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Something tugs at the edges of my memory. There was an explosion…
I try to recall more, but it’s like sifting through dry sand in search of a single grain of salt.
Darkness overtakes me again, maybe for minutes, maybe hours. Maybe days. I drag myself up from deep underwater again, catching snatches of conversations around me.
“We need to increase his dose. He’s biting the tube.”
A murmur of voices. One male. Two females. I try to open my eyes, but I can’t.
“Has his commanding officer notified the family?”
“There’s only one person to notify, and his colonel apparently knows her. He’s going to call.”
They’re going to notify my family.
I’m dying.
But it doesn’t frighten me. It’s okay. Just more blackness. No more pain. Just peace.
Wait. Family…
Family means Charlie.
The pain is so intense, death would be a welcome relief, but I’m all Charlie has left. I can’t die. She needs me, and I need her.
The voice comes from my left. “This should put him back under.”
Darkness.
CHARLIE
My dejection leaves me unable to relax when I get home. I’ve never experienced a strong desire for my own family before tonight. Realizing it’s something I’ll never be able to have is soul-crushing, though I don’t understand why losing something I'd never craved before has filled me with such deep despondency. I try to push it from my mind. I take a hot shower, check the door locks four times, drink two cups of chamomile tea, and fail epically at my attempt at meditation. It’s half-past one the last time I glance at the clock from my perch on the foyer bench, gun in hand. I close my eyes, envisioning a cool mountain stream, imagining the sound of water tumbling over moss-slicked rocks and rushing around fallen logs. I can smell the crisp damp air and hear chirping birds and chattering squirrels, but every time I almost drift off, the images fade, just beyond my reach like everything else.
It’s shortly after two when sharp rings pierce the foggy haze somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. I’m instantly alert, raising my gun as I scan the area until I realize the noise is my cell phone, not an intruder.
Colonel Sherman’s name is on my screen.
Oh God.
My mouth goes dry. Colonels don’t make calls at this hour.
My hands are shaking even before I answer. His baritone voice is gentle, urging me to fly to Brooke Army Medical Center in San Antonio immediately.
There’s been an attack. An explosion, an IED. Multiple fatalities. Mark is in critical condition with a severe head injury. They’ve placed drains in his skull to relieve the pressure, trying to prevent permanent brain damage if he survives.
Dear God.
If.
There’s more, much more, and he keeps talking as my stunned mind staggers to keep up. Mark’s on a ventilator. The force of the blast ruptured his spleen and tore his liver. He has multiple broken bones, dozens of shrapnel wounds, and burns. The last thing he says is that the explosion shredded his right lower leg.
He uses that word, shredded, and I nearly vomit.
Shock rapidly turns to adrenaline, and moments later, I’m sprinting upstairs, dialing Lila. I put it on speakerphone, willing her to pick up as I hurl my suitcase onto the bed.
“Charlie?”
“I need a ride to the airport. Colonel Sherman called. Mark’s been hurt.” My brisk tone belies my panic as I fling clothes and necessities haphazardly into the case.
