THE LONGEST CHAPTER.
THE MOST INTENSE CHAPTER.
THE OMFG CHAPTER.
I hope you survive.
I didn't.
X_X That's me.
Question of the Chapter: Did you survive?
REVIEW PLEASE!
-ecto1B
WARNING: ROUGH LANGUAGE USED
Chapter 31:
"Loose Ends"
Day 7 – 15:36:11
Pfc. Mckinley 'Queen' Front
Task Force 141
Georgian-Russian Border
"Snipers in position," murmured Archer, crouching alongside Toad with his slender rifle grasped in his hands. Behind him, Mckinley prepared her ACR with deft glove-covered fingers. The air around them was cold and smelled of pine and fog: two very palatable scents that Mckinley could tell were sent to mislead the team into believing everything would run smoothly. Their current location was about a mile away from their temporary camp, so whatever they had with them would have to last. Weapons, ammo, frags, everything had to be enough to make it through the day. Back at the camp, Mckinley had hooked as many grenades onto her belt as possible, just in case. She also managed to bring ten claymores with her. They would come in handy when they were defending the computer at the estate.
From where they were standing, Makarov's estate gleamed in the near-distance. Beyond it sat multitudes of gorgeous mountains, caked with pearly-white snow. If they were there on vacation, Mckinley would've whipped out her camera and began snapping pictures of every vantage point on the overlook. The only negative to this heavenly perspective was the invasive sight of power lines on the horizon.
Mckinley shivered and hunched her shoulders together to produce warmth. A succulent wisp of sappy pine inched its way through her nostrils as she did so, making the hairs on her arms stand up beneath the jacket. This was so unreal for her. She'd despised this level with a fiery passion, and now making her way through it would become the scariest piece of shit she'd ever endure. Scarier than falling into Lake O'Neil that one summer. Scarier than making advances on Ghost. Scarier than finding out Modern Warfare 2 was based on real life.
Ghost was standing next to her on the small overlook leading down to a tree-lined clearing. His mask was on; his chunky headphones sat on his ears, and his mic swooped along the curve of his cheek and to his concealed lips. He also wore a grey hooded jacket, bulky green pants that harnessed up around his powerfully-built torso, and a pair of military-grade sneakers that resembled the desert-colored ones he'd wore at the favela. For once, Ghost was without his tan scarf, but by being able to see the entirety of his bizarre black mask, she was reminded of the night in the laundry room they'd spent together. A pang of longing consumed her at the rare sight. It struck her as terrifying that she might never again feel the warmth of his arms around her, but then again, there was a chance she could stop Shepherd… wasn't there?
"Strike team go," Ghost said monotonously into the radio, snapping Mckinley out of her daydreaming. "Engage Makarov on sight."
"Roger that," Scarecrow responded.
"Solid copy," said Ozone, tapping his temple.
Ghost motioned for the small group of three on the cliff to proceed behind him as they made their way towards the safehouse. "Let's go. Let's go."
Mckinley, trudging at the rear, kept her head down, her gun ready, and her eyes open wide. They were entering a small clearing where the ambush would begin in an erratic chaos. The forest encircling it was deathly silent, acting as an omen of what was to come. With every cracking leaf and twig beneath their feet came flinches from everyone. The soldiers felt like young teenagers in a haunted woods on a dare; fearing everything that moved and yelping at the smallest rustle or snap. In an effort to preserve their sanity, they trained their eyes on the target in the distance, but every so often, the wind would whisper between the trees and a soldier would jump in alarm.
Ahead of Mckinley, a small group of six 141 soldiers, Boxer, Hannibal, Spider, Reaper, and Bishop, crouched in the grass a few yards ahead of them. Camouflaged ACRs were held within their unsteady grips, visibly shaking. They were the first wave that would clear the area, and, sadly, the most likely to fall under gunfire. Mckinley scanned her eyes across the tree line, and then to the huge cliff shadowing the grassy area. Where were the Russians? The others weren't picking up any activity as far as she could tell. Archer and Toad, who were not only handling the Javelin, were also in charge of thermals for this mission. They hadn't noted any abnormalities yet.
"Ghost, should we advance?" she asked him once she reached his side. The lieutenant had paused next to a slender pine, crouching at its roots and drawing his eyes about the landscape. When Mckinley caught up, he glanced at her momentarily before nodding.
"All right, squad." He spoke into his radio to the five men waiting ahead. "Take it easy. Let's go."
Just as the men started forward, a combination of twenty or so landmines appeared from underneath the mud and grass, swirling in midair and screaming their satanic cries at the task force. Mckinley instantly dropped to her stomach and shielded her head from the exploding mine. Everyone else reacted much slower, only narrowly missing the screeches of the explosives.
"AMBUSH!" roared Ghost, stating the obvious and vanishing behind a smog of blackness.
When the mine went off, Mckinley's entire body was showered in a spray of dirt and rubble. Everything in her eyesight went grey and disoriented as she was blown straight backwards. Her spine slammed into the rugged bark of a tree; a small but noticeable crack ripped from her bones and up through her ears. She cried out in pain and slid to the base of the tree, partially limp. An excruciating grimace glued to her face.
"TARGETS! LEFT SIDE! LEFT SIDE!" Ghost bellowed nearby, and she watched through the smoke as his burly figure scrambled to stand. His gun fell from his hand once, but he scooped it up and joined the barrage of returning gunfire that the others supplied towards the enemy.
Explosions rocketed everywhere. Long snakes of smoke billowed from the cliff nearby, drifting down and settling on the grass. The once noiseless forest had become a theater of warfare. Every shade of yellow and gold imaginable was contained within that small sector, erupting each time an RPG was fired. The Russians that lined the high walls bombarded the clearing with everything they had. Relentlessly, they stormed the task force with gunfire, RPGs and mortars, and only when they fell did they stop.
"They've got this area presighted for mortar fire!" Scarecrow announced randomly. Mckinley spotted him a few yards ahead, ducking behind a tree at the end of the meadow and becoming engulfed in a settling abyss of grey.
Oh, yeah… God forbid the enemy has freaking mortars to use on us. We are so screwed. With every ounce of her strength, Mckinley used her fingers to pull herself up from the ground. She coughed wildly, stabilized herself, and retrieved her ACR from the grass. The pain in her spine sent unpleasant shocks echoing through her nerves, but she fought it out and hustled across the clearing to where Ghost stood.
"Counterattack into the smoke!" Ghost yelled, glancing over his shoulder and grabbing her arm. "Push push push!" With a forceful nudge, Ghost urged her into the safety of the fog while mortars crash-landed behind them. "Queen, you're gonna get hit by a mortar! Lose 'em in the smoke! Go! Go! Go!"
The grey overcame her senses, and she felt herself evaporate into the labyrinth of charcoal vapor with Ghost at her heels.
"Breach and clear the safehouse! Go! Go!"
Mckinley staggered after them, falling slightly behind the majority of the group. She wiped her sweat-ridden brow and took deep, calming breaths to rejuvenate her poorly circulated bloodstream. Nasty pangs hadn't ceased pinching on her spine since the blow from the landmine, but she pressed on. Since they were nearing such a pivotal moment in the game, pain didn't seem to mean much to her. What was to come was surely twenty times worse than the insignificant throbbing in her back.
The group had successfully survived the ambush in the woods, and had just finished trekking up a gradually sloping hill to Makarov's estate. Of course, they'd had to deal with two bulletproof trucks making their way from the safehouse and another assault of Russian troops on the way there, but thankfully, all of the team had survived. Now all they had to do was swarm the house, retrieve the DSM, and hopefully outwit Shepherd before he massacred the entire team.
Makarov's safehouse was actually a nice-looking home from the outside. Built on a hillside overlooking a bountiful amount of the Caucasus mountain range, the estate was built like any other mountain lodge. Dark colored woods and paint decked the house in a secretive ambience. The lawn and landscaping about the house hadn't been tended to in quite some time, it seemed, for the grass stretched out and curled itself around other ferns, rocks, and plants. In the log-lined driveway, multiple barrels and crates—once filled with weapons and ammo, now empty—lined the potholed asphalt. On the far side of the pavement was a half-painted fence that had a random dirty mattress leaning against it. Pieces of trash and empty food containers lined the path up to the front door where Ghost waited. The house also had a wooden wrap-around porch complete with a grill, a propane heater, and some green chairs. If it weren't in use by Makarov, Mckinley would've believed the house to be the perfect place for an older, retired couple to retreat to. The fact that the house had no neighbors for miles and sat on a large piece of land was favorable for both an easy-going family home and an Ultranationalist terrorist hideout.
The team dispersed to different entrances of the house, readying themselves to breach. Ghost and Mckinley were positioned at the front door; Ozone went for the side door; Scarecrow waited against a low window; the rest of the team scattered slightly behind the others, preparing for a firefight when the doors opened.
Mckinley leaned her shoulder on the wooden front door, facing inward towards her lieutenant. She watched him raptly as he reloaded his gun and adjusted the headphones on his head. When he finished, he glanced up at her, tilting his head in confusion.
"What?"
She blushed. "Nothing."
Ghost looked briefly to his left, checking to see if any of the task force was there. When he was certain no one was watching, Ghost reached up and put a hand on her cheek, caressing her cheekbone tenderly. His gloves were warm.
"You ready?" he asked slowly.
With a deep breath, she nodded. "Ready as I'll ever be." Mckinley reached over her shoulder and retrieved a breaching charge from her back. "You?"
He removed his hand from her face and sighed. "The sooner this is over, the better." Ghost motioned his head towards the door. "Whenever you're ready, love, do it."
Mckinley didn't want to do it. In fact, she wasn't ready. She would never be ready. But Ghost watched her in anticipation, waiting for that moment when the door would burst open wide. She'd faked confidence only to build his. Both of them wanted to finish the mission as soon as possible. The only question now was how it would end.
When she slammed the breaching charge on the door and took a step backwards, Mckinley's mind went blank for a fleeting second, but her thoughts returned as the slow-motion breach overwhelmed everything.
One… two… three… In slow-motion seconds, Mckinley took out three Russian soldiers—one to her left, one on the staircase, and another one standing nearby the main computers set up in the estate's living room. Once they had fallen, time returned to its original speed. Ghost, who was standing on her right, eliminated two Russians hiding behind a table, and then another one making his way towards them. Mckinley took the chance to reload her ACR, and Ghost poked his head into the connecting room. Throughout the house, Mckinley could hear the roaring of friendly gunshots taking out enemies in adjoining rooms, signaling to her that the rest of her team had made it successfully into the estate.
"Office clear!" Ghost announced into the radio after a round of gunfire was heard coming from him. "Ozone, make sure no one leaves through the kitchen."
"Roger that."
"Scarecrow, give me a sitrep." Ghost exited the office and went to stand next to Mckinley.
"No one's leaving through the front of the basement," came Scarecrow's reply, as serious as ever.
Mckinley pointed at the room behind the staircase, filled with weapons and ammo. "Ghost, the dining room hasn't been checked."
"Roger that." Ghost crouch-walked to where she'd been pointing and scanned around. She followed immediately behind him. "Dining room clear!" Ghost turned around. "Queen, go upstairs and check any locked rooms on the top floor. Breach and clear."
To add a bit of humor to such a serious situation—and to calm her nerves—Mckinley stood up straight and saluted her lieutenant. She choked back a goofy grin and let down the salute.
"Yessir, right away, sir."
Ghost chuckled, lowering his gun to rest at his side. She could see his blue eyes dance behind his tinted shades. "Don't mess with me, love. Jus' get up there and handle those tangos."
Mckinley rolled her eyes. "Fine." She gave him a playful shove and stalked back to the staircase. "But if you hear me scream, don't pretend you didn't hear me."
As her foot made contact with the top of the staircase, a loud manly battle cry erupted from the adjacent bathroom, and a Russian man popped out. He started to pull the trigger on her, but she—purely reflexive, of course—aimed one ideal shot at his mid-torso. He fell to the ground and was silent.
"Wow," she remarked to herself after a few silent seconds went by. "That was terrifying."
"You all right?" Ghost called on cue.
"I'm okay!" Mckinley peeked into the next room, which was full of dark green sleeping bags, luggage, a TV, and garbage. No enemies. She stepped back out into the hallway and saw that the door alongside the room she'd just entered was locked tight.
Breaching charge.
Once that room was clear (four Russian soldiers, a stack of broken TV monitors, and a bathroom with a blow-up doll laying in the bathtub made up that rather gruesome room), Mckinley headed downstairs. Scarecrow stood at the base of the staircase, and when he saw her, he gave her a small nod.
"Top floor clear!" he declared.
"Roger that, top floor clear!" Ghost was standing in the dining room, glancing over a few of the rifles and handguns the Russians had displayed. "Queen, go with Scarecrow and check the basement for enemy activity. Breach and clear."
"So nothing new," Mckinley said jokingly to Scarecrow, and the two of them walked through the kitchen and down the basement steps to clear the rest of the house.
"Basement clear!" Scarecrow jogged back up the steps alongside Mckinley. After ridding the basement of any remaining enemies, the two were now allowed to rejoin the rest of the task force upstairs.
"Copy, basement clear!" Ghost echoed, his voice buzzing from the radio's speaker. "All clear. Squad, regroup on me."
Stifling a bout of laughter at the unbelievable That's what she said line he'd not meant to say, Mckinley met up with Ghost in the foyer of the house. He dipped his head in acknowledgement, and she copied his movement with an added smile.
The entire team gathered around in the foyer. Scarecrow and Ozone hung near where Mckinley stood, awaiting orders. Boxer and Hannibal chatted under their breaths about the weapons cache in the armory. Spider, the newest recruit on the Task Force, wiped off the blood from his melee knives with a purple dishrag from the kitchen. Reaper retied his combat boots, and Bishop pulled out his cross from around his neck to pray.
"Scarecrow, photographs." Ghost denoted the multiple tables in the living room, covered in newspaper clippings and large blue sheets of paper.
"Roger that."
If I hear 'roger that' one more time, I'm going to scream.
Ghost pressed his finger to his headphones to steady the sound. "Shepherd, this is Ghost. No sign of Makarov, I repeat, no sign of Makarov." Mckinley clenched her fist and resisted the urge to start swearing. Shepherd was definitely not on her good list… well, he had never been there, let alone seen her good list. "Captain Price, any luck in Afghanistan?"
"Plenty…" replied the gruff British man. "At least fifty hired guns here, but no sign of Makarov. Perhaps our intel was off."
"Well the quality of the intel's about to change. This safehouse is a bloody gold mine."
Mckinley had to slam her hand over her mouth to prevent her enraged growl from being heard as Shepherd spoke.
"Copy that. Ghost, have your team collect everything you can for an operations playbook. Names, contacts, places, everything."
"Bitch," Mckinley muttered lividly, not trying to be loud.
Ghost flashed her a startled look. Apparently she'd been loud enough for him to hear. He studied her momentarily, as if he couldn't understand why she'd swore, or whom she was calling a bitch. Still eyeballing her from behind his shades, he slowly responded to Shepherd.
"We're already on it, sir. Makarov will have nowhere to run."
"That's the idea. I'm bringing up the extraction force. E.T.A. five minutes. Get that intel. Shepherd out."
Five minutes my ass.
Mckinley unclenched her hands and began whistling nonchalantly. Her eyes darted above at the woodwork making up the ceilings and banisters, pretending to be engrossed in their complexity. When Ghost crossed his arms and leaned slightly to the right, she whistled louder and began strolling about the living room.
Ghost wasn't buying it.
"Queen, who were you callin' a bitch?" There was no flirtation or amusement cloaked around his British accent. Only a humorless drone.
"Erm… no one," she answered evasively, grazing her eyes across a map of an airport tacked to the wall. Slender red arrows traced inside the entirety of the airport's walls.
"Who, Queen?"
She sighed and bit her lip, devising a practical lie that she could get him to believe. "I was calling myself a bitch. My spine is killing me, and so are my legs. I feel like a cripple."
From the living room, Scarecrow's eyes widened suspiciously.
"I promise, sir, I would never call you or Shepherd a bitch. I'm sorry if it sounded that way." She threw in the formalities to emphasize her fib, demonstrating its false integrity and hoping they'd all buy into her lie. She locked her gaze onto Ghost's and gave him a tiny but adorable pout. Perhaps that would help her cause.
It was only a few moments before Ghost exhaled in defeat. He was no match for her puppy-dog pout. "All right, I believe you." He chuckled, smothering it behind his smiling skull mask, and jabbed his thumb at the computers nearby. "Queen, get on Makarov's computer and start the transfer. Ozone, you're on rear security. I've got the front. Bishop, Spider, you're with me. Hannibal, go with Ozone. Reaper will stay here with Scarecrow and Queen. Now let's move!"
"On my way." Ozone gave Mckinley a thumbs up before starting down the basement steps with Hannibal. Instantly, Mckinley remembered that both Ozone and Scarecrow wouldn't make it out of the level alive (the others, she wasn't so sure about). Quickly she dashed forwards and pulled Ozone into a tight hug, and then moved on to Hannibal.
"Survive this," she instructed them firmly. "I wanna see you guys untouched when the fight is over."
Hannibal smiled. "Of course, Queen."
"Will do, ma'am," said Ozone. "You be careful, too."
"I will," she replied, feigning sincerity.
Once they vanished into the basement, Mckinley went to Bishop, Spider and Ghost waiting in the foyer. She hugged each one, faking a confident grin on her face and doing her best not to break down and cry.
"You better not be saying goodbye, love," Ghost told her, almost pleadingly, when she hugged him. "You were the one tellin' me we would survive this. Don't go back on what you said at a time like this."
Out of view from the other soldiers, she kissed his masked cheek, but didn't say anything in reply to his statement. She didn't have the heart to tell the truth.
"Task Force, this is Price." Mckinley and the team reentered military mode when the captain spoke. "More of Makarov's men just showed up at the Boneyard… Soap, cover me. I'm gonna slot that guy over there and use his radio to listen to their comms. Ghost, we're going silent for a few minutes. Good luck up there in Russia. Price out."
No… Price… don't go, please. When you leave, everything will start to go wrong. The next time you and Soap check in with us will be when Ghost and I are lying in a ditch, being burned alive by Shepherd. Don't go.
It was too late. Price was gone.
Ghost faced Mckinley once again. All compassion had drained from his eyes, replaced with a fervent determination that would carry him all the way to the end of the mission. His eyes didn't even smile at her. They stared deep into her soul, and her soul ached in response.
Man, I am gonna miss you, Ghostie. All you've been is good to me.
"Queen, connect the DSM to Makarov's computer. We're not leaving without this intel." He dragged his gaze to each of the soldiers standing in the house with him: Scarecrow, Bishop, Spider, Reaper and Mckinley. While he spoke, Mckinley linked the DSM to the computer and began the program that Ghost had taught her about the day before. "Now listen up, men." Mckinley raised an eyebrow at Ghost. "And women. Sorry." She shrugged. "Makarov's men are going to do whatever it takes to keep us from leaving with this intel. We need to protect the DSM until the transfer's done. Use the weapons caches and set up your claymores if you've got any left." He, Bishop, and Spider began walking outside to the front of the house. "Defensive positions! Let's go!" Saluting Mckinley like a true soldier, he brought his group into a jog, and they disappeared out into the driveway.
Thinking hastily for a moment, Mckinley decided that she'd forgotten to tell Ghost something. She left the computer and rushed to the front threshold. Already, Ghost and his group were setting claymores around the perimeter.
"Ghost!" she called. "I forgot something! Come here!"
In response, a loud, partially-aggravated sigh came from him that made Mckinley giggle. He jogged back over to her and looked down into her eyes.
"What?"
She kissed the skull on his balaclava straight on the mouth.
"I love you."
Ghost laughed. "Love you too. Now get back to work on that DSM, if you would. The downloading will only take a few minutes, and when it's done, we'll need to—"
"Get the hell outta here," she finished for him. "I know. Just don't die, Ghostie. Please. For my sake."
"I won't. Now go!" He nudged her back past the doorway. "The house is the safest place for you; you'll be okay inside. Stay close to Scarecrow and Reaper."
Just then, Archer revealed some terrifying news.
"Enemy fast-attack choppers comin' in from the northwest."
Ghost put a hand to his headphones. "Roger that. Enemy helos approaching from the northwest." He pushed Mckinley further inside the foyer. "Get inside now. They're comin'." He paused. "I love you."
And with that, Ghost spun around and went to rejoin Bishop and Spider.
Mckinley started to head back to the computer, but was alarmed when Scarecrow and Reaper dashed past her and through the front door.
"What are you two doing?" she yelled, beginning to feel the side-effects of trepidation eat at her spine. "You can't just leave me here by myself!"
"We gotta cover the front lawn!" Scarecrow called back.
On fast feet, Mckinley ran back to the computer and reloaded her ACR. She glanced at the computer screen and saw the large green letters that said:
FILES COPIED: 56/2067.
Then came Ozone's voice. "I'm moving to the main windows. I need someone to mine and cover the driveway approach."
From the large window in the living room, Mckinley watched in pure horror as a dozen helicopters landed in the front yard, each overflowing with Russian soldiers who would do anything to keep the task force's hands off of Makarov's intel. They each held huge, elegant weapons and were all in need of a good shave. Mckinley ducked next to the computer table and watched as the numbers slowly increased.
"RPG team approaching from the west!" Archer notified them, raising his voice an octave.
"Solid copy! RPG team approaching from the west!"
"Ghost, why are you repeating everything poor Archer says?" Mckinley asked. "Just focus on not dying, 'kay?"
She didn't get to hear his response, because just then, a flashbang soared in from the front door, landing a few feet away from her. She shut her eyes immediately, but was unable to resist the flashbang's bright explosion. Everything in her vision was blurry and disoriented. Mckinley's hands scrambled for the nearest support, knocking over a few things on the table before getting a grip on the computer monitor. Shaking her head vigorously to rid her eyes of the blinding light, she heard the tiny whiz of a bullet traveling inches from her ear.
"Queen!" Someone grabbed her arm and shoved her back underneath the table. Well that was rude. "Stay there for a second! I'm gonna set my claymores around the door so they don't come in."
Only when the figure galloped away did her vision return, and she recognized the figure to be Ozone. She watched in panic as he dashed to the foyer and began frantically planting claymores into the ground.
Dammit, Ozone, why do you have to be the hero?
She snatched a glance at the computer screen.
FILES COPIED: 246/2067
Not going as fast as I'd like it to move, but okay.
Mckinley instinctively leapt to her feet and sprinted to Ozone's side. Without a second thought, she mimicked his actions, practically tossing each of her claymores around the door. Ozone gave her a momentary look of disapproval, but he didn't seem to be in the mood to demand she go back and hide. The sooner they set the explosives, the sooner the enemy would be repelled, and the easier it would become to escape with the DSM.
Sweat dripped in buckets from her brow. Mckinley only paused once to mop it up with her jacket sleeve. She was curious as to why she was sweating so much in such cold weather, but the answer became clear in seconds. As the two soldiers unloaded their extensive load of claymores from their packs, Mckinley glanced out the door to the front yard.
What she saw explained why her body was puking up so much sweat.
A legion of Russian men surged towards the house.
And they didn't look too happy.
"Queen, the transfer's complete! I'll cover the main approach while you get the DSM!"
She spotted Ghost make a break for the threshold. Heart pounding, Mckinley bolted back through the house, ducking and dodging hundreds of bullets on her way to the DSM. Her entire body screamed in agony, begging to be given a rest, but there was no time to take a break. The DSM was done loading. They had to get it.
Her red hair flapped about her damp face, and a dozen newly awakened cuts on her leg that had scarred through her healing burns stung like the devil. She'd tripped over a shelf of porcelain plates earlier, cutting her pant leg open and causing red trickles of blood to slither out of their hiding places. And a burly Russian hiding in the office had butted her shoulder with his gun, giving her a bruise. She would've loved to stop running and shooting, but it wasn't the time.
Scarecrow was dead. So was Spider—the new recruit—and Hannibal. They'd hollered their last cries before plummeting onto the ground and falling silent. Mckinley was grateful she'd not seen any of their deaths up close, for she would've cried her eyes out. Ozone and Bishop weren't answering their radios, so they were assumed dead as well. Reaper and Boxer were still with them, but Reaper had been shot in the arm and was very weak.
Leaping over a fallen couch in the middle of the room, Mckinley snatched the DSM from its place on the computer table and stuck inside her jacket's inside pocket. She wasn't about to give it to the enemy without a fight. Including Shepherd.
Right as she began huffing out a long string of swear words directed to the lovely general of the task force, he conveniently spoke from her radio.
"This is Shepherd. We're almost at the LZ. What's your status, over?"
Mckinley spun around and rejoined Ghost, who waited for her at the foot of the doorway. His gloves and pants were ridden with blood, but he didn't seem to care. Like a gentleman, he offered his hand to her as she hurried down the steps, but their fast-paced run kept them from holding hands for long.
"We're on our way to the LZ! Queen, let's go!"
Queen wiped the sweat from her jaw with the base of her palm. She choked back tears as the two of them proceeded towards a larger field about 200 yards behind the estate. On the way, Reaper caught up with them. Blood seeped from his wound, and his face was chalky white.
"WHERE'S BOXER?" she yelled over the pound of nearing gunfire.
"Dead," Reaper croaked. His Adam's Apple bobbed wildly in his neck, fighting the compulsion to fall to the ground and rest. "I saw it."
Mckinley dipped her head sadly.
"I'm sorry, Rea—"
Ghost looked over his shoulder. "Queen! Hurry! We gotta get to the LZ! They're bracketing our position with mortars!" Mckinley instantly noticed the enormous explosions rocketing around the trees. Shit. "Keep moving, but watch your back!"
Something hit her. Mckinley froze in place; her brain was already running through the plot of Loose Ends before it commanded her legs to stop. Approach the estate. The end was nearing. Quickly. Avoid getting hit by the mortars. Wait for Archer and Toad to use the Javelin on the trucks. Shepherd would step from his chopper and ask for the DSM. Hurry up the hill to Makarov's estate. She'd hand him the DSM, and he'd pull out his pistol and shoot her point-blank in the stomach. Breach and clear the house. Then she'd fall to the ground. Ghost would scream "NO!" and whip out his own gun. Upload the information from the computer and defend the DSM. But Shepherd would be too fast. He'd easily fire a shot at Ghost's stomach and sent the masked man to the dirt. Wait five minutes until the DSM finishes uploading. Retrieve the DSM and head for the LZ. Then Shepherd would have both of them tossed into a ditch. His men would pour gasoline all over their bodies. Run to the LZ and hand Shepherd the DSM. Then Shepherd would flick his lighted cigar onto them and set them alight. They would burn alive.
Don't get killed by Shepherd.
The thought was rebellious. It was unorthodox. Outlandish. Promising. She could do it. It would be going against the entire game, not to mention the future itself, but she had to do it. Ever since she started playing Modern Warfare 2, she had to save Ghost. Ghost died for her. He stood by her side while her parents fought and argued upstairs. He never abandoned her. He loved her. He'd held her in his arms. He couldn't die. No. She would rather herself be slaughtered than have Ghost fall at the hands of Shepherd. The idea seemed absurd and unworkable, but she knew she had to try. No longer would she have to restart the game to see Ghost's balaclava-covered face. No longer would she sit back and watch Shepherd kill him. Now the video game had no control over what she could and couldn't do. No longer would she let the game decide her fate.
Ghost would not die.
In a frenzied haste, Mckinley thought up a genius plan. A plan that had a small chance of working, only if she did everything perfectly. It was a plan that was built off the hundreds of strategies she'd mused over as she lay in bed, wondering just how she'd save Ghost if she was able to. Now that the opportunity was there, her plan would have to succeed.
Even while Ghost seized her hand and screamed her out of her whirling thoughts, Mckinley was setting her plan in motion. She dropped her half-empty ACR in the grass and whipped out her M9—the M9 that would save her and Ghost's sorry asses from getting killed by Shepherd. The first step in her plan was to use the M9 as much as possible.
"QUEEN!" Ghost yelled hoarsely, running behind her now. "HURRY! THE LZ IS UP AHEAD!"
Mckinley knew she had to ignore him temporarily. She slowed and began jogging backwards to take out the advancing Russian troops from behind them. Her M9 fired off rapid shots, and soon her first clip was empty. Deft fingers reloaded the gun.
"QUEEN! WHAT'RE YOU DOING? LET'S GO!"
Ten bullets left…. nine… eight…
She began counting in her head, shrugging off Ghost's desperate hands as he tried to pull her along with him.
Seven bullets left… six… five…
Ghost snatched her around her waist.
"C'MON! I'M NOT LEAVIN' YOU!"
Four… three bullets left…
Ghost released his hold on her and charged on, hoping she'd follow. Mckinley continued to fire, however, taking out as many Russians as she possibly could with the remaining bullets in her M9.
Two bullets left… one…
"QUEEN! LOOK OUT!"
Everything went black.
She thought she was dead.
Light seemed like it'd never enter her eyes ever again. She'd been hit by a mortar. She'd felt the shrapnel pierce her side and dig into her skin and tissue, taking its time to meet each crucial point of her body and give her the worst pain she'd ever experienced. Light wasn't coming back… was it? Her ears still worked. More explosions detonated around her, but she couldn't hear Ghost. The gunfire and the mortars were too loud.
Is this the after-effect of death? Hearing what was going on when you died?
"I've got you, Queen! Hang on!"
And her angel was above her. Well, more like her ghost. His voice proved he was beside himself with panic, for every note Ghost hit was strained and crushed. He grabbed the area below her arms and began to drag her through the grass towards the LZ.
"Thunder-Two-One, I've popped red smoke in the treeline! Standby to engage on my mark!"
Who the hell is he talking to?
"Roger that. I have a visual on the red smoke. Standing by."
Shepherd's men. Shit. Don't trust them, babe. They're gonna kill us. Please don't drag me over to Shepherd. My plan might not work.
Fumbling around, Mckinley took hold of her M9 and squeezed the pistol's handle so tight that it hurt. The M9. It would have to work. It would have to count. It would have to save them.
The explosions and fire in her eyes were endless. The enemy's mortars would not cease. It frightened her. What if one got Reaper? He'd vanished from sight when they'd neared the LZ. What if he was dead?
Once Ghost had dragged her far enough away from the treeline, he spoke again to the helicopter. "Thunder-Two-One, cleared hot!"
A slick black chopper descended into her line of vision. It began annihilating every Russian soldier in sight with its machine gun. Soon, the gunfire upon Mckinley and Ghost was no more.
The pain in her body intensified all of a sudden. Her mind began to grow hazy once more; the objects she could see became fuzzy. Her chest throbbed angrily with incessant pain. She couldn't keep her eyes open much longer…
"QUEEN, HANG IN THERE!"
Black consumed her once more.
When she awoke again, Ghost was lifting her from the ground and putting her arm on his shoulder. His body was warm and soothing, and Mckinley desperately wanted him to hold her.
"C'mon, get up!" he begged. "Get up! Get up! We're almost there!"
As best as she could, Mckinley prepared herself to initiate the plan. A small slip-up could cost them their lives, and she was not ready to lose the man she loved so easily. Shepherd would have to fight.
The huge chopper landed before them, and the back opened up to reveal the man she hated with a fiery passion, General Shepherd. Once the ramp was down, the cameo-clad man with a handlebar moustache and an unsmiling face jogged over to them casually. Mckinley clenched her hand around the M9.
"Do you have the DSM?" he asked, coming forward and pretending to help Mckinley stand along with Ghost. She gripped the M9 in her right hand and planted her foot back slightly, getting set in position.
You crazy bitch. You're not killing us off, no matter how determined you are to do so. I've got the upper hand.
"We got it, sir!" Ghost said, out of breath.
"Good. That's one less loose end."
As Shepherd reached down and took his pistol from its holster on his belt, Mckinley took a deep breath. When he brought the barrel of the gun to her stomach, she did the only thing she knew would work. She'd planned this. She had to do it at the right moment, or Shepherd would realize what was happening and react.
But it worked.
She dodged.
She defied the game.
She saved both of their lives.
Shepherd missed.
Fortunately, she fell straight into Ghost, who supplied a soft landing for her. The two collided and landed on the dirt; Ghost's sunglasses fell from his wide blue eyes, and those same eyes locked on the general that had just attempted to kill Mckinley.
Shepherd's bullet missed her torso by centimeters. She heard it clearly to her right as she toppled over, and instantly began reciting The Lord's Prayer in her head. But it wasn't over yet. He still had a gun in his hands that he could easily fire again and hit its intended target lying helpless on the ground.
That's where M9 came in handy.
Before Shepherd could respond to what had just happened, Mckinley raised her M9 and fired a single shot at his hand: the hand that held his pistol.
Of course, all of this took place in seconds, so it was hard to tell at first if Mckinley had succeeded what she'd intended. She wanted her bullet to send his pistol flying away so he'd be unarmed. He'd be unable to hurt her or Ghost.
Lucky for her, it worked.
Her bullet dug deep into his fingers and sent the pistol hurtling backwards into the grass. Blood spurted in all directions, showering Shepherd's sleeve and shirt with red. He roared in pain and gripped his other hand around the injured one, applying pressure to stop the blood.
Mckinley took a deep breath, full of relief. She glanced over her shoulder and saw that Ghost's eyes were still wide with shock. Behind his mask—she suspected—his jaw had dropped, as well. He'd just witnessed two things: a betrayal and a comeback.
What would happen next? She wasn't too sure. Her plan had only gotten so far…
"You… you tried to kill her…" Ghost spoke in his throaty British accent, directing his accusation to the man clutching his bleeding hand. "You pulled out your gun an' tried to kill her…"
Mckinley was too distracted by Ghost's words to hear Shepherd stumbling over to them and plucking her M9 from her. Obviously too lazy to retrieve his own gun, he picked up the nearest weapon. The expression behind his scruffy moustache was a mixture of rage and redemption as he held the pistol in his good hand.
"I'm going to kill her," Shepherd hissed. "And I'm going to have that DSM."
"You betrayed your own country!" Mckinley shouted in response. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she finally got everything she'd ever wanted to say to him out of her system. "You little sonofabitch! You fucking JERK! You joined up with Makarov! You wanted popularity! You wanted to go down in history as the greatest general alive!" She spat on the ground before his feet. "But you're nothing but a whore! A little prick hiding behind a blank check!" She met his ugly cold gaze with her livid grey one. "You're no hero! You're just a bastard with an Army cot and an emblem on your shoulder!"
Shepherd swiftly brought the pistol's barrel to her forehead.
"History is written by the victor," he said simply. "I am the victor." His finger quivered against the pistol's trigger. "And I win."
"NO!" Ghost bellowed, trying to stand from underneath Mckinley's fallen body. "Don't you DARE hurt her! I'll fucking KILL YOU!" She saw his hands scramble for a hold on the dirt, but he was weak. He couldn't move. Mckinley gulped. Was Shepherd evil enough to—
Shepherd instantly shoved the barrel in Ghost's face.
Yeah. He is.
"I said 'I am the victor," Lieutenant Riley," he murmured. "I never said I would leave her unharmed." A wicked smile perched on his cracked lips. "I can't let you two know what's on that DSM. The information would make your heads explode. I intend to dispose of both of you." He tilted his head towards Ghost. "But if you would like to go first…"
"Take me," Ghost insisted suddenly. His blue eyes became enveloped in a mass of agony. "But don't touch her." He hung his head. "Take me."
Mckinley, knowing what would happen, decided it be best to go along with it. Her tears grew in quantity, and she choked on every sob that trickled down the back of her throat. Her body shook with fury and fright. Was it possible that they would lose? Would Shepherd pull the trigger?
"I can't guarantee that," Shepherd purred. His finger danced on the trigger, just waiting for the right moment to—
"NO!" Mckinley sobbed. She'd had enough. If her plan was working, it would've happened already, and it hadn't. What was he waiting for? Christmas? She couldn't stand the waiting much longer. Ghost, the ghost that had haunted her from the very beginning, was about to die.
I tried.
I tried.
I TRIED.
Shepherd chuckled like a fat sultan upon a golden throne, ready to receive the word that his greatest enemy had been defeated. His smile was that of the same sultan: content, greedy, hungry. His eyes sparked with the fire of the palace torches, excited for the end to be so near.
Mckinley now knew what evil looked like.
And he pulled the trigger.
DUNN DUNN DUNN
(Dunn didn't survive, so I had to do that for him.)