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Every memory comes back to me and I remember the bomb, my short conversation with Clay, and then nothing. I look up slowly, hoping to see Clay, but I see Josh, my commander. He looks a little worse for wear, but he's walking. It’s more than can be said for me.
"W-what happened?"
My mouth feels like sandpaper. I can't swallow; my throat feels like it has razor blades stuck in it. My head is pounding. I can’t even pretend to feel okay. I’ve never felt this bad in my life.
"We were bombed. I have no idea where we're going, but we need to keep moving. We can’t stop. It isn’t safe for us."
We’re in enemy territory. We’re basically walking around with red targets over our hearts.
"Where is everyone?"
"We're the only two here. I don’t know where anyone is. I’m guessing they didn’t make it."
"W-what?" I feel my heart shatter all over again. My squad mates are gone. My family. The only people who have kept me sane over the last few years.
A sob catches in my throat. The pain radiates through my body, inch by inch. The burning in my legs is unbearable. I have the headache from hell. My stomach feels like a washing machine, like I’m about to vomit all over the place.
"Stop. I can't do this. Stop!" I scream.
“Sshh! We don’t want to attract attention to ourselves. Two American soldiers stuck in the middle of a warzone doesn’t bode well for us if we’re caught.”
He doesn’t need to tell me what will happen if we’re caught by the enemy. I’ve watched, or rather hid, while people lost their heads at the hands of the bad guys. It isn’t pretty out here. The enemy is ruthless.
Josh lowers me to the ground, and his hands move tangled hair out of my face. I doubt there’s any part of me that isn’t covered in dirt, blood, and grime. Concern washes over his features, but I’m too tired to care.
"You need medical help, short stuff."
I feel the tears fall down my cheeks at his nickname for me. It was a name Clay gave me when he first met me. My five feet three build amused my friends here. I might be short, but I’m a spitfire. I let nothing stop me… ever. Not even the fucking enemy chasing our tails now.
“I am the medical help.” I cough, trying to hold my ribs in the process.
Over the years, my medical training has saved limbs, drained lungs, patched holes here, there, and everywhere. I’ve saved more than I’ve lost, but now, there isn’t anyone to help me. I’m on my own.
“We’ll get out of here, just hang in there for me.” He places a gentle kiss on my forehead.
"My legs are burning," I cry.
"You were caught in a blast; you have bad burns. I lost any medical supplies we had. I'm hoping by walking this way we'll find somewhere we can get help. The bastards weren't shy this time." He coughs and clenches his own ribs.
"Are you hurt?"
My medical training kicks in and my pain and misery are quickly forgotten about. I’m a born healer. I hate to see people hurting, especially people I care about.
"I'll live. We need to keep moving. You good?"
I nod. I bite down on my lip to help tolerate the pain of moving, but it’s useless. Nothing is going to take my mind off the agony apart from strong opioids that preferably knock me into oblivious bliss.
“No locals are going to help the U.S. Army. You’re kidding yourself if you believe otherwise.”
“Don’t be so negative. Miracles do happen.”
"You should go on without me. You have a better chance alone..."
He shakes his head and cuts me off. "I'll pretend I didn't hear you say that, babe. Close your eyes and let me worry about how we get out of this. It certainly won’t be from me leaving you behind."
And that's my problem. I hate being a burden to my team. I feel like I've let them all down by being here when they're not. I should be saving them from their injuries, not being saved. For all I know, they’re lying in a ditch somewhere, praying I get to them first. And that will haunt me for the rest of my life… no matter how long I have left.
