“Are you insane?” Bomber says.

“Pick up those two, or I’ll fucking shoot you myself!” I shout at him.

Bomber shakes his head at me, his beefy face red with anger. But he picks up the other two girls. Bomber is built like a linebacker. I know he can carry a few more pounds.

We start jogging across the rough ground, the girls clinging to us with their skinny arms and legs.

Even though they’re small, I must be carrying over a hundred pounds. I don’t know what the fuck kids weigh, but these three seem to be increasing in mass by the minute.

Sweat is pouring off my skin, making it hard for them to hold on to me. Bomber is puffing and blowing like a hippo, too tired to even complain.

We run until my lungs are burning and legs are on fire.

“Two more miles,” Bomber gasps.

Fuck.

Each jolt of my feet sends pain shooting up my back. My hands are numb, trying to cling onto these kids. I’m scared I’m going to collapse and not be able to get up again.

I try to pretend I’m back in basic training, when I had to run ten miles with a forty-pound pack on my back. When I wasn’t accustomed to pushing my body, and I had no idea how far it could go.

I remember my first drill sergeant—Sergeant Price.

I picture him jogging beside me, screaming at me to not even think about slowing down.

“IF YOU DROP ONE GODDAMN STEP PRIVATE I WILL KICK YOU IN THE BALLS SO HARD YOU’LL SING LIKE MARIAH CAREY!”

Price knew how to motivate a guy.

At last, when I really think I can’t take another step, I hear the drone of the chopper. It floods me with new life.

“Almost there!” I say to Bomber.

He nods dully, sweat flying off his face.

The last little bit of ground is uphill. I carry those girls up that ridge like I’m Samwise Gamgee carrying Frodo to the volcano. It is both the best and worst moment of my life.

I lift them up into the chopper, one by one, wondering exactly how the hell I’m going to figure out where they came from and so I can get them home again.

“We don’t have the weight capacity for extra bodies!” the pilot snaps at me.

“Then chuck something out,” I tell him.

I’m not leaving those kids, after I carried them all that way.

The pilot throws out the med kit and a couple other boxes of supplies. Hopefully nothing too expensive—I’m probably gonna have to pay for all that.

Once Bomber and I are settled, the chopper lifts up into the air. The five girls huddle together on the floor, clinging to each other, more frightened by flying than by the rest of the escape. Only one has the courage to peek out the open doorway, to see the dark desert dropping away beneath us.

She looks up at me, big eyes shining in her round little face.