Protection

Chapter 6

TOBIAS POV

The enemy infantry is hidden, but I know that they are out there. Danger clouds my mind as we slowly approach the ruins, the tank clinking as it crawls behind us. I keep my gun raised with the rest of my squad just in case.

Zeke takes point ahead of me and signals for us to follow him inside one of the buildings on the left, most likely because he thinks it is a good idea to make for higher ground. We will need the leverage if there is an ambush to cover everyone else below in the street.

Our group is smaller compared to others, but it contains some of our best men. Zeke is the leader, and nobody would complain, since he is a military genius. I'm honestly confused as to why he isn't a general or some other position higher in rank.

We file in a line behind him up a couple flights of hazardous, broken stone stairs to the third level. The air is dusty and therefore makes it hard to see and breathe without inhaling the particles.

Zeke steps forward onto the top step of the stairs and prepares to turn the corner and check for enemies in the room on our right. I stand directly below him, waiting for him to give us the all-clear.

But it never comes.

Something draws my eyes to where he is carefully walking, where a wire is meticulously laid out for someone to step on it.

"Zeke, no—!" My warning is far too late, and all I can do is hit the ground to save myself and not my friend.

The boom is deafening, and then,

darkness.

I spring up in my ridiculous king-sized bed, panting as sweat coats my forehead and drenches my shirt. It takes me a moment or so to make out the room, to find that I am in the Prior's mansion, not Afghanistan.

It was just a dream.

No. I shake my head as I drop it back down onto the pillow. It wasn't. Because it happened.

I sigh and kick the restraining, hot covers off of me before closing my eyes. Zeke was the only real friend I had in the military, or really, in life. I got to know him well over the year and a half we were deployed together. It all ended when he stepped on that thin, red wire that triggered the claymore in the doorway.

I was there when he took his last breaths, when he told me to look out for his family...

Stop. I groan out into the dark room, the sound echoing back at me. My eyelids blink rapidly to hold back tears as I get up out of bed and stumble to the bathroom.

Fumbling for the light-switch, I eventually find it and squeeze my eyes shut when I flip it on, the overwhelming amount of light temporarily blinding me. As soon as my eyes have adjusted, I turn on the tap and run cold water, which I then splash on my face. It helps me cool down, but it does nothing to relieve me of the pang in my chest that is a reminder of my dead friend.

Droplets trickle down my face, but I don't mind as I hang my head and turn off the faucet. I reach for a cloth on the rack next to the counter and dry my face off with it. When I finish, I meet the navy eyes in the mirror. My father's eyes. My eyes.

The eyes of a murderer.

I stare at my face and reassure myself. You don't even wish to kill people. You only do it to help your mother. You only kill malignant people that are untouched by the law.

But is that true?

Tris does not seem like a bad person. Then again, I still don't know much about her. What if I am completely wrong about her? What if Max is?