Short Fiction: Dust off

Where there’s a will, there’s a way

What, where am I?

Blurry–everything was blurry. Raymond forcibly blinked once, then twice. It didn’t help. Still blurry. Movement around him–he could see shadows, but damned if he knew what they were. Everything moving in slow motion back and forth.

The base of his skull emitted a loud rhythmic thumping. He heard nothing other than a high-pitched scream as though he was standing beside his old high school football coach constantly blowing a whistle. Through the constant shrill came muffled distant yelling, like someone with a mouth full of mashed potatoes. It was a mass of meaningless sounds hitting his ears forming a non-coherent buzz of feedback.

Does someone need help? What’s going on?

He could not focus, the pounding buzz drowning out his thought. Shadows moved through the blur. He could definitely make out a tan colour on the blur. His vision came back a bit, more like looking through slurry water, it was someone.

Someone leaned over him. He couldn’t breathe. Panic started to set in. The pounding in his head got louder as his heart rate increased. The need to flee immediately flooded his senses, he was in danger. The ground pushed up into his back like multiple fingers poking him, holding him.

Need to get away. This is not right. What the fuck.

A gasp of breath. The new air in his lungs shot searing pain down his side.

Holy shit that hurt.

“He’s … around. Hey, stay … you.. … hit … got you.”

The fuzzy shape hovered over him. All he could see was a shadow of a mouth moving, the voice coming through in spits and spurts, like a radio with a bad signal. He commanded his legs to move, trying to sit up and assemble some sort of defensive posture. His energy vanished. His vision formed a tunnel in front of him, getting darker, the sounds dimming at the same pace.

His radio crackled to life, and he winced. Startled back from the dimness. A blast of sounds came through clearly but still distant.

“Line 9: None. I say again, none. Break. How copy?” The radio crackled.

“Bravo One-three, Roger,” the blur responded.

“Alpha One-one, direct to op frequency, await contact from medevac helo. Be advised escort following, keep element together.”

“Roger, Bravo One-three clear of net. Out.”

What? I need to get up. Someone needs help. So tired.

“Shit, Sarge. Stay awake. Look at me.”

Sarge — yes! That’s me. Hey, I heard that! Who’s hurt? Give me a sitrep.

“Hey, Smitty, pop smoke. Dustoff is inbound!”

Memories came back slowly at first, like pages flipping in a photo album. A dirt pile on the side of the road, out of place. The FNG walking oblivious toward it. His last thought of running at the noob, yelling.

A burning coldness radiated through his left side.

He took another deep breath. It hurt like a son of a bitch. He used the pain and the lung full of air to force out a groan.

“Bolton?” Fuck, that hurt.

“Shit, take it easy Sarge. Stay still. Bolton’s fine. He pissed himself and has a few scratches, but he’s gonna live. You two are getting a ride back. You are going to be okay. Keep your eyes open and on me.”

“Bravo one-three, bravo one-three, this is urgent hotel five-one inbound on your position, red smoke confirm, over”

“Bravo one-three, confirm red smoke, over”

“Hotel five-one, roger. Clear a spot boys we are coming in. Over.”