“We’ve got to leave them,” Bomber barks at me. “We have to be at the pickup point in forty-one minutes or they’re gonna leave without us!”

It’s five miles away. There’s no chance these girls are going to be able to run at that pace. Not in their current state.

“We’re not leaving them,” I growl.

The soldiers are in chaos, but soon they’ll reorganize. They’ll head out with their jeeps and their spotlights, trying to find us.

Crouching down, I motion for the biggest girl to climb on my back. I grab two more girls and set them on either hip.

“Are you insane?” Bomber says.

“Pick up those two, or I’ll fucking shoot you myself!” I shout at him.

Bomber shakes his head at me, his beefy face red with anger. But he picks up the other two girls. Bomber is built like a linebacker. I know he can carry a few more pounds.

We start jogging across the rough ground, the girls clinging to us with their skinny arms and legs.

Even though they’re small, I must be carrying over a hundred pounds. I don’t know what the fuck kids weigh, but these three seem to be increasing in mass by the minute.

Sweat is pouring off my skin, making it hard for them to hold on to me. Bomber is puffing and blowing like a hippo, too tired to even complain.

We run until my lungs are burning and legs are on fire.

“Two more miles,” Bomber gasps.

Fuck.

Each jolt of my feet sends pain shooting up my back. My hands are numb, trying to cling onto these kids. I’m scared I’m going to collapse and not be able to get up again.

I try to pretend I’m back in basic training, when I had to run ten miles with a forty-pound pack on my back. When I wasn’t accustomed to pushing my body, and I had no idea how far it could go.

I remember my first drill sergeant — Sergeant Price.

I picture him jogging beside me, screaming at me to not even think about slowing down.

“IF YOU DROP ONE GODDAMN STEP PRIVATE I WILL KICK YOU IN THE BALLS SO HARD YOU’LL SING LIKE MARIAH CAREY!”

Price knew how to motivate a guy.

At last, when I really think I can’t take another step, I hear the drone of the chopper. It floods me with new life.

“Almost there!” I say to Bomber.

He nods dully, sweat flying off his face.

The last little bit of ground is uphill. I carry those girls up that ridge like I’m Samwise Gamgee carrying Frodo to the volcano. It is both the best and worst moment of my life.

I lift them up into the chopper, one by one, wondering exactly how the hell I’m going to figure out where they came from and so I can get them home again.

“We don’t have the weight capacity for extra bodies!” the pilot snaps at me.

“Then chuck something out,” I tell him.

I’m not leaving those kids, after I carried them all that way.

Once Bomber and I are settled, the chopper lifts up into the air. The five girls huddle together on the floor, clinging to each other, more frightened by flying than by the rest of the escape. Only one has the courage to peek out the open doorway, to see the dark desert dropping away beneath us.

She looks up at me, big eyes shining in her round little face.

“Bird,” she mouths at me, in English. She links her thumbs together and flaps her fingers like wings.

“Yeah,” I grunt. “You’re a bird now.”

As we fly over Lake Chad, my cell buzzes in my pocket.

I pull it out, surprised I’m getting service up here.

I’m even more surprised to see Dante’s name on the screen. Last time he called me, I ended up shot in the side. It gave me one of my nastiest scars yet.

I pick up anyway, saying, “Deuce. You better not be calling me for another favor.”

“Well...” Dante laughs.

Deuce never used to laugh much. I think he’s doing it more now that he got his girl back.

Speaking of girls...

“Let me guess,” I say. “You’re calling me ‘cause Riona wants my number. It’s alright — I understand. The chemistry between us was palpable.”

“Well, she didn’t throw her drink in your face, so I guess by the standards of your usual interactions with women, it went pretty well...”

I snort. I only met Riona Griffin one time, but she made an impression on me. You don’t see a girl that gorgeous very often. The fact that she’s arrogant and uptight and hates my guts just adds a little spice to the mix.

“So what are you really calling about?” I ask Dante.

“It is about Riona,” he says. “But not how you’re thinking...”