Lachlan sat on the ridge with a rifle across his knees and the comm pressed low against his collar. The static came and went with the wind, catching fragments of Zubair's orders below.
"…fuel line stable—copy, Elias, bring the third canister—"
He rolled the volume down until the sound became nothing more than background noise.
Below him, the Hummer sat half-buried behind a mound of burned-out cars, gleaming faintly under the still afternoon.
His Hummer.
His hands tightened on the rifle grip.
Zubair was driving it. Elias was being a back seat driver.
And him?
He was up here.
Guard duty.
Babysitting a snowflake who didn't need watching.
He huffed out a laugh and tipped his head back against the dry rock behind him.
The air smelled like burnt oil and rust. He could see heat bending the road near the compound, a thin shimmer that made the towers sway. The world felt too still.
