Page 27 of Dozer

"Reyes." I call over the radio, praying that somehow, a miracle has happened and he’s okay, while knowing it’s not possible for anyone to survive that. Nothing. "Reyes, copy."

Silence.

The word sits there between bursts of static and I know what silence means. I've known for a long-time what silence on the other end of the radio means. It’s not the first time I’ve heard it and as long as I’m in this line of business, probably won’t be the last.

My hands tighten around the wheel; there isn't time to grieve. There isn't time to turn around. There isn't time to do the thing every instinct in my body is demanding I do and go back for my man. Leave no man behind, right? I know if I turn around, I’ll put all of us in danger. I’ll make a call to Hunter and have him send another team to retrieve Reyes.

I have to keep driving, keep the transport moving, and the last two people I haven't lost yet alive for the next mile. After that, we’ll break off and it’ll just be me and Kenzi. I have to keep her alive to make it back to Hunter in one piece.

Grief is a thing I’ll have time for later, in a room that locks, completely by myself. Not now, not at eighty miles an hour with a second shooter somewhere in a tree line I still haven't fully located.

"Kenzi." She doesn't answer. I glance down. She's still wrapped around the case on the floor. "Kenzi."

"I'm here." Her voice is quieter now.

"Talk to me." I don't know why I need to hear her voice, maybe because the cab has suddenly gotten too quiet or maybe because somewhere in the last few hours, I've started thinking of her as more than an asset. "You good?"

"I'm—" She takes a breath. Then another. "I'm good. The case is good. I've got both arms around it. It's not going anywhere unless I do."

"You're not going anywhere either. I won’t let you.” Where did that come from?

"Noted." The word lands strangely because it’s my word. The word I’ve used a few times in answering her today. It sounds different coming from her in a moving vehicle with gravel and gunfire behind us and a man I've known for four years no longer answering his radio.

I tighten my grip on the wheel. "Keep your head down for a few more minutes."

"I'm already practically under the floorboards," she reassures me.

"Good."

"Although, for the record, this is not what I meant when I said I wanted an exciting job."

Despite everything, something almost like a laugh tries to get out of me. I kill it before it can. "Save the complaints."

"Wasn't a complaint."

"What was it?"

"A workplace observation."

"Well save it for the after-action review."

"Copy that."

The next mile feels like ten. Every vehicle behind us becomes a threat, and every overpass becomes an ambush point. Any movement in the tree line gets catalogued and dismissed only after I know exactly what it is.

The road widens and traffic appears as we get closer to the nearby town. A tractor-trailer passes us going the opposite direction, then another vehicle before three more zip by. Streetlights start appearing along with houses, businesses, people and civilization. We are out of the boondocks and back into the ordinary world. Which means, witnesses. The kind of witnesses that make an ambush harder to finish without consequences, even for men who clearly don't give a damn about consequences.

I don't slow down again until I have no choice. We pull into a gas station lot that has absolutely no business being the safest place I've been all day.

I kill the engine.

Silence.

For the first time since the ambush, real silence. There’s no gunfire, radio traffic, or gravel spinning beneath my tires. My heart isn’t beating loudly in my ears as the adrenaline rushes through my veins. The only sound is the ticking of the cooling vehicle and both of us breathing.

Kenzi comes up out of the footwell slowly, the case is still clutched against her chest. Like she hasn't fully registered that she's allowed to let go. Her hands are shaking.

She notices me noticing her.