I'm twenty two for a moment

She feels better than ever

And we're on fire

Making our way back from Mars

-Five for Fighting, "100 Years"

eighteen hours left

Tallahassee, Florida

Rachel

When I woke up at Alex's this morning, he had still been asleep. I slid out of his bed without waking him, crept past Brittany to get my shoes, and slipped out the door unnoticed. I had appreciated Alex being there for me the night before, but I didn't want to face Brittany and her questions.

Nothing had happened between us, but Brittany would still make a big deal about it, and I didn't feel like listening to it today.

When I got home, I put the ringer on my phone to the highest setting and deep cleaned the apartment,  down to the baseboards and windows.

Hours passed with no missed calls, until 5:06 pm.

My phone rang, and when I saw the name on the screen, my heart leapt into my throat. 

Panama City Beach, Florida

Luke

Twelve hours. That's all that was left before my brother could be killed by terrorists in Iraq. And we had heard nothing.

I was furious, disgusted, and devastated. Even if Miles made it out of this, he was going to have some serious PTSD.

What gave these assholes the right to take my brother and ruin his life? Not to mention the lives of everyone who loves him.

I was on the balcony, listening to the waves as I ruminated on what I would do if I got my hands on one of those fuckers when Brooke lay her hand on my shoulder.

"Luke?" she asked gently.

I looked up at her and smiled, my heart melting when I saw she was holding Lily.

"Hi babe," I greeted her, standing up and kissing her cheek. "How was your day?"

"It was fine; Katherine took me to lunch and then bought Lily some clothes." She smiled as she continued. "She's obsessed with buying her little pink outfits."

I grinned and held my arms out, so she could give Lily to me. Being with Brooke and holding our daughter was the only thing keeping me sane for the past few days.

I held Lily close to my chest and sat back down, pressing my lips to her tiny forehead as Brooke sat down next to me.

"Have you heard anything about Miles?" Brooke asked, her voice quiet.

I shook my head, looking out at the water. "There's only twelve hours left, Brooke. What if they don't save him?" My voice cracked, and I let out the sobs I'd been holding in for days.

"Oh, Luke..." she cooed, wrapping her arms around me and Lily, enveloping us in her comforting embrace. "Don't give up, baby."

I lay my head against her shoulder and cried until I had no tears left.

As I lifted my head to wipe my eyes, my phone began to buzz.

three hours earlier

Fallujah, Iraq

Miles

I had less than fifteen hours left. I was beginning to lose hope. I had always thought that the United States would do whatever took to rescue prisoners of war, but I was starting to doubt that theory. I tried not to despair, but when I was lying on a dirty mattress with an iron shackle around my wrist, it was easier said than done.

"Fucking American," the tall man spat as he approached the bed.

I opened my mouth to respond but was immediately silenced when he slapped me with an open palm right across my cheek.

"Damnit!" I roared. "What the fuck?!" I was starting to lose my temper. I knew that if I wanted to get out of this alive, I really needed to keep my cool. even when they were hitting me, but I didn't know how much longer I could do that.

His accent was thick, but his words were clear. "Your fucking country hasn't provided us the information we need. They have fifteen more hours before we put you back in that chair and decapitate you for your entire country to see - your mother and father, brother, and fiancée - they'll all see it." He laughed, an evil, nefarious cackle that chilled my blood.

I didn't even bother to protest - it didn't matter what I said at this point. They were going to do what they wanted.

I also didn't doubt they'd kill me anyway, even if they did get the information they wanted.

These men didn't strike me as the type to play by the rules - even when the rules were their own.

***

"Get up, infidel."

My eyes snapped open as a heavy hand drug me out of the bed, almost pulling my arm out of its socket.

"Where are we going?" I choke through the pain.

"Time's up, pathetic fucker. Get ready to meet your end," he hissed in my ear, his breath hot and sour.

I wanted to beg, plead, implore him not to kill me.

But I didn't.

I wasn't going to go out like a little bitch, begging this piece of shit for my life.

He threw me into a room, dimly flooded in yellow light, shoving me into a chair in the middle of the floor. No sooner than I sat down was there a light shining in my face.

I squinted and turned my face away. "Get that out of my eyes," I growled.

The tall man laughed, and his fist flew at my face, the impact rattling the bones in my jaw.

"Fuck!" I screamed.

"Don't talk back, you piece of garbage," he responded. "I'm going to enjoy killing you; I want to be able to do it right, without having to hear your disgusting American voice."

I chewed the inside of my cheek, forcing myself to keep my mouth shut.

"Now, your people have had forty-eight hours, just as we promised. We've heard no word from any of them since initial contact, so I guess they see your life just as we do: expendable and worthless. So sad," he said with mock pity.

Nostrils flaring, I closed my eyes, pushing my rage down to the pit of my stomach.

"OPEN YOUR EYES!" he roared. "I want you to watch as I saw your fucking head off your shoulders."

My heart constricted when I looked across the room and looked into my own face - gaunt, bruised, and bleeding - in a giant wall length mirror. Oh my God... they were actually going to make me watch this.

Bile rose in my throat, and my stomach lurched. "I'm going to be sick," I mumbled.

"Don't you throw up, you disgusting pig," he spat.

I swallowed and forced my nausea away, but I didn't know how long I could hold it in.

But it probably wouldn't matter, because in about five seconds, I'd be dead.

It is said that in the final moments before a person's death, their life flashes before their eyes.

It's true.

I saw my first Little League game, the first day of kindergarten, my mother's smile, her cancer diagnosis... her death. The first time my dad hit me. The day I fell in love with Rachel, when I found out Luke was my brother... my father dying, being adopted by Adam and Jane, graduation day, when I asked Rachel to marry me... the day I was sworn into the Army... and the day I landed in Iraq.

I never thought I'd meet my end this way, in a bunker somewhere with a serrated-edged machete held to my throat.

My eyes darted to the squatty man in the corner with the video camera, and my heart shattered at the idea of Rachel seeing this... or my parents... or anyone I love. Tears spilled out of my eyes and I stared straight ahead, unable to wipe them away.

"Oh, look at him cry," the tall man taunted. "What a fucking pussy. The world will be better off without your cowardice. Say goodbye, you American piece of shit."

He pressed the saw into my throat, and I felt the blade slice into my skin.

"I love you - " I began, but before I could finish my sentence, a noise behind us distracted the tall man, and he lifted the blade from my throat.

Oh my God.