FALLEN | The Devil of Caracas

Chapter 9 | A Brush With Death

Leaping from her place of safety, Lexi drops to her knee. She raises the pistol with both hands. Her finger squeezes the trigger three times and the Beretta M9 spits out each bullet with furry. The slugs rip through her assailant's chest. He stumbles to the ground. He fights to get up. She fires another round through his skull. Crimson blood sprays out the other side as he drops to the dirt.

Lexi jumps to her feet and sprints toward the small hut. She soars into the dried creek bed. The other two men make their way around the helicopter. Climbing the hill, they see their target escaping. They plant their feet, raise their rifles, and open fire.

The barrage of bullets sails past Lexi, with deadly force. She nears the entryway of the hut. Her left foot crosses the threshold. Then something smacks in her back. 

Pain. Searing pain in her right shoulder blade. She screams. Stumbling forward, she falls through the doorway. Her pistol flies from her hand. Her body smacks against the dirt. She gasps. The gunfire ceases for a moment. Rolling onto her side, Lexi frantically drags herself away from the door and toward cover.

She grits her teeth; every movement is answered with sharp pain, jetting through her lungs. Each breath is both laborsome and excruciating. Lexi gasps and whimpers as she pulls herself up. Pressing her back against the wall, she eases into a sitting position. Her right arm hangs uselessly at her side.

"Shit!" she cries out, "Shit, motherf- ah!" Lexi finally stops moving and attempts to level her breathing. 

Looking down at her shoulder, she sees the exit would. The bullet traveled through her body, missing the joint and exiting just below her collarbone.

She quickly searches for her pistol and spots it lying on the ground right in front of the doorway.

Tears roll down her face as her mind races - no longer searching for ways to survive. She thinks of home and her family. 

This is it. There's nothing left to do.

For the first time in eight years, Lexi prays. If there really is a god, she hopes he hears this one prayer.

"Please," is all she manages to say. "Please." Tears streak her dusted face. Her chin trembles. She closes her eyes tightly. 

She's going to die - alone and in pain.

The men shout in Pashto as they move toward her. Their voices grow louder. She hears their footsteps approaching the hut. "Please..." she whispers.

Gunfire suddenly erupts from outside. These shots aren't rapid - they're controlled. They're disciplined. They're well aimed. Two thuds sound out as the bodies drop.

"Check the chopper! I'll check the hut!" calls out a voice in clear English.

Lexi gasps. Her eyes fly open. Her chest swells with with oxygen. She grits her teeth. Sharp pain racks her right shoulder and shoots through her body. More tears cascade down her face. Her mouth gapes open, drawing the pained breath. She's alive. Whether an act of God or an act of man, it doesn't matter - someone came.

Her breathing becomes rapid, with each intake sending a jolt of agony through her body. Tears of relief and terror paint her cheeks, leaving defined lines in the layer of dust smeared across her face.

A shadow appears in the doorway. "Friendlies!" calls out the voice. He swings the barrel of his M4 Carbine into the hut and quickly discovers Lexi on the ground.

Lowering his rifle, he takes a knee and brings himself closer to her. The soldier looks her over and sees the blood soaking her uniform.

"We're gonna take care of you," he says. Leaning out the doorway, he shouts, "Medic!"

Lexi looks him over and quickly realizes he is one of the Green Berets she was sent to help. He wears a T-Shirt and tactical pants, rather than the Army issued combat uniform. A thick beard masks his face and atop his head is a weathered Florida State University ball cap. 

Now the irony she faces embarrasses her and damages her pride; they came to help her when she failed to help them.

A Special Forces medic quickly rushes into the hut. He kneels next to the other soldier and examines Lexi's wound. She tries to adjust her seating but shutters as a shot of pain fires through her. Lexi closes her eyes. Another tear pushes its way out and down her cheek. She fights to stifle the pained whimpers. 

"You're gonna be fine," says the medic. "Looks like the bleeding's not too bad." He glances over at the other soldier and mouths the words, "keep her calm."

The soldier leans down, trying to look her in the eye. Lexi stares at the ground. The medic retracts a set of scissors from his vest and begins cutting through her clothes to free up the wound.

"What's your name, pilot?" asks the soldier.

Lexi slows her breathing. "Bueller," she answers. She remains fixated on the dirt floor before her. 

"Wait, you can't be serious," replies the soldier. "Like the movie, Farris Bueller's Day Off?"

Lexi nods and sniffles. She's heard the jokes. Nothing new. This guy's already getting on her nerves. Does he have any clue what she just went through? 

"Okay, well I can't call you that with a straight face. What's your first name?" asks the soldier.

Lexi takes a couple shallow breaths. "Lexi," she replies.

"Lexi... Alright. I can call you that," the soldier responds. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Lexi." He gently sets his hand down on her outstretched leg. Lexi's eyes glance at the stranger's hand on her leg. His touch is gentle. She slowly cocks her head and gazes up into his face.

The soldier offers a warm smile. "My name's Sam. Sam Remington."