Chapter 630
[ 504 words ]
Chapter 630:
In the command center, the sound of shattering ceramic echoed through the cold, quiet room. Jarrod’s fist was clenched on the console, shards of a white coffee mug embedded in his palm, blood dripping onto the pristine floor.
K.C. Bell stood frozen, too terrified to move, too horrified to speak.
Jarrod stared at the screen, at Caroline’s ghostly pale face, at her cracked lips. His own carefully constructed walls of control were crumbling into dust. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t watch anymore.
His hand, shaking violently, hovered near the comms unit. He did not reach for it, but the urge was a physical ache in his chest.
On the parade ground, a wave of blackness washed over Caroline. The world tilted on its axis, spinning into a vortex of darkness. Her brain sent a final, desperate command to her muscles, but there was no response. The signal was lost.
Her arms, finally and completely, gave out.
Her body fell, a dead weight, plummeting face-first toward the cold, wet, unforgiving asphalt.
In the last sliver of consciousness before the impact, she heard a single, piercing sound cut through the roar in her ears.
It was Brenna, screaming her name.
𝗧𝗋e𝘯di𝗇𝗴 n𝘰𝘃е𝗅ѕ o𝗻 g𝘢𝘭n𝘰v𝖾𝗹𝘀.𝘤о𝘮
Caroline’s body plunged toward the ground, a dead weight with no protective instincts left to shield it. Her face was inches from the brutal, skin-tearing surface of the asphalt.
In a movement so fast it was almost a blur, Instructor Sharpe shot her right foot forward. The thick, steel-toed combat boot wedged itself under Caroline’s forehead an instant before impact, absorbing the force, saving her from a catastrophic facial injury.
With a grunt, Sharpe bent down, grabbed a fistful of Caroline’s tactical vest, and heaved, rolling her limp body onto her back.
The spell was broken.
“CAROLINE!” Brenna’s scream was raw, animalistic. She broke from the formation, a blur of camouflage, and sprinted across the asphalt, collapsing to her knees beside Caroline’s unconscious form.
For once, Sharpe didn’t scream at her for breaking discipline. “Get her collar open! Give her air!” she barked, her voice stripped of its usual cruelty, replaced by a cold, professional urgency.
She ripped the radio from her belt. “Sharpe to Med-One. I have a female trainee down on the main parade ground. Unconscious. Suspected heatstroke. I need a bus, now!”
Brenna’s hands fumbled with the buttons on Caroline’s collar, her fingers clumsy with panic and tears. She ripped the fabric open, trying to fan Caroline’s face with her hand.
From the ranks, Harper watched, a flicker of satisfaction in her eyes. But that satisfaction quickly curdled into fear as she felt the weight of dozens of angry, accusing stares from the other recruits.
Less than ninety seconds later, a military ambulance, its lights flashing but siren silent, screeched to a halt on the parade ground. Two medics jumped out, their movements practiced and swift. They had Caroline on a stretcher and loaded into the back of the vehicle in under a minute.
Brenna tried to climb in after her, but Sharpe’s hand clamped down on her shoulder like a vice. “Back in formation, O’Malley. Now.”
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