I can see it plainly on her face.Do it.Strike even if it kills her.It doesn’t matter, as long as he’s dead.
Aliah advances around the island from the other side.The classic pincer movement after all.
He mutters something low.Neither Sabera nor Aliah seem deterred by what he has to say, so I disregard it as well.
He takes a step backward, dragging Sabera with him.
All I want to do is hurt, maim, kill.I want to thrust this blade deep into this man’s chest.I want to feel his blood, hot and red, on my hands.I want to hear the gurgle of his dying breath.
Where have these thoughts come from?
Who have I become?
But all I can picture is my room of pain, the dozens of ghosts roaming my collective psyche, betrayed by strangers, killed by those they loved.Each and every one innocent in their own right.And still…
Sabera is murmuring words I don’t know.
Aliah, shrieking in their language.
Me, advancing advancing advancing.I can kill him.I know I can.He’ll slash Sabera’s throat first, but still…
Another step, another step.
I’m not sane.I’m pretty sure I’ll never be sane again.
As Sabera’s gaze bores into mine:
“Do it!”she orders.
And then, as I rush forward in a blaze of glory—
“Stop!”
I just have time to look up.As my single phone call, my backup plan to all of our backup plans, Captain Kurtz materializes out of the darkness and clubs my target over the head.
Totally terrifying, absolutely evil Taliban soldier folds to the ground, Sabera extracting herself just in time.
I can’t help myself.I stab my newfound weapon in Kurtz’s direction.
“Some fucking cavalry you turned out to be.Could you have cut it any closer?”
Just in time for a second man to join him.Same facial structure but with curly brown hair.X factor/stutter-stop man.I knew it!I want to feel triumphant.But the world is starting to gray around the edges.
I feel my knife clatter to the floor.Then I’m crumpling to my knees, where I have an up-close-and-personal view of Daryl’s blood-pooled body.
I don’t cry anymore.
I just wrap my arms around my knees and pray for none of this to be real.
Until a new voice breaks the silence.
“Well, well, well.Leave it to you Yanks to get this party started without me.”
Lilla No Last Name steps through the shattered sliders.
Petunia, quite wisely, scurries away.
CHAPTER 46
