze as tight around your own hand as you can make it, wincing at the way it pulls at your shoulder.
“We’ll head back to that village. Camp out there and wait for instructions.” Ghost decides, pushing himself to his feet before holding a hand out to you.
You bite your tongue, fighting back the urge to tell him you don’t like the idea of it. Reaching up instead to take his hand and let him pull you back to your feet.
“We’ll get your shoulder squared away once we’re somewhere secure,” he tells you before turning and starting forward.
It doesn’t take any significant amount of walking for you to acknowledge he’s right. By the time you break through the first line of buildings you’re starting to feel a little woozy, feet slightly dragging as the throbbing in your shoulder worms its way up your neck and into your head. You’ve lost complete feeling in your left hand, no longer able to even get your fingers to twitch in response to you pleading with them to move. You just keep your eyes trained on his back, forcing one foot in front of the other despite your body's desire to simply collapse.
Ghost searches through a few buildings before settling on one he deens satisfactory. No snow has to be disturbed for you to get in, the door looks fairly sturdy, there’s only one window that’ll be easy enough to cover from the inside, and there’s no chimney.
The sun is starting to set by the time you file inside. With the door closed and the window covered it’s pitch black inside, you can barely even see your own hand in front of your face. And fuck is it cold, clenching your jaw to keep your teeth from chattering as you wait for Ghost to finish setting up. You pull your balaclava over your head, taking a full deep breath, the cool air burning all the way into your chest.
He sets out a flashlight, which on its own is enough to illuminate almost the entirety of the space. There’s a very old looking couch tucked into the back far corner, a table with about three still usable chairs, and a tiny kitchenette off to the right. The walls are grey, and so are the floors, a crucifix hanging above the couch the only semblance of decoration.
Ghost makes a fire just big enough to warm the space without smoking you both out before he shrugs off his packs and turns to you.
“Alright, let’s see.” He closes the space between you and you feel your pulse jump.
You’re surprised by how careful he is as he helps you shrug off your rucksack and jacket so that he can properly feel around at your shoulder.
“Tell me what to do.” His eyes snap up to yours, your arm just resting in his hands as he waits.
“Right.” You adjust yourself so your shoulder blade is firm against the wall, giving enough support that he won’t just push it right out of place in the other direction. “Bend my elbow about 90 degrees, then brace your other hand just below my shoulder.”
You help guide the placement of his hands, a strange heat flushing through you as they settle against you, large enough to nearly fully wrap around your arm.
You’re sure it’s just the blood loss.
“Now, push up and in. And you don’t need to push too hard, it’ll want to slide back into place,” you instruct and he nods, his eyes shifting restlessly between yours.
His hand on your elbow shifts, fingers uncurling before pressing back into you.
“Whenever you’re ready.”
You take a deep breath, pressing your head back against the wall and closing your eyes as you brace yourself.
“Do it,” you command and he makes a small sound of acknowledgement.
It’s fast, a shove, a pop, blinding pain ripping all the way through your chest as the joint is forced back into place. You groan, head falling forward as you hiss air in through your teeth, Ghost’s hands falling away from you as you give the shoulder an experimental roll.
“Not bad,” you wheeze as you force your eyes back open, blinking up at him as your eyes adjust to the dim light. “But I can pretty confidently say this arm is out of commission, I most likely tore a ligament or two.”
He nods before gesturing to your hand, “and the bleeding?”
You unravel the gauze from your hand before raising it for him to look at. Moving your arm makes your fingers tingle uncomfortably, and you grimace as you try to hold your hand steady.
Ghost decides to do it for you, his hand closing around your wrist as he looks over the gash across your palm and fingers.
“You grab the knife by the blade?” He asks, and you feel like he means it as a joke when his eyes move back up to yours.
So it only makes the heat washing through you worse as you’re forced to confess, “yes.”
“Rookie mistake,” he clicks his tongue before letting you go.
You miss his closeness almost as soon as he’s gone, not realizing how much body heat he was creating tucked up close to you.
You settle on the floor close to the fire, using your first aid kit to properly clean and bandage your hand while Ghost sets up coms.
You’ll probably need stitches, but your butterfly bandages will make due for now. Once your hand is taken care of you shift to your shoulder, using your elastic bandages to make yourself a kind of makeshift sling before you shrug your jacket back on. You also fish a few NSAID’s and down them, not that they’ll really help a whole lot but maybe they’ll at least get rid of your headache.
“We won’t be makin’ it to the safe house tonight,” Ghost tells Price once he’s got the coms up, his gaze turning accusingly towards you.
“What happened?” You can hear the frown in Price’s voice, curling further in on yourself to fend off the chill.
Ghost gives a very short, succinct run down of the events, his arms crossed over his chest as he waits for Price to respond.
“Well shit,” Price sighs. “Alright, try to make it back to the drop off point by 0500, I’ll send them there to pick you up. If you don’t think Fox’ll make it I need to know ASAP. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Bloody hell, alright, try to get some rest. See you two bright and early.”
The coms cut out and leave an overwhelming quiet, just the gentle crackle of the fire and the wind howling as it blows against the walls.
Ghost drops down onto the couch, foot tapping idly as he stares down at you. You try your best to pretend you don’t notice but eventually you start to feel an itch crawling under your skin, making you restless as you try to swallow around how dry your mouth has gone.
“Your injury-” You nearly jump when Ghost speaks, head snapping so fast in his direction it irritates the throbbing behind your right eye “- did it interfere today?”
“No, it’s not- it’s not that kind of injury.” You chew at your lip, glancing up at the crucifix over his head.
“The fuck does that mean?” He crosses his arms over his chest, shifting slightly further into the couch and you feel your stomach twist.
What’s with this guy and sitting with his legs so wide .
“It was a head injury, a bad one,” you tell him, reaching up reflexively to rub at the scar hidden under your hair. “They didn’t think I’d even be able to talk again but, obviously, it didn’t work out that way. It took me a while to get the hang of fine motor skills again but I made a miraculous full recovery, spent the last year focusing on trying to get strong again.”
“And this? Think you’ll make a full recovery?” He asks.
“I’ll probably have some shoulder pain for the rest of my life but I'll be fine,” you force your eyes back down to his and immediately regret it. “It’ll probably be the last time they let me in the field though.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong back there.” It takes you a moment to weed out the assurance through the gruffness of the delivery.
“I should have listened to you. I knew something wasn’t right, and I should have listened.” You shake your head, voice quiet and small as you hold his gaze.
Maybe it’s the black paint around his eyes that makes his stare so severe, but you doubt it. You have a feeling his eyes would be just as piercing with or without the mask.
“Yeah, you should have.” He shrugs, reaching up to scratch at his jaw under the fabric of his mask. “But you handled it. Maybe not well. But you handled it.”
“That another compliment, Riley?” A ghost of a smile pulls at your features and you swear he rolls his eyes.
“If it helps you sleep better.” He reaches for his pistol, pulling it from its holster and placing it next to him on the couch. “And you should sleep.”
You concede to that, settling on the ground by the fire, accepting one of the throw pillows Ghost tosses your way.
“Wake me up if you start dozing,” you offer as you settle in, zipping your jacket up before tucking both of your arms into the torso, keeping them close to your chest in an attempt to trap in warmth.
“Sure thing, kid,” he says, most likely just to appease you, before his eyes shift towards the door.
It doesn’t take long for you to drift off, exhaustion and blood loss quickly getting the best of you.
—
You’re woken by a hand around your ankle, dragging you across the cold concrete floor. Panic flashes through you when you try to claw at the ground and realize your arms are trapped in your jacket. You thrash, pain shooting from your shoulder all the way down into your fingertips but a hand clamps over your mouth before you can make a sound.
Weight settles over you, someone straddling your hips, the hand over your mouth almost entirely covering the lower half of your face. The fabric of their glove rubs at your dry and burning lips rather unpleasantly, your pulse pounding in your ears.
They roll you over, your eyes going wide, a weak sound of panic crawling up your throat as they lean over you. But then your eyes adjust to the dark, and you can see the way the faint light sneaking in from the window catches on his eyes, on the white plains of his mask.
Your exhale of his name is lost into his palm but he still seems to understand anyway.
He nods, his face so close to yours his nose nearly brushes yours with the movement. His other hand comes up, a single finger pressing over his mouth in an instruction to be quiet and you quickly nod your understanding.
But he doesn’t move, just stays hovering over you, his hand still covering your mouth. You can hear him breathing deep and even, his eyes closed like he’s trying to listen for something.
“Don’t move,” he whispers so low you barely hear it before he pulls away from you.
You take a slow deep breath, body trembling with the sharp jump in adrenaline and the cold. The fire had gone out at some point. Doing a quick look around the room you realize you’re caged in. Ghost had pushed the couch just far enough from the wall to hide you behind it.
You try to move slow, pushing your right arm through the sleeve of your jacket before reaching for the pistol at your thigh. You raise it until it’s resting against your chest, desperately trying to pick out any sounds over the low hum of the wind.
Then you hear it, muffled, but not very distant, two voices going back and forth speaking indistinguishable Russian.
You silently curse yourself, chest going tight at the thought that this is your fault. You should have just listened . Then neither one of you would be here and you would be nice and cozy at the safe house waiting for extraction.
Instead you’ve rendered yourself useless and put him in harm's way in order to protect you.
The voices sound right outside the door and you freeze, everything in you coming to a screeching halt as the two go back and forth. You flip the safety on your pistol, holding your breath as you wait.
The door opens, creaking on its hinges, there are footsteps on the concrete and then, the door closes. One of them goes to speak but the sound is quickly cut off, replaced by two quick gunshots, and the sound of bodies hitting the ground at dead weight.
The next minute feels like eternity, a heavy silence blanketing the space as you wait for anything to happen. You hear shuffling, fabric sliding across wood, brushing against something.
Then Ghost rounds the edge of the couch, holding a hand out to you as he whispers, “we gotta go.”
You flip the safety back on before reholstering your gun and reaching out for his hand. He pulls you easily to your feet, using the momentum to pull you snuggly into his side as he guides you through the room.
Carefully stepping over the bodies on the ground so you don’t get any blood on your boots.
“They’re looking for you.” You can feel him speak almost as much as you hear him, his chest rumbling against your shoulder with the sound as he cracks open the door to peer outside.
“What?” You blink up at him as he pulls the door fully open, sticking his head out just enough to sweep the street.
“Heard ‘em talking. They want you, know you’re intel,” he explains glancing down at you before he lets you go. “Let me know if you can’t keep up.”
You follow him out the front door, the two of you half crouching, half running before you can take cover around a corner.
Your ears are ringing, head spinning, and you swear you can taste something metallic and bitter on the back of your tongue. Nearly collapsing against the wall as you try to lean against it for support.
You’d been set up. Had someone sold you out? How else could they know what you know? How else could they know who you are?
“Kid!” You jolt as he gives you a firm shake, staring up at him with wide eyes as he looks down at you. “Now is not the time to shut down on me.”
“Yes, sir.” The response is automatic, just a reflex at this point as you struggle through the fog in your brain and the tension threatening to cave your chest in.
“Stay with me, alright?” He pulls something out of his pocket before he’s pulling it over your head.
He adjusts the balaclava over your face before he gives your cheek a firm pat, his eyes the closest to gentle you’ve seen them so far.
“Move your feet, soldier.”
You nod, swallowing down the dread crawling up your throat before you follow after him. You reach down for your gun, flipping the safety as you track behind him.
The moon is full, offering at least enough light for you to be able to fairly easily navigate. But it also means you’re more visible.
An unfortunate trade off.
There’s just a flicker, enough to catch your eye around the corner to your right. You raise your arm, shooting as soon as you catch another glimpse of movement. Blood sprays across the wall behind him as his body goes limp into the snow.
“Nice shot,” Ghost remarks, barely even slowing as he continues forward.
“There’s smoke to the right.” You point out as you take cover around a corner, following the line as it snakes up towards the sky.
“Yeah, must be where they’re camping out. We’ll steer clear.”
You glance down at your watch, 0100. You have four hours to get back to the drop off point. And not get caught in the process.
“We’ll keep heading west, then circle back south towards the extraction site.” Ghost glances over your shoulder as he talks before his eyes meet yours, waiting for confirmation.
It’s quiet as you continue forward, most of the noise fading out to the back right side where their camp seems to be.
It’s enough to have that pit forming in your stomach again, unable to shake your paranoia. Overwhelmed by the feeling that something just isn’t right.
He said they were looking for you, so why would they all be huddle back at camp and not out searching?
There’s the slightest sound, like something popping out of place. Ghost freezes, body going rigid before he’s wheeling back towards you.
Then the world is spinning, everything white and hazy, all sound fading to a quiet buzz as your back hits the ground hard enough to knock the wind from you. You know it’s snow but it looks like ash as it falls around you, ears ringing so loud you can barely make out the distant sound of shouting. Just a gentle roar beginning to grow closer.
“Ghost-” it leaves you as a wheeze as you attempt to push yourself upright, coughing as you roll yourself onto your front, vision blurring as your arm jostles at the movement.
You feel like you’re going to be sick, vision overlapping and spotting with after images as you drag yourself across the snow.
Ghost is sprawled out on his stomach in front of you, arms spread wide and head turned to the side, far closer to the source of the blast than you had been.
“Ghost.”
The shouting is growing closer but it still sounds like it’s underwater, a sort of rhythmic pounding in your ears. You grab the pistol from his thigh and flip the safety, rolling onto your back, head propped against his calf. Your first round misses, the next three don’t, the three men rushing you dropping limp into the snow.
“Shit.” You roll back onto your side, wincing as your weight settles on your left shoulder before you can push yourself up onto your knees.
You try to push him over but he’s too heavy with one arm. You swear under your breath, forcing your left arm through your jacket sleeve. The effort of using the arm to turn him over doesn’t even really hurt, it just sends nausea ripping through you, bile burning at the back of your mouth as you finally get him onto his back.
“Damnit, Ghost, wake up.” You take his face in your hands, and realize the snow is red where the right side of his face had been.
It probably blew out his eardrum, hands fumbling as you reach for the bottom of his balaclava to assess the damage.
An arm hooks under your jaw, yanking you roughly to your feet and your vision spirals. You shout, scrambling for the knife on your calf, blindly stabbing backwards with it. Your captor gurgles before releasing you and you wheel around, gasping for air as you make eye contact with the man rushing at you. You quickly side step, shoving your knife into the side of his neck and slicing through the front of his throat. Blood splatters across the snow and the front of Ghosts mask as you stagger.
Your hearing is starting to come back to you, but your Russian isn’t flawless. Brokenly able to make out, ‘girl alive, kill the man’.
“ Fuck !”
You grab the pistol, shoving it into your holster, your own gun long gone.
You’ve done this before but not with someone Ghost’s size, and not injured.
But you don’t have a whole lot of choice.
You kneel down beside him, gritting your teeth and groaning as you pull him over your shoulders. Your knee nearly buckles as you force yourself to your feet, fighting back another wave of nausea as you start forward.
Your chest aches, unable to fully take a breath, hopelessness and panic quickly overtaking you. You can barely get one foot in front of the other, your own labored breathing drowning out Ghost’s wheezing. You don’t even know where you’re going, you’re just moving, trying to get anywhere else.
There’s a shot to your right sending up a spray of snow and you stumble, nearly losing your grip on Ghost.
You hear someone shout ‘don’t shoot’ in Russian and know you need to make a decision very quickly.
You take as deep of a breath as you can manage, adjusting your grip on Ghost, and you run. You can hear them shouting and chasing, every inch of your body screaming in protest as the world blurs around you. There’s a tree line in front of you and somehow you’ve convinced yourself if you can just break through it you’ll be fine.
You just have to make it.
So you just keep going, feet moving one in front of the other, going blind to everything around you as your sole focus becomes not stopping.
Until suddenly there’s no longer ground under your feet. You yelp, losing your grip on Ghost as you both go tumbling forward.
It feels like you’re only falling for a second, your head knocking against something on the way down, and then there’s nothing.