CHAPTER 1: The Ghost in the Plaza
The heat in Chicago during July isn’t just a temperature; it’s a physical weight. It presses down on your shoulders, bounces off the glass skyscrapers, and cooks the trash rotting in the alleyways until the air tastes like hot garbage and diesel.
Officer Derek Miller wiped a bead of sweat from his eyebrow, trying to keep it from stinging his eyes. He adjusted his duty belt, the leather creaking in the silence of the momentary lull in traffic. Beside him, Titan, a seventy-pound Belgian Malinois, panted rhythmically. The dog’s tongue lolled out, pink and wet, but his amber eyes were scanning the crowd with a predator’s intensity.
“Hot one today, bud,” Derek muttered, reaching down to scratch behind Titan’s ears.
Titan didn’t acknowledge the affection. He was working.
Derek respected that. He’d been Titan’s handler for two years, ever since he transferred to the K9 unit. Titan was a legend in the precinct—smart, lethal, and obedient to a fault. But he was also distant. Other handlers talked about their dogs sleeping in their beds or playing fetch in the backyard. Titan? Titan slept in his kennel with one eye open. He didn’t play. He waited for orders.
“Unit 4-Alpha to Dispatch,” Derek keyed his radio. “Patrolling the West Transit Plaza. All quiet.”
“Copy 4-Alpha. Keep an eye out for a 5150 reported near the fountain. Male, Caucasian, wheelchair-bound, aggressive panhandling.”
“Copy that.”
Derek sighed. Great. Babysitting duty.
He steered Titan toward the fountain at the center of the plaza. The water was turned off for maintenance, leaving a dry, stained concrete bowl filled with blown trash.
And there he was.
The man fit the description perfectly, though “aggressive” seemed like a stretch. He was slumped in a battered, manual wheelchair that looked like it had been salvaged from a scrap heap. One of the footrests was held on by duct tape. The man himself was a pile of rags—an oversized, filthy woodland-camo jacket despite the ninety-degree heat, stained cargo pants, and boots that were falling apart.
His head hung low, a curtain of greasy, graying hair hiding his face. A cardboard sign sat on his lap, but it had fallen face down, so the message was hidden.
Derek approached, his boots clicking loudly on the pavement to announce his presence. Titan stayed in a perfect heel at his left knee.
“Sir,” Derek said, using his command voice. Not yelling, but firm. “You can’t be here. You’re blocking the walkway.”
The man didn’t move. He didn’t even breathe.
For a second, Derek worried he might be dead—another overdose in a city full of them. He stepped closer, his hand instinctively hovering near his radio.
“Sir!” Derek barked louder.
The man flinched. It was a small, sharp movement, like a nerve firing. Slowly, painfully, he lifted his head.
Derek recoiled slightly at the smell—old sweat, cheap vodka, and the metallic tang of infection. But it was the man’s face that stopped him. Underneath the grime and the matted beard, the man’s eyes were striking. They were a piercing, icy blue, but they were shattered. Looking into them was like looking into a broken mirror; you could see the pieces, but the image was gone.
“Bus…” the man rasped. His voice sounded like gravel grinding together. “Waitin’ for the transport.”
“There’s no bus here, pal,” Derek said, softening his tone just a fraction. “This is a pedestrian plaza. You need to move along. There’s a shelter on 4th if you want a ride.”
“No shelter,” the man snapped, a sudden spark of anger flaring in his eyes. He gripped the wheels of his chair with hands that were scarred and trembling. “No walls. Can’t do walls.”
Derek sighed. He’d heard it a thousand times. Veterans, addicts, the mentally ill—the walls made them feel trapped.
“Look, you can’t stay here,” Derek said, stepping forward to grab the handle of the wheelchair. “I’m going to escort you to the—”
Grrrrrrr.
The sound didn’t come from the man.
Derek froze. He looked down.
Titan had broken his heel. The dog had stepped forward, the leash pulling taut. His body was rigid, every muscle coiled like a steel spring. His ears were pinned flat against his skull. The fur along his spine stood up in a jagged ridge.
“Titan, heel,” Derek commanded, giving the leash a sharp correction tug.
Titan didn’t move. He didn’t even blink. He was locked onto the man in the wheelchair.
The man, who had been staring at his own lap, suddenly went still. He slowly turned his head toward the dog.
The air in the plaza seemed to vanish, sucked into the vacuum of the moment.
The man’s lips parted. He squinted, his blue eyes widening, the pupil dilating as if trying to take in a ghost.
“Ti?” the man whispered. It was barely a breath.
Titan let out a sound Derek had never heard before. It was a high-pitched yelp, followed by a guttural, desperate howl.
Then, chaos.
Titan lunged.
It wasn’t a warning lunge. It was a full-force attack. The seventy-pound dog launched himself through the air, the force of it ripping the leash handle through Derek’s grip, burning the skin off his palm.
“Titan! NO!” Derek screamed, stumbling forward, grabbing frantically for the trailing leather.
The crowd erupted. A woman near the pretzel stand screamed. A businessman dropped his coffee and bolted.
Titan hit the man in the wheelchair like a missile.
The impact was brutal. The wheelchair tipped backward, metal screeching against stone. The man went down hard, his head bouncing off the concrete, his legs tangled in the twisted frame of the chair.
Derek’s heart stopped. Lawsuit. Brutality. Murder. The words flashed through his mind in a nanosecond. He saw his career ending. He saw a man dying.
“Get off him!” Derek roared, finally grabbing the leash and hauling back with both hands.
But he couldn’t move the dog. Titan was frantic. He was on top of the man, his paws scrabbling at the thick camo jacket. The sound of fabric tearing was loud and sickening—RIIIIP.
Derek reached for his Taser. He had no choice. He had to drop his own dog to save this civilian. He unholstered the weapon, the red laser dot dancing on Titan’s black fur.
“Do it,” Derek whispered to himself, his finger tightening on the trigger. “Take the shot.”
But he hesitated.
Because there was no screaming.
The man on the ground wasn’t screaming in pain. He was gasping. He was sobbing.
And Titan… Titan wasn’t biting.
The dog had ripped the jacket open, exposing a dirty, gray undershirt. He had ripped that too. Now, Titan was burying his face into the man’s exposed chest, licking the skin frantically, whining with a desperation that broke Derek’s heart.
Derek lowered the Taser. He stepped closer, confused, the adrenaline leaving him dizzy.
The man was crying, tears cutting clean tracks through the dirt on his face. His shaking hands weren’t fighting the dog off; they were clutching the dog’s head, burying his fingers in the thick fur.
“I knew it,” the man choked out, his voice broken by sobs. “I knew you didn’t die in the sand. I knew it.”
Derek looked down at the man’s exposed chest, where the dog was nuzzling.
There, on the pale, scarred skin over the man’s heart, was a tattoo. It was faded, green ink bleeding into the skin, but the design was unmistakable.
It was the insignia of the 75th Ranger Regiment K9 Unit.
And below it, a name: TITAN.
Derek felt the blood drain from his face. He looked at his dog—the dog the department had bought from a military surplus program two years ago. The dog that came with a file that said “Handler Deceased.”
Derek looked at the homeless man, really looked at him. At the way he held the dog. At the scars on his arms. At the missing leg that Derek just now noticed, tucked up and hidden in the baggy cargo pants.
“Who are you?” Derek whispered.
The man looked up. His eyes were no longer empty. They were fierce, burning with a mix of agony and relief.
“I’m the guy they left behind,” he said.
CHAPTER 2: The Ghost of Kandahar
The plaza was silent, save for the murmurs of the crowd that had formed a tight, voyeuristic circle around them. Phones were held high, recording everything. Derek knew this would be on the news by evening. Police Dog Attacks Disabled Man. The headline wrote itself.
But they didn’t see what Derek saw.
He clipped the safety back on his Taser and holstered it. He held up a hand to the crowd. “Back up! Everyone give us fifty feet! Now!”
His voice cracked like a whip, and the circle widened slightly.
Derek knelt down. Titan was still whining, his heavy tail thumping against the pavement—thump, thump, thump—a sound of pure, unadulterated joy. The dog was licking the salt and grime off the man’s face as if trying to clean away years of neglect.
“Sir,” Derek said, his voice trembling. “I need you to tell me your name.”
The man was struggling to sit up, but Titan wouldn’t let him. The dog had pinned him with his paws, possessing him.
“Elias,” the man grunted, wincing as he shifted his weight. “Staff Sergeant Elias Thorne.”
Derek’s mind raced. Thorne. The name didn’t ring a bell, but the rank did.
“You were Titan’s handler?”
Elias laughed, a dry, hacking sound that turned into a cough. “Handler? No. I wasn’t his handler.” He looked at the dog, his eyes softening. “I was his dad. We were a Multi-Purpose Canine team. 3rd Battalion.”
Derek reached out to help Elias up, but Elias flinched away.
“Don’t touch me,” Elias snapped. Then, softer: “Just… help me with the chair.”
Derek righted the wheelchair. It was a piece of junk. The axle was bent. He watched as Elias grabbed Titan’s harness.
“Up, Ti,” Elias whispered.
Titan immediately stood up, backing away just enough to give Elias space, but keeping his body pressed against the man’s leg. The obedience was instant. It was sharper than anything Derek had ever achieved in two years of training.
Elias hoisted himself back into the chair using only his arms. The effort made the veins in his neck bulge. Once seated, he tried to pull his torn jacket closed, covering the tattoo. covering the name TITAN.
“They told me he was dead,” Derek said, still kneeling. “When I got his file… it said the previous handler was KIA in Kandahar, and the dog was repatriated due to behavioral issues.”
Elias froze. His hands stopped fumbling with the zipper. He looked at Derek, and for the first time, there was no anger, only a deep, crushing sadness.
” KIA,” Elias repeated, tasting the word like poison. “Yeah. That’s what they call it when you come back with half a body and a brain that doesn’t work right. Killed In Action. Just took me a long time to finish dying.”
“But the dog…” Derek pressed. “Why did they separate you?”
“Because I couldn’t walk,” Elias spat, gesturing to his missing leg. “A K9 handler needs two legs. That’s the reg. I woke up in Germany, they told me my leg was gone and my dog was ‘reassigned.’ I tried to find him. I called every base. They said he was put down. Said he was too aggressive to be re-homed.”
Elias looked at Titan, stroking the dog’s velvet ears. “They lied.”
“They didn’t put him down,” Derek said quietly. “They sold him. Police departments buy wash-out military dogs all the time. He’s been with me for two years.”
“Two years,” Elias whispered. He looked at Titan’s graying muzzle. “You took good care of him. He’s heavy. You feeding him that high-protein kibble?”
“Yeah,” Derek said, feeling a strange sense of shame. He was the one in the uniform, the one with the badge and the steady paycheck, yet he felt small next to this man in rags. “Listen, Sergeant… Elias. You can’t stay here. The precinct… if they see this video, they’re going to come for the dog. They’ll say he’s unstable.”
Elias’s head snapped up. “Unstable? He just recognized his handler after three years! That’s not unstable, that’s loyalty!”
“I know that!” Derek hissed, checking over his shoulder. The crowd was still watching. Sirens were wailing in the distance. Someone had called backup. “But the brass won’t see it that way. They’ll see a liability. A dog that attacked a civilian. They’ll put him down for real this time.”
Elias’s face went pale. He gripped the armrests of his chair. “No. No way. You can’t let them.”
“I can’t stop them,” Derek said. “Unless…”
The sirens were getting louder. Two squad cars screeched around the corner, lights flashing.
“Unless what?” Elias demanded.
Derek looked at his partner. Titan was leaning against Elias’s knee, eyes closed, completely at peace for the first time since Derek had known him.
“Unless we leave,” Derek said. The words left his mouth before he could think about the consequences.
“We?” Elias asked.
“I can’t leave him here,” Derek said, standing up. “And I can’t leave you here. If the cops take you in, they’ll separate you again. Probably for good.”
Derek looked at the approaching cruisers. He looked at his own patrol SUV parked on the curb.
“Can you move?” Derek asked.
“Fast enough,” Elias said, a glimmer of the old soldier returning to his eyes.
“Get to my car. The black SUV. Now.”
Derek grabbed the handles of the wheelchair and didn’t wait for an answer. He broke into a run, pushing Elias, with Titan heeling perfectly at the side of the chair.
“Officer Miller!” a voice boomed over a loudspeaker. “Hold your position!”
Derek ignored it. He popped the trunk of the SUV. He didn’t have time to fold the chair. He basically threw Elias into the back seat, folded the chair as best he could and shoved it in the trunk. Titan leaped into the K9 cage in the back without being told, but whined when the grate separated him from Elias.
“Sorry, buddy,” Derek muttered, slamming the trunk.
He jumped into the driver’s seat and gunned the engine just as the other cruisers boxed in the plaza. He hopped the curb, tires screeching, and merged into the heavy downtown traffic.
“What the hell are you doing, kid?” Elias asked from the back seat, his voice rough. “You’re kidnapping a homeless guy and stealing a police vehicle. That’s a felony.”
Derek looked in the rearview mirror. He saw his own terrified eyes. He saw Elias, looking back at Titan through the grate.
“I’m not stealing it,” Derek said, his hands shaking on the wheel. “I’m just… taking a lunch break.”
“A long lunch,” Elias grunted.
“Yeah,” Derek said, turning off his radio as the dispatcher started screaming his call sign. “A really long lunch.”
He drove toward the highway, away from the precinct, away from the rules. He didn’t know where he was going. He just knew he couldn’t be the one to break that bond again.
But as they hit the on-ramp, Elias leaned forward.
“They’re going to hunt us, you know,” Elias said. “You have a tracker in this car. They know exactly where we are.”
Derek slammed his hand against the steering wheel. “Damn it! I forgot the GPS.”
“Pull over,” Elias commanded. The homeless drifter was gone; the Sergeant was back. “Under that overpass. I know how to disable it.”
Derek pulled over. His heart was hammering. He was a good cop. He followed the rules.
But looking at the tattoo on Elias’s chest—Brotherhood Beyond The Grave—Derek realized he was serving a higher law now.
“Hurry,” Derek said.
And the nightmare began.
CHAPTER 3: The Switch
The underside of the I-90 overpass was a graveyard of pigeons and broken glass. Shadows stretched long and dark, hiding the black police SUV from the roaring traffic overhead.
“Give me your knife,” Elias barked. He was leaning over the center console, his body contorted awkwardly in the cramped space.
Derek hesitated, his hand hovering over his utility belt. Giving a weapon to a man he had just met—a man the system labeled ‘unstable’—went against every protocol he’d learned at the Academy.
“Kid, if I wanted to hurt you, I would have let the dog do it,” Elias snapped, sweat dripping from his nose. “The knife. Now. Or the SWAT team joins us for lunch.”
Derek pulled his tactical folder and handed it over.
Elias moved with a terrifying precision. He jammed the blade into the seam of the dashboard, popping the plastic casing with a loud CRACK. Wires spilled out like colorful intestines.
“Blue is power, yellow is data,” Elias muttered, more to himself than Derek. “They upgraded the transponders in ’22. Tricky bastards.”
He sliced the yellow wire.
The dashboard lights flickered and died. The silent hum of the GPS tracker ceased.
“Done,” Elias exhaled, tossing the knife back to Derek. He slumped back into the passenger seat, his face gray. The adrenaline was fading, and the pain was setting in. Derek could see it in the way Elias’s hand drifted to his missing leg, rubbing the stump through the dirty cargo pants.
“Where are we going?” Elias asked, his voice tight.
“My uncle has a cabin,” Derek said, starting the engine. “Up near Fox Lake. It’s off-season. Nobody goes there. It’s about an hour drive.”
“An hour,” Elias whispered. He turned to look through the grate into the back. “You okay back there, Ti?”
Titan let out a soft woof, pressing his wet nose against the metal mesh.
“He’s fine,” Derek said, merging back onto the service road. “Better than us.”
The drive was tense. The radio was off, but the silence was loud. Every cop car they passed in the opposite lane made Derek’s heart seize, but they were invisible now. Just another black SUV on a highway full of them.
As the city skyline shrank in the rearview mirror, replaced by the sprawling green and brown of the Illinois boondocks, the atmosphere in the car shifted.
“You got a family, Miller?” Elias asked, staring out the window.
“No. Just the job,” Derek said. “My parents moved to Florida. Sister’s in Cali. I stayed for… this.” He tapped the steering wheel.
“For the pension?”
“For the purpose,” Derek corrected him. “I wanted to help people.”
Elias let out a sharp, cynical laugh. “Yeah. We all start there. Then you realize the people you’re helping don’t want help, and the people giving the orders don’t care about the people.”
“Why were you on the street, Elias?” Derek asked, glancing at him. “The VA benefits… the pension… you shouldn’t be out there.”
Elias stayed silent for a long time. He watched the telephone poles whip by.
“Money doesn’t fix what’s in here,” Elias finally said, tapping his temple. “And the VA… they like to drug you. Put you in a zombie state so you don’t scream at night. I preferred the vodka. At least I chose the vodka.”
He looked back at Titan.
“When I lost the leg… and I lost him… the silence was too loud, Miller. The walls started closing in. An apartment felt like a coffin. The street… at least the street has noise. It drowns out the memories.”
Derek turned off the highway onto a gravel road. Dust kicked up behind them, coating the sleek black paint of the cruiser. The cabin appeared through the trees—a small, A-frame structure with peeling red paint and a porch that sagged in the middle.
“It’s not the Ritz,” Derek said, parking the car behind a dense thicket of pines to hide it from the main road.
“It’s got a roof,” Elias grunted.
Derek got out and opened the back. Titan bounded out, sniffing the pine needles and the damp earth. He immediately ran to Elias’s door.
When Elias opened it, he didn’t have the strength to pull himself up. He stumbled.
Derek moved instantly, catching the older man by the arm. Elias was surprisingly light—malnutrition had eaten away his muscle mass.
“I got you,” Derek said.
“I don’t need—”
“Shut up, Sergeant,” Derek said firmly. “You got the dog. I got you.”
He helped Elias hop toward the porch. Titan flanked them on the right, his body pressing against Elias’s hip, acting as a living crutch. The dog knew. He adjusted his pace perfectly to Elias’s struggle.
Inside, the cabin smelled of cedar and dust. Derek threw open the windows to air it out. He found some old blankets in a chest and tossed them on the dusty sofa.
“There’s a well pump out back for water,” Derek said. “No electricity. We have a wood stove.”
Elias collapsed onto the sofa. He looked exhausted, his skin pale and clammy. The withdrawal was starting to kick in. His hands were shaking violently.
“I need…” Elias swallowed hard. “I need a drink.”
“I don’t have any booze,” Derek said, standing over him. “And you don’t need it. Not today.”
Elias glared at him, his blue eyes flashing. “You don’t tell me what I need, kid. You don’t know what I see when I close my eyes.”
“I know what Titan sees,” Derek countered, pointing to the dog.
Titan had hopped onto the sofa—something Derek strictly forbade—and curled up with his head on Elias’s lap.
“He sees his partner,” Derek said softly. “Don’t let him down again.”
Elias looked at the dog. His trembling hand stroked the velvet fur. The anger drained out of him, replaced by shame.
“We need food,” Derek said, turning to the door. “I saw a gas station five miles back. I’m going to make a run. Do not leave this cabin.”
“Miller,” Elias called out just as Derek reached the door.
Derek turned.
“Thank you,” Elias whispered.
Derek nodded and walked out. But as he stepped onto the porch, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He had turned it back on just for a second to check the time.
It was a text from his Captain.
MILLER. TURN YOURSELF IN. FBI IS INVOLVED. THEY ARE SAYING THE SUSPECT IS ARMED AND HOSTILE. DO NOT LET HIM SPEAK TO ANYONE.
Derek stared at the screen. Do not let him speak to anyone.
A chill ran down his spine. They weren’t worried about Derek’s safety. They were worried about what Elias knew.
CHAPTER 4: The Brotherhood
Night fell heavy and fast in the woods. The silence was absolute, broken only by the crackle of the wood stove Derek had managed to light.
The cabin glowed with a warm, flickering orange light. Derek had returned with two bags of groceries—sandwiches, water, dog food, and a first-aid kit.
Elias had managed to clean himself up. He had used the well water to wash the grime from his face and arms. He had shaved the beard with a dull razor Derek found in the bathroom cabinet.
Without the matted hair and the dirt, Elias looked younger, yet somehow more haunted. The scars were visible now. A jagged line running from his jaw to his ear. Burn marks on his forearms. And the tattoo on his chest, vibrant against the pale skin.
They sat on the floor in front of the fire. Titan was lying between them, chewing contentedly on a beef bone Derek had bought.
“Why are they scared of you, Elias?” Derek asked, breaking the silence. He had his phone in his hand, the screen dark.
Elias took a slow bite of a turkey sandwich. He ate carefully, as if his stomach had forgotten how to process real food.
“I was part of a task force,” Elias said quietly. “Task Force 3-3. We weren’t regular Army. We were off the books. Our job was to find High Value Targets in the Pech River Valley.”
He pointed to the tattoo.
“Brotherhood Beyond The Grave. That was our motto. It meant that even if you die, you don’t leave the team. And the team doesn’t leave you.”
Elias threw a piece of turkey to Titan. The dog caught it in mid-air.
“We were on a raid. Intel said it was a safe house for a bomb maker. It was a setup.”
Elias’s voice dropped an octave. The firelight danced in his eyes, but he was seeing explosions.
“The whole building was rigged. As soon as we breached, the floor disintegrated. I fell two stories into the basement. My leg was pinned under a concrete beam. The rest of the team… my guys…”
He stopped. His breath hitched.
“They were on the upper floors. The charges blew. The building collapsed on top of them. I could hear them on the comms for three minutes. Just three minutes. Then… static.”
Derek stayed silent, mesmerized by the horror of it.
“I was trapped in that hole for two days,” Elias continued. “Just me and Titan. Titan wasn’t hurt. He could have climbed out. There was a gap in the rubble. I ordered him to go. ‘Go find help, Ti. Go home.’”
Elias reached out and gripped the dog’s nape.
“He wouldn’t leave. He crawled into that space with me. He licked the blood off my leg to keep the infection down. He laid on top of me to keep me warm when the temperature dropped below freezing. For forty-eight hours, he kept me alive. He wouldn’t let me close my eyes.”
“When the QRF (Quick Reaction Force) finally dug us out,” Elias whispered, “I was delirious. They loaded me onto the chopper. I was screaming for Titan. But the Colonel… Colonel Vance… he was there.”
Derek looked up sharply. “Colonel Vance? The Police Commissioner?”
Elias nodded grimly. “Back then, he was my CO. He told the medics to leave the dog. Said there wasn’t room on the bird. Said the dog was ‘equipment’ and we could recover it later.”
“Jesus,” Derek breathed.
“I fought them,” Elias said. “I punched a medic. I tried to crawl back out of the chopper. They sedated me. When I woke up in Germany, leg gone… Vance was there. He told me Titan was dead. Killed in the secondary explosion.”
“But he wasn’t,” Derek said.
“No. He wasn’t.” Elias’s eyes hardened. “Vance sold him. I found out later. Vance was running a side hustle. ‘Retiring’ military dogs on paper, declaring them KIA, and then selling them to private security firms and police departments for fifty grand a pop. The government pays for the training, Vance pockets the resale.”
Derek felt sick. The Commissioner. The man who signed his paychecks. The man who had given a speech at the Academy graduation about ‘Integrity.’
“I tried to tell people,” Elias said. “I went to the JAG. I went to the press. But who listens to a junkie vet with PTSD? Vance had me committed. Section 8. Said I was delusional. Paranoid. They took my pension. They took my dignity. They threw me on the street to rot.”
Elias looked at Derek, his gaze intense.
“That’s why they want me, Miller. I’m the loose end. And now that Titan is here… now that you found the dog they said was ‘blown up’…”
“We have proof,” Derek realized. “The microchip.”
“Exactly,” Elias said. “Titan’s chip will still have his military serial number. But Vance’s records will say that serial number belongs to a pile of ash in Afghanistan. It proves fraud. It proves everything.”
Derek looked at his phone. The text message made sense now. Do not let him speak to anyone.
“They aren’t coming to arrest us,” Derek said, his voice cold. “They’re coming to clean up.”
Suddenly, Titan stood up.
A low growl rumbled in his chest, deeper than before. He turned toward the door of the cabin, hackles rising.
Derek stood up, extinguishing the lantern. “Quiet.”
He moved to the window and peered through the dirty glass.
Outside, in the darkness of the woods, he saw nothing. But then, a flash. A beam of infrared light cutting through the trees, invisible to the naked eye but catching the reflection of a deer’s eyes—or a sniper scope.
“They’re here,” Derek whispered.
“How?” Elias hissed. “You cut the GPS.”
Derek pulled his phone out. “The phone. I turned it on for three seconds to check the time.”
Elias shook his head, a sad smile on his face. “Rookie mistake.”
“What do we do?” Derek asked, panic rising. He was a beat cop, not a soldier. He wasn’t ready for a siege.
Elias grabbed the fireplace poker. He stood up, balancing on his one leg, leaning against the wall. The trembling was gone. The soldier was back.
“We don’t die here,” Elias said. “Titan didn’t save me in Kandahar just so I could get shot in a shack in Illinois.”
Elias looked at Derek.
“You trust your dog, Miller?”
“With my life,” Derek said.
“Good,” Elias said. “Because we’re going to need him to clear a path. Get the car keys.”
Derek grabbed the keys.
“On my signal,” Elias said. “We go out the back. Titan takes point.”
Derek unholstered his gun. He looked at the veteran, the dog, and the badge on his own chest. He took the badge off and set it on the table.
“Ready,” Derek said.
Elias grinned, a feral, terrifying grin.
“Let’s go for a walk.”
CHAPTER 5: The Kill Box
The back door of the cabin exploded inward.
It wasn’t a kick; it was a battering ram. Wood splinters sprayed across the room like shrapnel. A canister clattered onto the floorboards, hissing violently.
“Gas!” Elias screamed, coughing instantly as white smoke filled the small space. “Get low!”
Derek dropped to his knees, his eyes burning. He couldn’t see anything. The only thing guiding him was the weight of Titan’s body pressing against his thigh. The dog wasn’t barking. He was silent, waiting.
“Flashlights left! Two targets!” Elias’s voice cut through the chaos, calm and commanding. He was no longer a cripple in a wheelchair; he was a Sergeant in the Rangers, and this was his office.
Two beams of blinding white light cut through the smoke from the doorway. Men in tactical black gear, no badges, faces covered.
“Titan! FASS!” Elias roared.
It was a command Derek didn’t know—German for Bite/Attack.
Titan became a blur of motion. He launched himself low, under the smoke. A second later, a scream tore through the cabin.
“AHHH! GET IT OFF!”
The flashlight went wild as the first attacker went down, Titan’s jaws locked onto his forearm. The man’s rifle clattered to the floor.
“Move, Miller! Move!” Elias yelled, shoving Derek toward the broken door.
Derek scrambled forward, grabbing Titan’s collar as he passed the writhing man on the floor. “Titan, AUS!” he shouted. The dog released instantly, muzzle dripping, and fell into a protective heel beside Derek.
They burst out into the cool night air. The woods were alive with shadows.
“Car! Go!” Elias hobbled behind him, using the fireplace poker as a cane, moving with a desperate, loping speed.
A shot rang out—CRACK.
Dirt kicked up inches from Derek’s boot.
“Sniper! Trees! Two o’clock!” Derek yelled, firing two suppression shots blindly into the darkness. He wasn’t aiming to hit; he was aiming to make them duck.
They reached the SUV. Derek threw the driver’s door open. Elias threw himself into the passenger seat. Titan dove into the back.
Derek slammed the car into reverse just as the windshield shattered. A web of cracks bloomed in front of his face. He ducked, stomping the gas. The heavy SUV roared, crushing saplings and tearing through the underbrush as they spun around.
“They’re blocking the road!” Elias shouted, pointing to a set of headlights racing up the gravel drive.
“Hold on!” Derek gritted his teeth.
He didn’t aim for the road. He aimed for the ditch.
The SUV went airborne for a terrifying second, slamming down hard into the drainage ditch. The suspension groaned, metal screaming against rocks, but the four-wheel drive caught. They clawed their way up the embankment, bypassing the blocking car, and fishtailed onto the asphalt.
Derek floored it. The engine whined, redlining as they sped away from the cabin.
“You hit?” Elias asked, scanning Derek’s body.
“No. You?”
“Never felt better,” Elias lied. He was clutching his ribs. He’d taken a hard hit against the dashboard when they landed.
Derek checked the rearview mirror. Twin sets of headlights were pursuing them. Fast.
“We can’t outrun them,” Derek said, his knuckles white on the wheel. “This is a Tahoe. They’re in Chargers. They’ll catch us before we hit the highway.”
“We don’t need to outrun them,” Elias said, his breathing shallow. “We just need to get to the truth.”
“How? We have no evidence on us! Just the dog!”
“The dog is the evidence,” Elias said. “But Vance will kill the dog before he lets anyone scan that chip.”
Elias looked at the phone sitting in the cup holder.
“Miller,” Elias said. “How many followers you got on that Facebook page of yours? The precinct page?”
“A few thousand. Why?”
“And you have the login?”
“Yeah, I run the social media for the K9 unit.”
Elias picked up the phone. His fingers were bloody, but steady.
“Start a livestream,” Elias ordered. “Right now.”
“What? While driving?”
“Do it! Give me the phone!”
Derek unlocked the phone and handed it over. Elias navigated to the app, his thumb hovering over the ‘Go Live’ button.
“Head for the Federal Plaza,” Elias said. “The FBI field office. It’s downtown. 45 minutes.”
“We won’t make it 45 minutes!” Derek yelled as a bullet pinged off the back bumper.
“We will if the whole world is watching,” Elias said.
He hit the button.
“We’re live,” Elias whispered. He turned the camera to his own face—bloodied, scarred, wild-eyed.
“My name is Staff Sergeant Elias Thorne,” he said to the camera, his voice shaking with intensity. “I am a decorated veteran of the 75th Ranger Regiment. I was declared dead. I am currently in a high-speed chase with mercenaries hired by Police Commissioner Vance.”
He turned the camera to Derek, who was driving like a madman.
“This is Officer Derek Miller. He saved my life.”
Then, he turned the camera to the back seat, where Titan was panting, blood on his muzzle.
“And this… this is Titan. The dog the government said was killed in action. The dog they sold for profit. We are going to the FBI building in Chicago. If the feed cuts… if we die… you know who did it.”
Derek glanced at the phone. The viewer count was at 12. Then 50. Then 400.
“Keep driving, kid,” Elias said, a grim smile touching his lips. “The cavalry is coming. But they’re gonna be internet trolls.”
CHAPTER 6: Brotherhood Beyond the Grave
By the time they hit the city limits, the video had 40,000 viewers.
The comments were a blur of speed. People were tagging news stations, the Governor, the White House. The pursuit vehicles had backed off as soon as they realized they were being broadcast to the world, but they were still there, lurking in the blind spots.
“FBI Building. Jackson Boulevard,” Derek said, his voice hoarse. “Three minutes out.”
Sirens were wailing from every direction. Real police. State Troopers. But Derek didn’t know who was on Vance’s payroll and who wasn’t.
“Pull right up to the front steps,” Elias said. “Don’t stop for anything.”
The massive glass and concrete structure of the Federal Building loomed ahead. Blue lights reflected off every window. A barricade of squad cars was already forming.
“They’re blocking it!” Derek yelled.
“Ram it!” Elias shouted. “Do not stop!”
Derek braced himself. He slammed the heavy SUV into the gap between two cruisers. Metal crunched, glass shattered, and the airbags deployed with a punch of white powder.
Silence.
Derek’s ears were ringing. He coughed, waving the dust away.
“Out! Get out!” Elias was already kicking his door open.
Derek stumbled out onto the plaza. They were surrounded. Dozens of officers, guns drawn. Red laser dots danced on Derek’s chest.
“DROP THE WEAPON! ON THE GROUND! NOW!”
A bullhorn crackled. “OFFICER MILLER. SURRENDER IMMEDIATELY.”
It was Vance.
The Commissioner stepped out from behind a SWAT van. He looked impeccable in his white shirt and gold badge, but his face was tight with rage.
“Don’t listen to him!” Elias yelled, leaning against the wrecked SUV. He had the phone in one hand, still streaming. “He’s trying to cover it up!”
“He’s mental!” Vance shouted to the other officers. “He’s a dangerous 5150 suspect with a weapon! Take the shot if he moves!”
“NO!” Derek screamed, stepping in front of Elias. He held his hands up, empty. “We are unarmed! Look! We are unarmed!”
“Step aside, Miller!” Vance commanded, his hand resting on his holster. “That man is a threat.”
“The only threat here is the truth!” Derek yelled back.
He reached into the back seat and whistled.
Titan jumped out.
The sea of police officers flinched. Fingers tightened on triggers.
“Control your animal!” Vance screamed. “Or we will put it down!”
“He’s not an animal!” Elias’s voice carried across the plaza, raw and broken. “He’s a soldier!”
Elias limped forward, away from the cover of the car. He exposed himself to fifty guns. He dropped to his one knee on the concrete.
“Titan… Hier,” Elias whispered.
Titan trotted over and sat perfectly at Elias’s side, chest out, proud.
“Officer!” Elias pointed to a young female cop in the front row. She was holding a microchip scanner—standard issue for K9 units. “You! Come here!”
The officer looked at Vance. Vance shook his head. “Stand down, Officer!”
“DO IT!” Derek yelled. “Unless you want to be an accessory to fraud and treason! Scan the dog!”
The young officer hesitated. She looked at the live stream on Elias’s phone—now at 200,000 viewers. She looked at Vance’s sweating face.
She made her choice. She stepped forward.
“Don’t do it, rookie,” Vance warned, his voice low and dangerous.
She ignored him. She walked up to Titan. The dog didn’t move. She ran the scanner over the dog’s neck.
BEEP.
She looked at the small screen. She frowned.
“Read it!” Derek yelled. “Read the serial number!”
“K9-774-Bravo,” she read, her voice shaking.
“Run it!” Elias shouted. “Run it through the DOD database!”
She keyed it into her radio. “Dispatch, run tag K9-774-Bravo. Priority One.”
The silence in the plaza was suffocating. The only sound was the hum of the city and the heavy breathing of the men with guns.
The radio crackled.
“Unit 2, that tag comes back… deceased. KIA. Kandahar Province. 2021.”
The crowd of officers murmured. They looked at the living, breathing dog sitting in front of them.
“Deceased,” Elias said, tears streaming down his face. “Just like me.”
He looked directly at Vance.
“You sold us out, Colonel. You sold a hero for parts.”
Vance’s face went purple. He drew his weapon. “That’s enough!”
But before he could raise it, three men in suits walked out of the FBI building doors. They moved with a different kind of authority.
“Commissioner Vance,” the lead agent said, his voice calm. “Put the weapon away.”
“This is a local police matter,” Vance spat.
“Not anymore,” the agent said, flashing his badge. “It’s a federal investigation. We’ve been watching the stream. You’re under arrest.”
Vance froze. He looked around. His own officers were lowering their guns. They were looking at him with disgust.
Slowly, Vance dropped his gun.
Derek felt his knees give out. He slumped against the car.
It was over.
SIX MONTHS LATER
The park was covered in autumn leaves. The air was crisp.
Derek sat on a bench, throwing a tennis ball. Titan tore across the grass, faster than any dog in the park, catching the ball on the first bounce.
He ran back, but he didn’t bring the ball to Derek.
He brought it to the man sitting in the wheelchair next to him.
Elias looked different. He was clean-shaven, wearing a crisp flannel shirt and jeans. The new prosthetic leg—paid for by the GoFundMe that raised two million dollars in three days—gleamed in the sunlight. He wasn’t using the wheelchair much these days, but he liked it for long days at the park.
“Good boy, Ti,” Elias cooed, wrestling the ball from the dog’s mouth.
“He likes you better,” Derek laughed, sipping his coffee.
“He respects you,” Elias corrected. “He loves me. There’s a difference.”
“I’m okay with that,” Derek said.
Derek looked at the dog. Titan was officially retired from the force. The city had tried to reclaim him, but the public outcry was so massive they had no choice but to sign over full custody to Elias Thorne.
But Elias and Derek had made a deal. Joint custody.
“You hear about Vance?” Elias asked, throwing the ball again.
“Twenty years,” Derek said. “Federal prison. And they stripped his pension.”
“Good,” Elias nodded. “Justice is slow, but it bites hard.”
Titan barked, demanding another throw.
Elias leaned back, closing his eyes, enjoying the sun on his face. The darkness that had haunted him for three years was gone. The silence was no longer scary; it was peaceful.
“You know,” Elias said softly. “I thought I was a ghost. I thought I was already dead.”
He opened his eyes and looked at Derek, then at the dog running free in the grass.
“You brought me back, Miller. You and that damn dog.”
Derek smiled. He reached over and patted Elias on the shoulder.
“We leave no man behind,” Derek said.
Elias looked down at his chest, where the tattoo was hidden beneath his shirt. He tapped it twice, right over his heart.
“Brotherhood beyond the grave,” Elias whispered.
Titan barked, his tail wagging, waiting for the next throw.
And for the first time in a long time, they were all home.