Minutes to Burn

Chapter 8

Cameron had always found the ritual of preparing for a mission comforting. Cleaning and lubing the guns, rolling the socks back into themselves, putting fresh batteries in the weapons lights. One rule was never broken on the teams: Always pack your own gear. That included everything from filling the canteens to jamming the mags.

She shoved down on the kit bag so she could get the zipper closed. When she finished, she was straddling the large olive-drab duffel, her bare feet cold against the floorboards. Pausing, she took in the small living room. One yellow couch sitting at a slight tilt due to the missing leg, an empty gun mag resting atop a TV on the floor, a ripped Kings schedule on the wall-they lived as if they were still in college. Until recently, they had been home so infrequently it never seemed worthwhile to spend the time and effort to get the house more comfortable. That would change when they got back. She'd start looking in some of those catalogs, the ones with lots of beiges and candles, and order a few things to get the place looking like it was inhabited by adults. Once they found regular jobs, maybe they could even have some friends over for dinner. If they made any friends.

Wearing a towel around his waist, his hair still wet from the shower, Justin walked into the room, his handsome, even smile texturing his face with wrinkles. "You ready?"

Cameron shrugged, then patted her stomach. "Not so pleased about bringing a hitchhiker."

Justin crossed the room and stood beside her. She embraced him around the legs, and he hugged her face to his stomach, her cheek warm against his flesh. He lifted her hair up in the back and gently rubbed her neck.

"You know," Cameron said, her voice slightly muffled by his stomach, "we're going to have to be professional on this mission. Like we're nothing more than fellow soldiers." She turned her head slightly and began kissing his stomach. "I don't want our judgment to be impaired by the fact that we're married."

"Mine never is," Justin said. "Ask the mail lady." He crouched and kissed her gently on the forehead, then high on her neck, right where it met the corner of her jaw.

"I'm serious," she said.

"Relax, babe. We're part of the most notoriously casual trained fighting force in the world. I forgot how to salute."

"You didn't have to fight for the right to join the teams," Cameron said. "Not like I did. I'm not gonna fuck this up for other women. So let's remember that it's going to be like we're not married. Rules of conduct are important. We can't show each other any favoritism, can't put the others at risk because of emotional entanglements."

Justin tilted her head back, looking into her eyes. "I hate emotional entanglements," he said. "I'm just looking for a quick lay here, lady."

Cameron pulled him toward her. They kissed, long and slow.

He stood. The towel dropped to the floor.

Tank banged on the front door and Cameron opened it. A cluster of green plastic canteens hung together like grapes from her kit bag, and her M-4 was slung across her shoulders. She'd outfitted the gun with some extras-a night vision scope, a laser designator, and an M203, 40mm grenade launcher. She was dressed in full cammies and black jungle boots. Justin scrambled behind her, grabbing his last few things.

Tilting his head, Tank indicated the van behind him, engine running. "Four and a half minutes late," Cameron said, smiling. She could see that Tank wanted to help her with her gear, but he knew better. Instead of offering, he nodded and headed for the van. When he climbed back in the driver's seat, the vehicle seemed to settle a bit on its chassis. Tucker swung open the passenger door and hopped out, his green, long-sleeve T-shirt pulling tight across his chest. He met Cameron halfway up the walk, his eyes tracing the cracks in the concrete. "Hey, Cam," he said.

"Hey Tucker."

He reached out to take her weapon, but she shook her head. "I got it," she said.

Tucker followed her silently to the back of the van. She swung the door open and tossed her bag in on top of Tank's and Tucker's. Derek, Szabla, and Savage were going to meet them at the base.

Cameron slammed the back doors and leaned against them, staring up at the dark sky. "Sunset was blood red today," she said. "Did you see it?"

Tucker nodded. "Earthquake weather."

He pushed up his sleeves, crouched and lit a cigarette, pinching the filter and letting it swing between his legs. For the first time, Cameron noticed the shadow of healed needle tracks running up the insides of his arms. Thin dark skids, most of them ending in the dot of a faded bruise. His flesh looked red in the glow given off by the brake lights. The asphalt was still shimmering from the afternoon rain.

Tucker inhaled deeply and sent a cloud of smoke down toward the pavement. It rose, clinging to his body. He glanced up and noticed Cameron's eyes on his arms. Protectively, he crossed his arms, pulling them to his chest. Cameron looked away uncomfortably, but when she turned back, Tucker's eyes were still on her.

Slowly, he uncrossed his arms, revealing again the pattern of scars. "Been a long road back," he said. He looked down at the asphalt, as if he could see his reflection in it. His voice wavered a little bit when he spoke again. "It's good to get a second chance."

Cameron pushed herself up off the van. Tucker did not look up. "You're a good soldier, Tucker," she said, though she wasn't sure why.

His head bobbed a bit with what she guessed was a smile. "You ever had something you loved?" he asked. "So much you couldn't give it up?"

He flicked the cigarette butt, and it sizzled out on the moist asphalt. "No," Cameron said. Justin came out onto the porch, closing the door behind him, and

Tucker rose and circled back to the passenger seat of the van.