Call of Desire

9. Fear

fear
/fir/
noun
an unpleasant emotion caused by the belief that someone or something is dangerous, likely to cause pain, or a threat.

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Ghost could see their exfil in the distance, the helo hovering above the ground, kicking up dust. The truck was running on fumes, struggling to operate.

"You see that, Soap?" Ghost gestured to the small black smudge on the horizon. "We made it." He looked over at the Scotsman, who had fallen unconscious hours beforehand.

The moment he turned his attention back to the road, the truck's engine whined, the petrol depleted. Simon sighed deeply as the truck slowly rolled to a stop, resting his head against the top of the steering wheel for a moment. 

"Shit." He grumbled, grabbing his handheld comms device, praying they were in range.

"Price? You copy?" He shoved open the driver's side door, stepping out of the truck. "Price?"

"Copy. You made it. How far out are you?" Price's voice sent waves of relief down Simon's spine.

"Not far, I can see you. But our vehicle has run out of fuel. Going to have to walk from here."

"Good luck, Lieutenant." Captain Price stated. "What's Soap's condition?"

"Unconscious, but alive." Simon walked around to the passenger side of the truck, pulling open the door. Soap inhaled softly, eyelids fluttering as he regained awareness.

"What happened?" he murmured, those two words straining him.

Ghost's chest tightened at the pallor of Johnny's skin. "Out of fuel, we've gotta walk."

"Hm..." John let his head rest against the seat again, struggling to keep his eyes open.

"Don't go back to sleep. We're only a few miles away." Ghost reached out, unfastening Johnny's seatbelt.

"I cannae walk, Simon." John breathed, eyes rolling  toward the other man once more.

"I know." Ghost didn't hesitate before lifting Soap's limp body onto his back, causing several noises of protest from the Scotsman. "Quit your bitching, you and I both know we don't have many other options."

"Fine..." John knew he was too weak to fight. He rested his head on Ghost's shoulder as the Brit began jogging. "You're strong, aren't you, Riley?"

"Just relax, Johnny." He huffed, doing his best to keep from jostling John too much. It didn't take very long before the strain became hard to ignore. Simon's calves ached with exertion, body protesting every movement. Simon was running on fumes, pushing himself past his limits. Johnny would live, everything else be damned.

"Simon..." Johnny mumbled. 

"Don't say it." Simon hissed.

"Consider it, Simon." he pleaded quietly.

"I'm not fucking leaving you," Ghost growled between breaths, "We're so fucking close, Johnny!" Soap's arm fell limply at his side, dread sinking its teeth into Simon'd abdomen. "Stay awake, come on, we're almost there."

"'m tryin'," John rasped, gaze focusing on Simon just for a brief moment.

"Do your best." Ghost ordered. 

"Yes, sir..." Johnny ground out, his vision fading for a moment due to the pain streaking through his body with every step Simon took.

"Just hold on, mate. We'll be there soon." Ghost remarked. He often trained by running long distances with weight added to him, but no rest, no food, and minimal water was taking its toll.