Page 107 of Specter Bred

I was greeted by nothing. There was no intruder, or rebel insurgent. Graves was alone, sitting bolt upright in bed, chest heaving, sweat pouring down his body, his eyes wide and locked on me.

But they weren’t seeing me, not really.

They were fixed somewhere beyond me, distant and wild, as if he were trapped in another reality.

"Major Graves?" I asked, lowering my voice.

He didn't respond, instead staring straight through me, as if I weren’t even there.

Behind me, Hayes froze in the doorway.

"Is he asleep?" he whispered.

I kept my eyes on Graves, unease crawling up my spine.

"I don’t think so..."

"Sir?" Hayes said a bit louder.

Grizzly's head snapped sideways, sharply, and now he was looking at Hayes.

"Reaper. Fuck Reaper, is that you? Where's Hawk? I thought he was with you," he muttered.

Sammy turned to me with a questioning look. And suddenly I knew what was happening.

Graves was having an episode.

A PTSD flashback.

I’d seen it before, too many times.

Soldiers came back from Helix with the war still living inside them. Men woke screaming, unable to sleep without a weapon in hand. They flinched at slammed doors, scanned every room for exits, or sat with their backs to walls because their bodies had forgotten how to feel safe.

The symptoms were all the same...

Hypervigilance

Night terrors.

Dissociation.

Rage.

Panic.

The signs were written all over enough of my fellow soldiers that I’d learned to recognize them early.

And Graves had all of it.

The rigid body.

The thousand-yard stare.

The way his breathing came too fast, too shallow, like his lungs hadn’t realized the fire was over and his burns had long healed.

It didn’t matter how strong the man looked on the outside. Trauma rooted itself deeply. Helix had nearly burned him alive, taken his unit, and left him the only man standing. Soldiers didn’t walk away from that unchanged. They just learned to hide it.

I moved slowly, careful not to startle him.