me. He narrowed his eyes and pulled the M-16 strap from his shoulder.
“Maybe you should hang back this time, L.T. I can’t imagine you’ve grown a pair since you were out here with her ten minutes ago. I’ll take care of it.”
“You mean kill her?”
“If that’s what it takes.” Sanderford stood, pulling the rifle casually to his shoulder.
Lieutenant Justet didn’t answer and I realized, with a certain amount of surprise, that I was feeling an unusual affection for his weakness. He remained stock still behind Sanderford, his rifle hanging at his side.
I let my breath out slowly. My hands trembled. I looked at my fists. Could I really kill Sergeant Sanderford? I tried to remember the mantra my drill sergeants put into my head. Kill one enemy, save a thousand friends. Sergeant Sanderford was an enemy—my enemy .
Kill Sergeant Sanderford.
A chilly calm swept my body. An odd sense of amusement lifted the corners of my mouth. I pictured the shocked look on his face as electricity from my fingers coursed over his body, blistering him with burns. I saw him fall to his knees, screaming as smoke poured from his eyes, his sandy hair scorching into black, smoldering curls. I saw myself laughing—
My stomach heaved. I pressed a fist to my mouth and breathed through my nose. The image repeated with different ghostly levels of clarity.
Was it better to be dead than a killer? My dad would say, “Defending yourself is a God-given right. Only you can decide if you can live with the consequences.”
Voltage, volted, volting .
Sanderford’s camouflage flashed through the branches of a nearby juniper. He crouched next to my boulder, examining the scuffmarks in the dirt. Almost within reaching distance.
My lips pulled against my teeth, every muscle stressed. With desperate swiftness, born of years of military training, I kicked out.
The bottom of my boot crushed into the side of Sanderford’s knee. His legs went out from under him and he landed on his side, catching himself with a hand, then an elbow. The rifle fired three bullets zinging against the boulder. Chips of rock flew everywhere as the bullets ricocheted off in other directions.
Sanderford swung the rifle toward me. I crabbed forward and crunched the toes of my boot against the back of his hand. The weapon flew from his fingers, banging and skittering out of reach, while the magazine ejected and flew in another direction.
Sanderford clutched his knee with one hand, groaning and swearing, while clawing his way toward his rifle. I clambered to get there first. Our fingers met on the trigger and the rifle fired a single shot. The blank burned past my cheek. Sound was lost behind the blast of the rifle, turning everything into a hollow echo on my left side.
The taste of metal filled my mouth, and a sizzle of energy escaped from my skin. Sanderford withdrew his hand with a bellowing cry, only to come at me an instant later and smash his fist into my ribs. I curled my body to protect my screaming side, at the same time backhanding Sanderford across his cheek with a blessed release of energy.
A zapping sound hissed through the air, raising the hair on my scalp. Sanderford’s head thumped to the ground. Dust covered one side of his face. He didn’t move. Blood leaked from his nose and ears.
My torso cramped. I tripped away from his body. Was he dead? Had I killed him? My knees shook, but I managed to get to my feet, pulling Sanderford’s rifle up as I stood.
Lieutenant Justet didn’t move except for the toe of his boot resting on the magazine from Sanderford’s rifle. He held the hand guard of his M-16 loosely in one hand. His expression was surprisingly neutral.
Justet raised his rifle a hair. I jerked my attention back to him and lifted my own rifle to point at his chest.
“Don’t do it, sir,” my voice rushed softly across the several feet separating us.
“There’s no ammo in that rifle.”
“You sure about that?” The bolt filled the
“Maybe you should hang back this time, L.T. I can’t imagine you’ve grown a pair since you were out here with her ten minutes ago. I’ll take care of it.”
“You mean kill her?”
“If that’s what it takes.” Sanderford stood, pulling the rifle casually to his shoulder.
Lieutenant Justet didn’t answer and I realized, with a certain amount of surprise, that I was feeling an unusual affection for his weakness. He remained stock still behind Sanderford, his rifle hanging at his side.
I let my breath out slowly. My hands trembled. I looked at my fists. Could I really kill Sergeant Sanderford? I tried to remember the mantra my drill sergeants put into my head. Kill one enemy, save a thousand friends. Sergeant Sanderford was an enemy—my enemy .
Kill Sergeant Sanderford.
A chilly calm swept my body. An odd sense of amusement lifted the corners of my mouth. I pictured the shocked look on his face as electricity from my fingers coursed over his body, blistering him with burns. I saw him fall to his knees, screaming as smoke poured from his eyes, his sandy hair scorching into black, smoldering curls. I saw myself laughing—
My stomach heaved. I pressed a fist to my mouth and breathed through my nose. The image repeated with different ghostly levels of clarity.
Was it better to be dead than a killer? My dad would say, “Defending yourself is a God-given right. Only you can decide if you can live with the consequences.”
Voltage, volted, volting .
Sanderford’s camouflage flashed through the branches of a nearby juniper. He crouched next to my boulder, examining the scuffmarks in the dirt. Almost within reaching distance.
My lips pulled against my teeth, every muscle stressed. With desperate swiftness, born of years of military training, I kicked out.
The bottom of my boot crushed into the side of Sanderford’s knee. His legs went out from under him and he landed on his side, catching himself with a hand, then an elbow. The rifle fired three bullets zinging against the boulder. Chips of rock flew everywhere as the bullets ricocheted off in other directions.
Sanderford swung the rifle toward me. I crabbed forward and crunched the toes of my boot against the back of his hand. The weapon flew from his fingers, banging and skittering out of reach, while the magazine ejected and flew in another direction.
Sanderford clutched his knee with one hand, groaning and swearing, while clawing his way toward his rifle. I clambered to get there first. Our fingers met on the trigger and the rifle fired a single shot. The blank burned past my cheek. Sound was lost behind the blast of the rifle, turning everything into a hollow echo on my left side.
The taste of metal filled my mouth, and a sizzle of energy escaped from my skin. Sanderford withdrew his hand with a bellowing cry, only to come at me an instant later and smash his fist into my ribs. I curled my body to protect my screaming side, at the same time backhanding Sanderford across his cheek with a blessed release of energy.
A zapping sound hissed through the air, raising the hair on my scalp. Sanderford’s head thumped to the ground. Dust covered one side of his face. He didn’t move. Blood leaked from his nose and ears.
My torso cramped. I tripped away from his body. Was he dead? Had I killed him? My knees shook, but I managed to get to my feet, pulling Sanderford’s rifle up as I stood.
Lieutenant Justet didn’t move except for the toe of his boot resting on the magazine from Sanderford’s rifle. He held the hand guard of his M-16 loosely in one hand. His expression was surprisingly neutral.
Justet raised his rifle a hair. I jerked my attention back to him and lifted my own rifle to point at his chest.
“Don’t do it, sir,” my voice rushed softly across the several feet separating us.
“There’s no ammo in that rifle.”
“You sure about that?” The bolt filled the
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