Ghosts of the Past (A Call Of Duty: Ghosts Fanfiction)

Chapter Thirty Three

We reached the base fast.

    When we arrived at the roadblock, Keegan was the one who explained quickly who we were, minus Logan, and showed the guards a piece of ID stashed in a pocket. It was after we passed through the barrier that we were in a safe zone. 

    Rorke's forces hadn't pushed further out than New Mexico, which meant his other contacts were enacting their roles in other parts of the world. Scattering armies and making everyone turn their backs on each other was his specialty and he'd played around with that the last time. He was a master of controlled chaos and still succeeding despite me taking a big asset.

    The base was three times larger than the Ghosts' hidden one had been. More people were stationed and milled in and out of the base to complete missions or tasks. We had been welcomed gruffly by a General, who had directed us to get cleaned up and settled. Keegan was to find him later. 

    I was heading to the shared showers on our end of the base. Being in a more classified team meant a bit of special treatment and privacy at the place. The downside was being surrounded by arrogant men who weren't as polite or nice as the two I'd maintained company with. 

    There was only one other person in the showers when I entered. I didn't give a damn who it was in the moment—I wanted to clean up and find a way to unwind from our travels like we were told. The man barely glanced my way as I picked a stall, the walls only stomach high and just an opening in the front for getting in. I set my towel on the nearby bench within my stall and then turned to start the water.

    After stripping out of my clothes, I took to scrubbing everything I could. A hustle found its way into my hands as I felt the settling of self-consciousness. I was rinsing out my hair when the door to the room slammed open then closed. 

    There were a group of four muscled men entering in loud, obnoxious voices. I glanced from where they rounded the corner to where my towel sat neatly on the bench—a reach away. 

    "What the hell are you doin' in here?" the bald man that seemed to be the leader of the group started when he laid eyes on me.

    I carefully covered my chest though I faced away from them and let the hot water slam into my front. "It's a shared shower. I'm showering."

    "Women don't belong over here," he was frothing, growing a little red as he stared at me in disgust. 

    "This woman does," I rubbed a bit of soap off my arms, trying to take the high road. "Apologies if my position and my team offends you."

    It wasn't what I said, but more the way I said that had the man stepping forward. One of his cronies grabbed his elbow, murmuring something low. I tried to ignore the gut-wrenching feeling crawling into my skin by continuing to rinse. 

    The door opened and closed lightly again. There were two seconds that passed and then a familiar face found mine. His dark eyes narrowed, his bare abdomen flexing as he shifted in my direction. I looked away, even more nervous of exposing my front side as he stayed silent along the edge of the room. 

    He was letting me handle what was behind me. For now. 

    "Say, you are right," the man smirked and then eyed me a bit more closely. "It's not often we get ladies on this side of the base."

    Oh no. No, no, no.

    The memory of an underground prison and Silas with his followers invaded my head, freezing me. I knew I couldn't provoke that hateful and violent side of my brain. These men were on my side, or were supposed to be. True fear and panic made my bones stiffen.