He tackled the Colonel, separating him from Eli with a bone-jarring thud.The man rolled, dazed, and Marsh turned immediately, scooping Eli up, cradling him close.
“You’re okay.I’ve got you,” he whispered, even as his hands trembled.
Eli didn’t respond.
Marsh could feel blood.Could feel heat.
Could feel his heart breaking.
He watched as the Colonel staggered to his feet, gun raised, face twisted with rage.“If I can’t have him, then by God, neither can—”
His words cut off in a sickening choke as an arrow punched clean through his throat.The shaft pierced from front to back, a brutal, efficient kill.A wet, grotesque gurgle escaped him, blood pouring down his chest as he collapsed, lifeless, to the ground.
The light in his eyes flickered before his knees even hit the dirt.
“Fuck you, Colonel.Go to hell,” Marsh rose, Eli in his arms, and walked away from the burning chopper, the bodies, the battlefield.
Because nothing else mattered.
Just him.
Just Eli.
Chapter Twelve
“So, Glenn,” Batemansaid, raising his beer bottle toward the sniper lounging on the porch railing, “does taking out that chopper when I gave the order mean you’re finally ready to accept you’re a Pathfinder now?”
Glenn, who was sitting on the ground between Maddox’s legs, took a long pull from his drink, deadpanned.“That depends.Does being a Pathfinder come with dental?”
The group laughed.Dale, lounging with his chair tipped back, grinned.“Come on, man.You and me—we’re the hybrids.Half Bravo, half Pathfinder.The best of both worlds.”
“Speak for yourself,” Bateman grumbled.“I’m Pathfinder through and through.No halfway shit.”
“Fuck off,” Dev muttered, raising a hand.“Maddox is ours.You Pathfinder boys can keep your angst.”
“Glenn, you say the word and you get top billing,” Ricky added, slinging an arm around Ezra’s shoulder.“We’ll even throw in a jacket.”
