Ephemeral creatures, p.10
Ephemeral Creatures, page 10
Jamma J stood there frozen in astonishment, curses dying on his lips. With the car windows rolled down, the large bulk and shoulder-length blond hair of Aryan Brotherhood behind the wheel had been unmistakable.
-13-
The hot-tar smell of explosive residue filled the dusty air, overtopping the odors of spilled gasoline and cordite streaming from the barrel of Chad’s M4 rifle. Worse was the stink of burnt flesh. Chad vomited, unable to clear the cloying stench from his nostrils.
In addition to the queasy gut, he felt jittery and shell-shocked—and a little exhilarated. The firefight had been quick and brutal, the ambush sparked by an IED blast that had taken out the lead vehicle. For the entire duration, Chad had been operating on instinct more than anything. Once his mind finally caught up, enabling him to replay the incident, only then did his nerves start acting up.
Mathews sat slumped against the front Humvee tire, groaning in pain, but Chad could barely hear him. His ears were ringing something fierce, initially from the explosion that had ripped through the convoy, blowing up the Humvee on point. The subsequent exchange of gunfire hadn’t done his eardrums any favors either. He’d been driving the second vehicle and hadn’t been wearing his earplugs since he couldn’t hear shit with them in over the clamor of engine and tire noise and rattling body panels, not to mention the chattering radio. Sergeant Mathews had been monitoring the comms, handset clamped to one ear. Chad preferred to chance not wearing his earplugs and being able to hear what was going on, rather than the other way around—until the shit hit the fan. Now he wished he hadn’t neglected the damn earplugs.
Cooper, Shaheen, Brown, and Briggs had all been killed in the explosion. And Mathews and Specialist Rivera had both been shot during the ambush. The up-armored Humvees were effective at protecting soldiers from small arms fire but shit against IEDs. The vehicles were technically supposed to protect against small bombs, but the enemy never went small. The jihadis certainly were quick learners. MRAPs were the way to go against IEDs, but the division had far too few to use on every patrol.
Chad wiped sweat from his brow, and his hand came away with blood on it. He looked in the side mirror of his Humvee and located a small cut above his eyebrow where he must’ve gotten nicked by a round or a sharp stone or metal fragment. He hadn’t even noticed it during the desperate firefight, but now it stung as sweat, blood, and dust mixed.
As they waited, holding their positions while the medics did their thing, Chad replayed the battle in his mind. The moment Sergeant First Class Cooper’s vehicle went up in a fireball, Chad had instinctively slammed on the brakes. Competing voices shouted in garbled cacophony over the radio.
“Contact left!” Mathews barked. “Return fire!”
So they had. The convoy stopped, and everyone either dropped their windows or exited the passenger side of the vehicles to return fire, depending on where they were sitting. The up-armored shook and clattered as if subjected to a massive hailstorm as the enemy unloaded with AK-47s. The countless drills had become second nature, and within moments, the patrol was returning fire.
Chad had difficulty getting his rifle past the steering wheel at first as he was wedged into the driver’s seat and wearing body armor and his full battle rattle. Once he got sorted, he joined his comrades and poured bullets up the ridge where the jihadis were positioned. Chad was pretty sure he took at least one of them out, maybe two. The fight ended quickly once Davis lit up the jihadis’ position with the .50-caliber machine gun on the trail vehicle. The rocks providing cover were pulverized into gravel, the bodies torn to ribbons, and the incoming fire ceased. If any of the foe had survived after that barrage, they’d likely retreated.
Staff Sergeant Daniels organized a squad to flush out any survivors. Chad eagerly joined the grunts in securing the high ground. When they reached the ridge top, seven haji corpses greeted them, the majority barely recognizable after the .50 cal’s barrage. He guessed a dozen or so attackers had been there, the majority now on their way to chill with Allah and enjoy their seventy-two virgins or whatever. Chad hoped the bastards burned in hell instead.
At least one more had been hit and survived for the time being, evidenced by a sizable blood trail leading away. In the distance, two pickup trucks were kicking up a dust cloud as they tore off across the open desert, retreating to Terrorist Central, he guessed. He hoped a Predator was in the air and would light up that rathole with a Hellfire missile or two.
From his vantage point, Chad could see the quick reaction force already en route in the distance. Less than ten minutes had elapsed since the IED blast—a pretty good response time with his platoon being seven miles outside Forward Operating Base Dagger.
Presently, after being reinforced by the QRF, Chad’s unit waited uneasily as the combat medics poked through the wreckage, grim faced and shaking their heads. The blown-up vehicle had been shredded and tossed upside down like a crumpled beer can.
Must’ve been a big fucking bomb to shred a six-ton vehicle.
Mathews and Rivera got patched up. The sergeant had suffered a bullet to the thigh, and Rivera had been shot in the neck. Even though Rivera had been covered in blood, his wound had miraculously been only a graze, the bullet having missed all the major blood vessels.
“Yo, Coates, check this out,” Private First Class Washington said.
Chad went over to where Washington was standing on the far side of the overturned Humvee. At first, he thought he was looking at a dead child dressed in civilian clothing and lying broken on the ground. Oddly, the body was untouched by fire or blood.
What the hell? Nobody could’ve survived that in one piece.
Upon closer examination, he decided the body might’ve been one of the local national translators, though the one assigned to his platoon had been riding in the third vehicle with the LT. Regardless, whoever it was hadn’t died from the explosion, the body relatively intact. Nor did they die from gunfire, he saw upon closer examination. The hijab indicated a woman or older girl. Chad had seen his fair share of dead Iraqi civilians over the past eight months in the Sandbox, including the aftermath of a truck bomb that went off outside the Green Zone a couple months earlier, killing over a hundred civilians, along with a foot patrol of American soldiers. Only in some terrorist asshole’s demented mind could that math work out to a desirable outcome.
Chad felt compelled to kneel beside the body and remove the hijab, which covered most of the corpse’s face. When he did so, he saw the cause of death—a crushed skull. Worse, he was shocked to recognize the dead, staring eyes as belonging to an old friend.
He jolted awake from the nightmare, the Sandbox replaced by his cramped bedroom in his sorry trailer. He lay tangled up in sweaty sheets, sunlight streaming through the gaps in the blinds. Gunner lay at the door of his room, panting softly and watching him with those expressive doggie eyes.
“What the hell was that about? Haven’t thought of Liddy in years.”
He had frequent nightmares about the war—an effect of PTSD, according to the VA doctors. But he wouldn’t have been surprised if the car crash had given him PTSD as much as the war. Either way, all that trauma screwed with his head.
He’d never seen Lidia at the accident scene, having blacked out after the crash, only to awaken briefly in agony with his leg pinned under the Camaro’s roof. The next thing he knew, he was in recovery after surgery, minus one leg below the knee. Even though he hadn’t seen Lidia’s corpse, his mind wasn’t shy about painting gruesome images of how she must have looked with her crushed skull.
Chad rubbed his eyes. When he looked over and saw the alarm hadn’t gone off, he cursed. Maybe it had sounded, and he’d just shut it off without even knowing it—wouldn’t be the first time. Whatever the case, he was half an hour late for work already.
***
As he drove, hauling ass down the dirt road toward town, his mind wandered. Ozzy’s “Road to Nowhere” came on, so he cranked the volume up.
The war, as always, wasn’t far from his thoughts. His yearlong tour in Iraq had been hell at some times, incredibly fulfilling at others. The camaraderie forged in a crucible of harsh conditions and stressful situations, the near-constant danger, and mostly the adrenaline rush of actual combat were unparalleled. Chad had never felt so alive before and hadn’t gotten anywhere remotely close to that experience ever since.
Often, he wished he was one of the ones who’d died over there, rather than Cooper, Shaheen, or any of the others. At least his life would’ve been worth something then, with his life insurance payment going back to his family. Once his parents had gotten over their grief, they would’ve been able to move on. And Chad’s old man might’ve even been proud of his son if he’d died a war hero. Instead, Chad had been booted out of the service after the crippling car wreck while on leave. As a result, he was pretty much worthless to anyone now.
He’d always liked Lidia. She was Kevin’s best friend, the two often inseparable, and he’d hung out with both on plenty of occasions. He thought of her as one of the guys, a friendly tomboy who everyone liked. He’d never been romantically interested in her, as she wasn’t his type: skinny, without much in the way of curves, a bit plain of face, and nerdy. But she had a really awesome personality, complemented by a great smile and a bubbly laugh. She was one of those people who never failed to cheer him up just by being around. Her best physical feature was those striking eyes, golden in certain light, the likes of which he’d seen only one other time, on a young Iraqi woman who worked as a translator for Colonel Ramos. He’d seen her around Camp Victory on a few occasions. That Iraqi girl could have been a supermodel—she had the whole package and turned heads wherever she went. Rumors had been swirling that the married colonel was banging that translator, and Chad could certainly understand why.
Lidia’s death and the loss of Chad’s leg, which equated to the loss of his career, had been a double blow that he’d never really recovered from. At times, he blamed Kevin for the tragedy, while at other times, he blamed himself for pushing Kevin into driving that night when they’d all been drinking. Had he not done so, things might have turned out much differently.
After a quick stop, he pulled into the parking lot of Carefree Used Books, Music, and More. With some relief, he saw that Ted’s old Thunderbird convertible wasn’t there. The absence of the owner and boss wasn’t really a surprise. He was probably out hitting the links again. Even though Ted was in his fifties, he reminded Chad of one of those butter bars in the army—newly minted second lieutenants full of bright ideas that, if implemented, ended up screwing things up even worse than before rather than solving the nonexistent problems they were so keen on tackling.
Stacy was running the shop solo, which wouldn’t have happened if Chad had made it on time. Carefree was never booming in the morning like the Starbucks or anything, but he still felt guilty leaving her in the lurch.
His apology and a cinnamon dolce latte he knew Stacy loved smoothed things over. She hadn’t been mad but took his tardiness in stride, as though he was just another screwup kid she had to babysit. She had three kids of her own already so was probably used to it. But he hated being a screwup and letting her down.
“Any plans for the weekend, Chad?” Stacy asked later that afternoon.
“Nah, not really.” I’ll probably stare at the Ruger for a while and get drunk. Again. The usual. “You?”
“I was thinking about grilling up some hot dogs and burgers and stuff. Steffi’s birthday is next week, so we’ll probably have a few of her friends over. B-day party slash playdate slash barbecue. Parents and other grown-up friends are always welcome.”
“Sounds fun,” Chad said, not meaning it. Playdate? That’s what they call getting together with friends these days? He had to resist the urge to roll his eyes.
The two sat behind the front counter, on shift together as they were three days a week. Def Leppard’s Hysteria CD was playing quietly from an old boom box on the shelf behind them. The job was boring, and the air was always close and hot because of the crappy AC unit, which had probably been installed during the Eisenhower administration. But he hated this job less than most. If he’d been forced to choose a highlight of his week, then his shifts working with Stacy were it.
Stacy must have caught the sarcasm in his voice. She tossed her long auburn hair and gave him some side-eye. “You’re welcome to stop by, you know. I can burn up some mean hamburgers.”
Chad chuckled despite himself. “Well, you probably don’t need my help to do that, though I could probably give you some pointers.”
Stacy smiled, and he responded in turn. How the single mom could always maintain such a positive attitude, he didn’t know. His co-worker was the closest thing to a friend he’d had in years, ever since he’d moved to Kingman eight years prior when he decided he needed to get away from people and life in general.
After six months of doing practically nothing following the move, other than drinking and gaining weight, he decided he needed to find some kind of job to support his habit. The settlement from the insurance company had allowed him to buy the land and trailer. His VA checks barely covered the major bills, which left him pretty much tapped out once his savings had dwindled. He’d been forced to find a way to cover his other expenses, chief among them food and drink—too much of both.
Carefree Used Books, Music, and More had been where he ended up after stints of varying lengths at the local Walmart, a Shell station, a Circle K, and a bowling alley. Ted was generally fairly clueless, so Stacy pretty much ran the place. She was the only full-time employee. Chad and a couple of kids, teenagers or twentysomethings, were part-timers.
Stacy certainly wasn’t hard on the eyes. She was about to turn thirty, and even if she was a little overweight, with that thick mane of hair and bright blue eyes, she was a looker, one he might’ve gone for in his youth. In a way, she reminded him of Kim, his high school squeeze, though less caught up on superficial crap. Stacy had a number of tattoos, which he didn’t mind. He had a few of his own. The three kids were more of a turn-off. But the biggest strike was the ex who was doing twenty years for assault, armed robbery, and a slew of drug charges. They were divorced, but that was some serious baggage. Chad supposed he wasn’t in much of a position to judge, having plenty of his own.
He liked the fact Stacy didn’t treat him any differently because of his disability. If he had difficulty doing something and she was nearby, she would just casually pitch in like it was second nature—the way they worked together so easily just felt right. Once when they’d been stocking a fresh batch of trade-in CDs and DVDs, he slipped on a magazine that had fallen on the floor. He lost his balance and knocked Stacy over. She ended up sandwiched between Chad and a rack of DVDs. Luckily, the whole rack hadn’t gone over. He apologized profusely once they got disentangled, his face burning. Stacy had just smiled and laughed. He was ashamed to admit he still thought about how nice her body had felt pressed against his, the clean smell of her hair filling his nostrils. When he thought about it, he realized his nonexistent self-esteem was probably the only thing keeping him from asking her out.
“Afternoon,” Stacy called to an older couple entering the store. “How you folks doin’ today?” She still had some Tennessee in her accent, though she’d left the state as a teenager.
Chad slurped some Dr Pepper from his Big Gulp cup and tried unsuccessfully not to watch Stacy as she went over to help the couple search for the obscure author they were looking for. He wondered what going to her birthday party slash playdate slash barbecue would be like. Spending time with her sounded nice, although putting up with a mob of shrieking kids running wild on sugar highs definitely didn’t. If he wouldn’t have felt obligated to make conversation with strangers he had nothing in common with, he might have seriously considered her offer.
Maybe I’ll mix it up for a change and go drink some beer at Jimbo’s Bar & Grill Saturday. And maybe watch some hoops while I’m there. Jimbo’s cooked up a mean pulled pork. They also employed some nice-looking waitresses who wore skimpy outfits. Sounds like a plan.
As much as he tried to convince himself that would be fun, it sounded much like any other day for him. He was making excuses not to engage with society and ending up drinking, though he never overindulged when he had to drive. That was one hard lesson he’d learned very well after the crash.
As he often did, he wondered what his life would’ve been like if that night had never happened, if he hadn’t gone to the party or pushed Kevin to get behind the wheel when they’d all been drinking.
If he’d stayed in the army, he probably could’ve made staff sergeant by now or even applied to the Green to Gold program for officer candidacy. The army would’ve been the perfect career—it provided the discipline and structure he’d always needed. When left to his own devices, he usually made poor decisions—like now, ending up a loser with no life.
Chad checked his watch, hoping his replacement would arrive soon so that he could go celebrate Miller time.
-14-
Kevin wrestled all day with what to do with the knowledge Lidia had shared. He debated contacting the others. Lidia wanted him to get back together with Chad and Tara. And do what, exactly—heal together? He doubted that would be helpful. More like rubbing salt in old wounds. The two would probably tell him to screw off, only less politely, and send him packing—if they bothered to reply to his overtures at all—and that was if he could even find a way to contact Chad.
But Lidia had always been an optimist—except for those troubling times toward the end of her life. But he couldn’t blame her for losing faith in humanity. As Kevin reminisced on those painful memories, he again faced the hard truth that he hadn’t been the friend he’d always thought he was. He had failed Lidia when it mattered most.
