forcing himself to keep them open.
This sucked. It was way harder than he ever could have imagined. Grant was realizing the professionals would do this much better, but the professionals were busy right then so it was up to the Team. The “constables,” Grant corrected himself.
The bathroom was a mess, but didn’t have anyone in it. Grant felt a surge of relief. The shower curtain was open so no one could be hiding in the shower. He yelled, “Bathroom clear!”
He went down the hall with his AR shouldered and ready to fire. Everything he saw was through his red-dot sight. He knew that a bullet would go precisely where that red dot was. He went to the door of the next room, pointing his rifle into the room and starting to go around the corner, exposing himself as he did. He got all the way into the doorway of that room, which looked like the girl’s bedroom. No one seemed to be in there. Grant checked the closet. No one.
Then Grant noticed a man’s jeans on the floor.
Oh God. Not that. That explained why the little girl ran out of the house naked. Oh God.
“Bedroom clear!” Grant yelled.
He heard Ryan yell, “Moving!”
Grant and Wes yelled back “Move!”
Grant heard Ryan going through the house. Ryan yelled, “Clear,” after each room.
Grant didn’t know whether he should also be clearing rooms, standing in the hallway, or just staying in the bedroom where he wouldn’t get in anyone’s way and wouldn’t accidentally be shot by the Team. Maybe it was cowardice, but Grant decided to stay put in the bedroom. He thought he’d at least get some bearing on where people were. For the first time during the raid, Grant stopped moving and just thought. For a total of about two seconds, which seemed like forever.
It was weird: Grant desperately wanted to know exactly where his guys were. Not just so he could coordinate with him; he had this intense urge to know that his guys were nearby. They were like a security blanket. He needed to know he was not off on his own. He needed his guys around.
“Where you at, Wes?” Grant yelled, realizing that he sounded scared.
“Here!” Wes yelled, sounding scared, too. Grant could tell from the direction of the sound that Wes was a room or two away to the right.
“Got it,” Grant said. He could have said “Roger,” but they weren’t a real SWAT team or military unit. They were just some guys who managed to not get killed. So far.
It took Ryan a minute or so to clear the other rooms. He wasn’t in a rush; he’d done this before, albeit in huts in Afghanistan. He would hate to miss something and have a bad guy pop up, but that minute seemed like hours. Everything had moved so incredibly quickly, and now it was dragging on.
Grant used the time to catch his breath. And to think. What would he do if someone came into the bedroom? If no one came into the bedroom, then what should he do next? Get medical attention to the woman? Were Bobby and Scotty capturing the girl and woman who ran into the backyard? Were there any more dogs?
When he was sure absolutely nothing was moving and he had a spare second or two, Grant did a press check of his AR and Glock. Of course he had a round in each one. He looked at the clear plastic window in the Magpul magazine in his AR. He had a full magazine, of course, since he hadn’t fired a shot. The press check was a nervous habit; something to calm him.
After a few more seconds of no one moving and silence, Grant felt it was OK to put the safety on his AR. He kept his right thumb on the safety, as he had done a thousand times before at the range, to remind himself it was on and to be able to instantly click it off, if necessary. He could feel himself coming down. It was like he had been on a drug and now it was wearing off.
Duh. He was on a drug: adrenaline. The superhuman strength and heightened senses the adrenaline provided were slowly dissipating. Grant’s mouth got dry – so dry his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.