But today, Jesse was on the enemy’s team, and A.J. had no problem dropping his buddy.
“At least the paint all over the cabin brightens up that shitty-looking place. Maybe Shaw won’t notice a hole in the roof,” Finn said over comms.
“Maybe not, but I bet Mrs. Shaw would fly off the handle. We can give Roman that scientific proof he needs that ghosts are real.” A.J. kept his head low and inched toward the cabin to get a closer shot.
“Since when do you believe in ghosts?” Chris asked.
“We were in a Russian ghost town not too long ago, or have you forgotten?” A.J. reminded him. “You didn’t have to walk through those deserted children’s nurseries like I did. Damn, it was creepy. Seeing little shoes lined up against the wall.” As if on cue, his body sprouted a coating of goose bumps on his arms and right down his legs beneath his cargo pants.
“Yeah, well—”
“A.J.!” Finn hollered, interrupting whatever Roman was about to say, no doubt in protest to their talk of the supernatural.
Shit. A.J. should have known better. Jesse had lured them into a trap. He’d gone on the roof to divert A.J.’s attention. Dangled himself like candy. Jesse used to pull similar moves when they played war games as kids.
A.J.’s older brother Beckett, also on Jesse’s team along with his other brothers Caleb and Shep, had a red dot laser-focused on A.J.’s chest. Beckett took the shot before A.J. had a chance to move or return fire.
The paintball hit A.J. a bit harder than expected, and he stumbled over a gnarly tree root—probably Mrs. Shaw’s doing. He lost his footing and fell backward, the back of his head connecting with something hard. That random pile of rocks he’d encountered moments ago, maybe?
A.J. blinked a few times, trying to regain his focus amid the sunlight shining down between two branches that swayed overhead.
A.J. closed his eyes, sealing out the light. Attempting to gain his bearings. Shake off the knock on the head.
“You good?”
The voice was familiar. Not any of his Echo teammates, though. Not Jesse or one of his brothers.
“A.J., you hit your head?”
A.J. allowed his mind to wander, trying to place that voice, to understand what or who he was hearing.
Forcing his eyes open, he sat upright while cradling the back of his head where a throbbing pain made his skull feel as though it were splitting open. The migraine of all migraines.
“Where am I?” A.J. dropped his gaze to his legs. Desert digital camo clothed his body. A short-barrel M4 carbine lay off to his left. The blades of a CH-47 Chinook were chopping the air in the distance. Flames and black smoke off to his right engulfed an old Land Cruiser.
“Yo, man, you good? You lost your helmet.”
That voice. Deep. A slight hint of an accent.
Am I good? A.J. lowered his hand to his lap and shifted his attention to the outstretched hand gripping a ballistic helmet by the strap. A drop of blood fell as if in slow motion capturing that one moment in freeze-frame.
It was too bright. Too everything to be in the woods in Alabama.
“You must’ve hit your head harder than I thought.” The man moved closer, maintaining hold of the helmet and squatted, revealing his face.
A hand reached out and firmly gripped A.J.’s shoulder. A hand he hadn’t seen in years. “We gotta get the hell out of here before we get our asses blown up. Can you move?” His teammate cocked his head, his dark eyes focused on A.J. with concern.
“What’s going on?” A.J. implored. “What happened?”
“A.J.!” Loud clapping sounds had him blinking to find Chris bending down and smacking his palms together to get his attention.
A.J. released a sharp breath and flung a hand over Chris’s wrist.
“The back of your head is bleeding,” Finn told him. “You banged the back of that thick skull of yours on a shitty pile of rocks.”
“Damn, I didn’t expect you’d go and fall and hit your head.” It was his older brother Beckett. He and Chris helped A.J. stand, but . . .
“I need to see him again.” A.J.’s mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton. The words hard to get out, but he managed to push through, to speak. “I need to talk to him. There’s so much to say. I never even said goodbye.”
Chris shifted his face shield up. “What are you talking about?”
A.J. peered around at the men surrounding him. Worried expressions on their faces. He attempted to stand on his own but decided it was a bad idea when a sharp jolt of pain shot through his head. Suddenly there were too many hands reaching for him, and it was as if he was moving through a turnstile of arms as they tried to keep him on his feet.
His head hurt like something fierce. But his heart hurt even more.
“I’m fine,” A.J. responded at the realization they were on the verge of having Owen medevac him out of there on the chopper after hearing a few grumbled words from his older brother: concussion, helo, and hospital. “I promise.” He added a nod, hoping to come across as confident.
“Maybe don’t tell Mom about this,” Beckett said once A.J. was mostly steady on his feet, still a bit off-kilter.
A.J. forced a smile before his lips flatlined at the sight of someone walking away in the distance wearing a full kit of eighty or so pounds of gear. Helmet on.
“Wait!” A.J. called out as emotion choked him up.
“What? Who?” Chris twisted around to follow A.J.’s outstretched arm.
“El se fue.” A.J. swallowed and stumbled back a step. “He’s gone,” he repeated in English this time, growing nauseous and dizzy. Beckett grabbed hold of A.J.’s arm before he lost his footing again. “He’s just gone.”
Chapter Two
A.J. smoothed a hand up and down his abdomen, checking to see if he still had a six-pack after all the food he’d eaten an hour ago—catfish, okra, green tomatoes. You name it, his mom fried it. Oh, and the homemade pecan pies . . . yup, he was stuffed.
He’d told himself he needed that second slice of pie to help absorb all the ibuprofen he’d popped to get rid of that nasty headache. The throbbing in his head had finally tapered off enough that he was beginning to feel like himself again. Plus, being at his parents’ house earlier had helped put his mind and body at ease. But something still gnawed at his subconscious. I did not see a ghost today. It was a figment of my imagination. Those words had rotated round and round like he was on the spinning teacups at Disney World his brothers used to force him to go on even though they knew it made him dizzy.
“Our mom swears people come all the way from Montgomery to attend our little church just to try her pies she serves after service.” A.J.’s brother Caleb, the youngest of the four brothers, announced to the table inside The Drunk Gator, one of only two bars in their town. They were short three men right now. Owen’s wife called earlier with the news that their son had come down with a virus, so he decided to fly home early. Jesse was outside on the phone. And the groom-to-be was somewhere else in the bar, preferring not to hang with them.
A.J. briefly peered around the bar and found Brian talking with a brunette by the jukebox, the sounds of Lil Nas X’s Old Town Road playing. Thank God the bartender upgraded the jukebox from when A.J. used to live there. Not that A.J. had anything against some of the greats, like Elvis.