couldn’t explain. Something
was going to happen, something bad. His mouth became suddenly dry and he couldn’t
stop his eyes from frequently scanning the back of the room. He pushed on with
his lesson and forced his eyes to his notes and his mind to the cycles of the
cell.
Something is
coming. Something bad.
“We’re coming
for you, Sar’n,” Simmons’
boyish voice told him, clear as a bell. In his head, right? Jack scanned the
room again, his eyes full of terror. He had stopped in midsentence. His students
shifted uncomfortably, looking around the room to see what had taken their
teacher’s attention and, from the look in his eyes, filled him with fear. They
saw nothing and so they looked at each other with growing discomfort.
Sar’n? a sleepy
voice asked.
“Yes?” Jack
answered to no one, his voice cracking.
Come back,
Sar’n. You belong here with us. Don’t leave us, Casey.
The voice came
from nowhere and everywhere. Jack dropped his hands to his sides, his lesson
plans fluttering to the floor. He stared intently at the door in back of the
room. Was there movement?
As he watched
in horror, his pulse pounding in his temples, a figure passed by the doorway in
slow motion. He was dressed in filthy Marine digital desert cammie pants and a
torn green T-shirt. Dog tags danced on his thin chest as he walked, limping slightly.
He paused briefly in the doorway and turned to Jack, smiling. As he turned,
Jack saw that the other side of his face was gone; a black bloody hole gaped at
him where the eye and cheek should have been. The smile ended halfway across
his face in a twisted mass of scattered teeth and bone. Simmons winked with his
one remaining eye and raised a thumb in greeting.
“Hey, Sarge , ”
he croaked with a thick, black tongue, his missing lips turning “Sarge” into
“Sarze.” When he did, dark blood spilled out over his dirty chin and spattered
onto his T-shirt. Two teeth twisted loose and fell out of his deformed mouth,
which he caught easily in the palm of his dirty hand. He shrugged, embarrassed,
popped them back into his mouth like hard candy, and then shuffled on,
disappearing past the doorway. Jack felt a dusty wind swirl around him, and
coughed as the dirt filled his mouth. He looked up towards the sound of the
Blackhawk passing overhead and saw, without much surprise, that the ceiling had
swirled its way into a purple sky. He heard the whump of an outbound mortar
shell, and then seconds later the loud explosion of the shell as it found its
mark. Jack dropped instinctively to the ground, balanced on one knee, an arm
over his head.
The room tilted
nauseatingly to the left, and Jack struggled back to his feet and steadied
himself on the desk in front of him. Then he pushed back, stumbled, and fell
painfully to his knees again. He scrambled back to his feet and bolted to the
door. As he passed the first row of students, his hip slammed into the corner
of a desk, sending a textbook and sheets of handwritten notes to the floor and nearly
knocking the young girl there out of her seat. Jack continued on, oblivious to
the muted scream of the student, and gripped the doorframe with a hand as he
skidded past it into the hallway. His eyes darted back and forth as he looked
for the dead Marine he knew would be there.
Empty.
But he heard a
click as the door at the end of the hall snapped shut. Jack sprinted full speed
down the hall and slammed his full weight into the horizontal bar across the
door, twisting his right wrist painfully as he did. The door exploded open and
Jack found himself outside in the cold air. He panted and his eyes darted
around, searching in all directions for the corpse of his friend.
“Simmons,” he
hollered.
But there was
nothing there. No one. The sounds of gunfire and yelling faded quickly away,
and he heard only the sounds of traffic on the street beyond the thin tree line
around the school. Jack dropped in a heap to the sidewalk, sitting Indian‐style
on the
was going to happen, something bad. His mouth became suddenly dry and he couldn’t
stop his eyes from frequently scanning the back of the room. He pushed on with
his lesson and forced his eyes to his notes and his mind to the cycles of the
cell.
Something is
coming. Something bad.
“We’re coming
for you, Sar’n,” Simmons’
boyish voice told him, clear as a bell. In his head, right? Jack scanned the
room again, his eyes full of terror. He had stopped in midsentence. His students
shifted uncomfortably, looking around the room to see what had taken their
teacher’s attention and, from the look in his eyes, filled him with fear. They
saw nothing and so they looked at each other with growing discomfort.
Sar’n? a sleepy
voice asked.
“Yes?” Jack
answered to no one, his voice cracking.
Come back,
Sar’n. You belong here with us. Don’t leave us, Casey.
The voice came
from nowhere and everywhere. Jack dropped his hands to his sides, his lesson
plans fluttering to the floor. He stared intently at the door in back of the
room. Was there movement?
As he watched
in horror, his pulse pounding in his temples, a figure passed by the doorway in
slow motion. He was dressed in filthy Marine digital desert cammie pants and a
torn green T-shirt. Dog tags danced on his thin chest as he walked, limping slightly.
He paused briefly in the doorway and turned to Jack, smiling. As he turned,
Jack saw that the other side of his face was gone; a black bloody hole gaped at
him where the eye and cheek should have been. The smile ended halfway across
his face in a twisted mass of scattered teeth and bone. Simmons winked with his
one remaining eye and raised a thumb in greeting.
“Hey, Sarge , ”
he croaked with a thick, black tongue, his missing lips turning “Sarge” into
“Sarze.” When he did, dark blood spilled out over his dirty chin and spattered
onto his T-shirt. Two teeth twisted loose and fell out of his deformed mouth,
which he caught easily in the palm of his dirty hand. He shrugged, embarrassed,
popped them back into his mouth like hard candy, and then shuffled on,
disappearing past the doorway. Jack felt a dusty wind swirl around him, and
coughed as the dirt filled his mouth. He looked up towards the sound of the
Blackhawk passing overhead and saw, without much surprise, that the ceiling had
swirled its way into a purple sky. He heard the whump of an outbound mortar
shell, and then seconds later the loud explosion of the shell as it found its
mark. Jack dropped instinctively to the ground, balanced on one knee, an arm
over his head.
The room tilted
nauseatingly to the left, and Jack struggled back to his feet and steadied
himself on the desk in front of him. Then he pushed back, stumbled, and fell
painfully to his knees again. He scrambled back to his feet and bolted to the
door. As he passed the first row of students, his hip slammed into the corner
of a desk, sending a textbook and sheets of handwritten notes to the floor and nearly
knocking the young girl there out of her seat. Jack continued on, oblivious to
the muted scream of the student, and gripped the doorframe with a hand as he
skidded past it into the hallway. His eyes darted back and forth as he looked
for the dead Marine he knew would be there.
Empty.
But he heard a
click as the door at the end of the hall snapped shut. Jack sprinted full speed
down the hall and slammed his full weight into the horizontal bar across the
door, twisting his right wrist painfully as he did. The door exploded open and
Jack found himself outside in the cold air. He panted and his eyes darted
around, searching in all directions for the corpse of his friend.
“Simmons,” he
hollered.
But there was
nothing there. No one. The sounds of gunfire and yelling faded quickly away,
and he heard only the sounds of traffic on the street beyond the thin tree line
around the school. Jack dropped in a heap to the sidewalk, sitting Indian‐style
on the
Similar Books
