Hemingway - Zoe Dawson Page 0,47

the two of them walked away.

“Let’s go to my office,” Max said, turning away as Hennessey followed.

“I’m sorry, Proctor. This ain’t for me,” he said, then softer, “None of it.”

“Before we go inside, ring the bell.”

Instead of stepping forward and ringing out, Hennessey looked like a man with a moral dilemma. His face twisted up and he said, “I thought I knew what I was about, but I was wrong. Very wrong. Sometimes you get lost. Do you know what I mean Proctor?”

“Yeah, I get it. But it’s tradition, Hennessey.”

He swallowed and looked down the berm toward the ocean where his two friends had disappeared, regret, fear, and determination on his face.

He walked over and rang the bell three times. Max was sure that everyone could hear it from the barracks.

Max opened the door and went to his office. Once he and Hennessey were inside, he closed it. “Have a seat.”

Hennessey crumpled into the chair and stared down at his hands. He looked like his uniform had dried on him from a state of wet and sandy. The light caught his bruises showing them to be more mottled black and blue than Max had initially thought. This kid had been put through the ringer.

“How did you get those bruises on your neck, Craig?”

Hennessey’s head jerked up. Maybe he was startled by the question or maybe it was because Max had used his first name.

“Training,” he mumbled.

“Are you sure?”

He looked back down, then said, “Training,” again.

Max pulled up the necessary form to process him out of BUD/S.

“Is there something you want to tell me?”

His eyes grew moist. “I didn’t expect to feel this way. To question who I was, and what I was doing. I didn’t know.” Hennessey sighed, then met Max’s gaze. “I can’t say. Not here. Maybe you could meet me off base.”

“Where?”

“Behind the Hotel del Coronado, on the beach?”

“Okay. When?”

“In an hour?”

“I’ll be there.”

Hennessey left after signing the necessary documents, and Max immediately picked up his cell, calling Shea. “I need to talk to you,” he said when she answered.

Something woke Hemingway out of a deep sleep. He wasn’t sure what it was. A thump, angry voices. He sat up in his bunk and looked around his room. Two of his roommates were sacked out in their bunks, but Wilson’s rack was empty.

Hemingway tried to remember if Wilson was on watch duty but didn’t recall the schedule. He pushed back the covers, slipped on his boots, pulling on a hoodie, then tucking his cell inside the right pocket, settling the hem over the waistband of his sweatpants.

He walked to the door and listened, but suddenly it was quiet. Pulling open the door, he entered the hall, then headed for the outer doors. He pushed them open and stepped outside. The crash and rush of the ocean sounded loud in the stillness. Hemingway couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong.

He walked the length of the barracks, looking around but finding nothing out of order. The grinder was in shadows. The only illumination was from the lights on the perimeter. When he reached the edge of the barracks, he looked into the parking lot. Nothing moved, just the roll of the ocean.

Just when he thought his mind must have played tricks on him or he was dreaming, he turned to go but stopped dead. There was a dark stain on the ground. He crouched down and couldn’t tell what it was. Pulling his cell out of the pocket, he turned on the flashlight and shock coursed through him.

Blood. Still wet and red.

He rose quickly and looked around, the spot in the middle of his shoulder blades twitching, all thoughts of getting back into his warm bunk gone.

He pivoted and slid against the side of the barracks, crouching and moving slowly, shining his light. The glow of the flashlight picked up something lying on the ground. When Hemingway got close enough, he almost dropped his phone.

It was one of the trainees.

Craig Hennessey was on his back, his eyes open. His face was a bloody mess.

Dead.

Hemingway took off running back to the grinder and the instructor offices. He burst inside and immediately saw Mad Max and…Shea talking in his office.

Max’s head jerked toward him along with Shea. They came out of the office, and Hemingway said, “Hennessey…he’s…he’s dead. Just behind the barracks.”

“Show us,” Max said.

He went out the door, wondering why Shea was here. She’d told him that she had video to edit and wouldn’t be available tonight. It worked