Dark Side of the Cloth by Brooklyn Cross
The Sheriff hadn’t exaggerated. The car was mangled beyond recognition and was trapped between a transport truck and a tree. The stench of sulfur, rain, and gasoline permeated the air. The paramedics said he wouldn't have much time as soon as they pulled the young man from the wreck. Dean didn’t need any medical training to know the truth of their words.
He gripped the young man’s hand as he spoke words of comfort that needed to be heard. The man clung to the front of his raincoat, his young face too white, eyes wide with dread. It was a look not unlike the soldiers he had comforted over his time. The last man he held like this had been his best friend. He blinked as Perez’s face took the place of the young stranger.
The man was no longer in pain, the paramedics made sure of that, but the inevitable was going to happen. Dean remained quiet as the man rambled on about everything he wanted to do or could have done differently.
Guilt blanketed death in its embrace. So rare had he seen a death that was not filled with remorse. Tears and blood smattered the young face that held so much promise. Dean watched as the light dimmed even as he fought to hang on, and then he was gone. Like a switch being turned off, and he was no longer of this world. Dean didn’t know where they went, but there was no Heaven. He was sure about that.
Dean slowly stood, giving way to the arriving coroner to pronounce the young man’s death. The lightning was relentless, flashing across the darkened sky in bright sheets. More thunderous cracks had him jerking with the deafening sound.
Another flash hit, and another image of Perez’s face coated in blood, missing his body from the hips down, appeared.
No, not now.
Dean stepped away from the now lifeless body, and pain stabbed him behind his eyes.
Thump, thump, thump, the helicopter blades were loud in his ears. So many dead, so many body parts, it was a sick game of ‘Humpty Dumpty the soldier back together again.’
“Come on!” Someone yelled and grabbed him by the pack on his back. He was dragged away from Perez, his eyes never leaving his friend's face. He shook himself out of the dazed state, realty sinking back in. He turned so he could run properly, but Morry refused to let go of his pack. Her hand was clenched tight on the material. Dean pulled Morry to a halt, and before she could ask what he was doing, he bent over and picked up a hand. Dean recognized the watch as Ringo’s.
Loud whizzing sounded above, and he clutched the severed hand to his chest as the two of them jumped to take cover. A vehicle was the target this time, the metal screeching as it was ripped apart, debris flying in all directions, lodging in walls, and narrowly missing their hiding spot.
“Shit! That was close.”
He looked at Morry, and his heart dropped into his stomach. Her eyes were wide with fear. Blood poured out of the side of her face. A piece of debris that nearly took her head was lodged in the wall behind her.
“No, don’t touch it.” Dean grabbed her shaking hand. “It’s a clean-cut, lots of blood, not life-threatening.” He made sure his voice was strong and assertive. He had no idea if she’d survive, but he was damn well not going to put that in her head. “I need to keep it clean until you can get it sewn up.”
Morry nodded, and he pulled his pack off to grab what he could to wrap her jaw.
“Dean.” Morry grabbed his arm. “Don’t let me die out here,” she mumbled.
Dean stumbled away and gripped a nearby tree, hanging onto the rough bark to stay upright. More lightning rippled across the sky. The bright white light was blinding, and his head was pounding.
“Are you okay, Father?”
“Yes, I will be fine, just a headache. Thank you.”
Dean didn’t look at the sheriff. He staggered to his BMW and flopped inside. The rain that had relented for a short period now fell from the sky in torrents, blinding him to anything but the flashing lights of the emergency vehicles. He yelled from the physical pain, so real as more memories ripped from his subconscious.
Explosions surrounded him. The building shook as debris fell from the ceiling. They were trapped, pinned down, and unable to move, yet they had to, or they wouldn’t make it another ten minutes. With his decision made, they tried to make it out of the area in two groups, twelve of them in total lined up to make their escape. The first in line peeked out the door before stepping in front of it.
Dean heard the whistling sound and opened his mouth to yell for him to come back when the door blew inward, the wood shattering, sending concrete fragments flying. His ears rang with the explosion, and he quickly helped his friend stand beside him before racing to the fallen soldier.
The young man had been blown back, the debris sticking out of his body in a morbid display. He choked on his own blood, gasping for each breath, eyes wide as blood dripped from his mouth. Another in the fallen soldier’s unit ran to his side and gripped his hand. It was all that could be done.
“We need to go now!” he yelled over the roar of burning fires and the never-ending explosions.
“We can’t leave him!”
Reaching out, he gripped the man’s dog tags in his hand and ripped them free.
“Here, we’ll come back for his body. There’s nothing more we can do. Get up, soldier, that’s an order! If you want to live, we need to go!” Dean yelled.
His instincts screamed not to leave a man behind, but he knew they had no other choice if they wanted to live. Dean grabbed the young soldier by the shoulder and dragged him to his feet.
“I said go! Now!” He pushed the soldier ahead of himself as the last of them filed out the door and raced into the surrounding desert.
Dean sucked in a ragged breath as his mind came back to the now. He was gripping the steering wheel in a white knuckle hold, his nails digging into his palms.
“Perez, Scooter, Mel, TK, Ringo, Jimmy.” Dean chanted the mantra of his fallen friends’ names, his constant reminder of why he continued to do what he did.
His heart slowed, and the ache in his shoulder that always accompanied the memories began to ease. Dean forced his hand off the wheel and started the car. He needed to get out of here.
The tires spun on the slippery ground as he drove the car backward and down the deserted highway. No one in their right mind would be out in this weather. His wipers worked overtime, smacking back and forth, barely making a dent in the blinding rain. He was sure more than one death would be due to the weather this evening. He rounded a sharp bend, his own car fishtailing on the slippery surface, but it didn’t slow him down. He’d faced death. He’d even kissed her face and held her hand. If it was his time, it was his time, but he knew he had more to accomplish before death kissed him for the last time.