The Bullet's Mark (Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 3 Fanfiction)

Chapter 33

    My eyes were focused ahead, however my heart was behind me. 
    Yuri....
    I had my issues with him and my distaste after Roach's death, but he had been one of us. He tried with everything to redeem himself. Of course, right after he had it was the end.
    My legs were nimble in leaping over the fallen debris and disaster of a hotel as I hustled to reach the landing pad. Rounding a corner, I stumbled up a small set of steps to the pad. What I saw made my heartrate increase. 
    The second helicopter was in smithereens, flaming and broken on the pad. Soap was knocked out on the right side of it, just coming to yet still very groggy. Price was splayed on his stomach, shaking his head to also come to. And out from the destroyed bird came Makarov. 
    Makarov was stumbling, clearly wounded from the crash, toward a pistol in front of Price. The Captain grasped it at the same time the Russian slammed his foot down. Makarov leaned over to pick up the pistol, ginger and slow in his movements. My right hand found the pistol Roach had customized for me as Makarov raised the barrel at Price's dazed face. 
    "Goodbye Captain Price." 
    "No!" I shouted and completely drew, firing a round that pulled slight right. 
    Satisfaction rushed through me as the bullet made it's mark; Makarov was shot in the right shoulder, hissing in pain and frustration. His return fire came swift and right at me. I ducked and scrambled for cover to avoid being hit. 
    Soap was coming to just enough to rush the Russian enemy. He hit Makarov hard, knocking both of them down and to the side. They began a tussle. 
    "Price," I slid to the older soldier, making sure he was right before focusing back on Makarov. 
    "Sam," Soap's choked voice made me spin around. 
    He was caught under the weight of Makarov, who held a pistol to his temple. My muscles reacted instinctively, drawing Roach's pistol again, the glaze of Ghost's watch on my wrist bouncing off the nearby flames. Makarov only smirked. 
    "You lose." 
    "Take the shot," Soap choked out, wiggling underneath Makarov. 
    "Yes, please do," Makarov was in pain but was pushing through.
    My eyes skirted around, looking for anything to save Soap. Why was Makarov stalling? He needed to pick us off, not taunt. The little rat he was...even right up to the end. 
    Before any of the four of us could react, the glass pad underneath us groaned. The helicopter and its flames had been taking a toll and now it was clear it'd given up. I had less time to blink than it took for everything to give.
    All of our bodies were thrown like ragdolls as the building reacted to the warfare. Soap kicked Makarov off while Price reached for his comrade. I stumbled down to my knees, losing balance as glass shattered, yet tried lunging to grab Makarov.
    And before I could get my hands on the bastard, the entire glass floor beneath us gave away.

✧~✧~✧

"Urghh," I groaned, rolling over with every part of my body screeching not to. "Fuck." 
    I didn't have to glance down to know my thigh was in bad shape. A wound from months ago was now fresh and pulsing again. Warmth of blood was pooling at the area.
    Through my blurry vision, I rocked my head around to see my surroundings. I could see Price and Makarov battling with their fists. Their movements were slow and dwindled with their own injuries.
    Soap let out a groan next to me and my head snapped that way. He was barely alive, lifting his upper body to reveal blood pooling near an area of a past wound as well; the place where Shepherd had stabbed him. My eyes widened and I shifted toward him.
    "Soap..."
    His blue eyes snapped to me, showing fierceness etched with concern. He held his reopened wound the best he could and opened his mouth to say something. However, before Soap could, Price and Makarov caused the glass beneath us to shatter once more.
    Suddenly any sort of stability underneath my heavy, bloody body was gone. I was falling again. It wasn't that sort of slow motion, movie-made moment either. It was hectic and loud and excruciating. My body violently cracked as it made contact with the carpeted cement floor, and I felt shooting pains through my back and neck.
    "Sam!" I could hear Soap's deep, throaty Scottish accent but it came to me as a high-pitched ring that stayed to agonize.
    My vision went black as I laid stomach up in the middle of a battleground of glass, blood, debris, and distant bodies. My entire head rang with the pounding of my heart; someone was clanging metal against metal in my skull. I tried to take a deep breath, only feeling pain, and then fully went out.