by A J Newman
I was tired of killing and needed the nightmares to stop.
***
Obviously, the huge airplane crashed a few minutes later, but I was oblivious to the carnage. I remember dreaming about that cute nurse back in Iceland after I woke up a couple of days later, but nothing about the crash. What I will never forget to this day, was the pain once the drugs wore off. Oh, my God, how I hurt all over. I had mind-numbing pain in my foot, back, and well, the rest of my body felt like it had been beaten with a baseball bat.
My eyes opened, and there was no light. I couldn’t hear anything either. I thought maybe I was dead, but then I thought, “Why am I in so much pain?”
I tried to move, and the pain from my back and left foot shot daggers through my body. Wait, I saw something glowing to my left. I thought, “What is that?”
I thought I heard my voice, and it shocked me for a second. I reached out to the glowing object and grasped it in my right hand. I had been locked in the trunk of a car by my high school drinking buddies one night, so I knew this must be the emergency release to get my ass out of this contraption. I pulled as hard as I could, even though the pain increased tremendously. Suddenly, the top rose, and stars twinkled above me, and a chilly wind blew on my face. I smelled burnt fuel and another pungent odor I didn’t recognize. I tried to lift myself, but the pain was so intense I passed out.
The nightmares started again.
***
Later, I dreamed I was swimming in the Atlantic off Cape Cod in the winter. Someone on shore kept yelling for me to swim faster or I’d die. I was shivering and felt ice-cold rain pelting my face. My face was numb, my body was soaked, and I knew I would die if I didn’t get out of the rain and change clothes. My eyes opened, and I could barely see a few yards from the pod. I saw a flickering light through the rain and gloom and decided it was a fire. I raised my head slightly and saw the side of the aircraft.
“Holy shit! That’s only the hind quarter of the plane!” I thought, “I have to get out of this cold rain, or I’ll die.”
My IV pumps vibrated as they pumped liquids into my body, but the round ball-like pain pump was now flat and empty. I was receiving fluids, but no pain meds. That’s why I wasn’t all cotton-mouthed but was in intense pain. I also found my urine bag for my catheter.
Pulling the IV from my arm was a non-event, but removing the catheter from my … uh … well, you know, was quite the experience. You don’t need every little detail. Just suffice it to say, that was one experience that I never want to repeat. Nuff said.
I searched the pod for anything useful without success. I felt my legs and torso to find I only wore a hospital gown, and nothing else. I didn’t even want to think about dragging my unprotected family jewels across the wet mud and wreckage to get to safety. Laugh all you want, but even a half-dead man has to have his priorities in order. I tugged on a wide strip of padding from the pod above my head and ripped a three-foot wide by four-foot long section of the half-inch thick padding away. I used the IV tubing to secure it to the front of my waist.
“Yee Haw. The family jewels are now protected.”
I started to move out of the pod, but stopped when I realized my knees weren’t protected either. So, I pulled more of the padding from the sides of the pod and wrapped the material around both legs. I also packed a piece of the padding around my left foot, to keep the muddy water from reaching my wounds.
My left arm wasn’t much use, but I could hold the material in place while I secured it with my right hand. I used two pieces for my right leg, so I could stay flexible as I attempted to crawl to the plane.
I was very proud of myself by now and exclaimed to myself, “Damn, I’m a regular genius. I’ve made armor from a glorified burial casket lining.”
Yes, I was beginning to talk to myself more and more as time went on that day. No, I wasn’t talking as much as thinking, but I could hear myself, and that was all that was important at the time.
My left arm and leg wouldn’t cooperate, and screamed at me with every movement. I used my right arm to lift my torso over the edge of the pod, and pushed with my right leg until I flopped out of the pod onto my left side. “Son of a bitch, that hurts. Oh God, kill me now and get this over with,” I mumbled in agony. I later thanked God for not honoring my request. I even promised to be a good boy if he let me live long enough to see my mom and dad once again.
The rain pounded me as I laid there on the muddy ground for a few minutes. I had to build up the courage to withstand the pain, and I prepared myself mentally to crawl to the wrecked fuselage. I only had my right arm and leg to push against the ground, since it was unthinkable to endure the pain from my left side. The padding was covered in vinyl, so most of my lower body stayed dry above the mud, for most of the trip.
The sun rose in the sky and shined dimly through the rain and gloomy skies. I stopped several times to rest along the way, but at least my movement seemed to be warming me up a bit. I paused for the last time, only a few feet from the plane, when I bumped up against something soft. Crap, it was one of the medics. I crawled around him and tried to see if I recognized him, but he had no face, or head for that matter. I gagged and tried not to retch while I passed him in the cold driving rain.
The rain stopped hitting my back, and I looked up to see that I was finally under what remained of the roof of the aircraft. The main floor of the aircraft was several feet above the ground, so I stopped and made myself comfortable in what had to be a storage compartment below the main level. There was enough light to see by, and I took stock of my surroundings. There was a puddle of water on the slick aluminum floor, and I drank until the puddle was gone. It tasted a bit metallic with a hint of high-grade jet fuel. It quenched my thirst, and that was what I needed at the time. I would drink from much worse sources over the next few years.
I found several duffel bags full of clothes and made a bed, then pulled several coats on top of myself and passed out.
Time passed. I woke up a lot warmer, but still wet. I had no clue when we’d crashed or where I was at the time. I just knew I was damp and needed something to eat. The padding came off without much effort but rolling around to get the hospital gown off and drying my body was excruciatingly painful. The great news was I performed a self-examination of my privates, and everything was still in place. But I had a painful wound near my groin at the top of my left leg. My fear of being a eunuch was unfounded, to my immense relief.
I know I bitch about the pain a lot, but being blown up and slammed against a shipping container does a body bad. So get used to the complaints because you have a couple more chapters of “pain” complaints, and can kiss my redneck ass if you don’t like it. Just hang in there buttercup, and the pain will ease as time goes on, but then, all healing takes time. I had a bunch of mental healing to go through also. I could feel the pain, but would eventually make others feel my mental pain.
Now, back to the pain generated by dressing myself. Damn it, it hurt a bunch. I couldn’t find underwear or shoes, but managed to put on a long-sleeved T-shirt and sweatshirt, plus some loose fitting jeans. I kept rummaging through the cargo and found a nice hooded parka and several pair of socks. I also found a couple of shaving kits and a pocketknife. My left foot was wrapped in bandages, so I placed a couple of socks on my right foot. I threw a change of clothes into an empty duffel bag, along with the shaving kits, and tossed it up onto the main floor before attempting the climb.
Finally, I made it to my foot. I won’t say feet because my left foot just dangled, entirely unusable at the time. I hopped to the side and inched my way up the curve of the fuselage until my waist was even with the floor. I moved my duffel bag over to cover the jagged metal and leaned over until I caught myself with my right hand and lowered myself to the floor.
What I saw made me sick to my stomach.
☆
Chapter 2
Walterhill, Tennessee – Jason’s parent’s home
Jason’s parents, Zack and Jan Walker,
were sleeping when the sirens blared through the darkness. Since a storm had just passed over Walterhill, Zack jumped out of bed, in case there was a tornado alert. He turned the TV to Channel 5 and then yelled for Jan to turn the emergency radio on. Both had the same message. “The USA is under attack, and citizens should shelter in place.”
The message was much longer, but didn’t give Zack a clue as to what was actually happening in the world. Then he remembered that he had the DVR set to record his favorite late night news show. He punched the buttons to start the show and saw his beloved talking head discussing the US and British attack on Syria and Iran. This scared Zack, but he kept listening when, suddenly, the man said, “I just heard that Russia has attacked our military bases in Italy, Great Britain, and Iraq. Our military is counter-attacking as I speak.”
The message was cut short, and then the U.S. President gave a brief message, imploring his fellow Americans to take cover because the US was under attack. There was a brilliant flash followed by a low rumble beneath their feet. The news stopped abruptly, the TV died, and the lights went out. Zack and Jan ran outside to see if their neighbor’s lights were out. They saw an unearthly glow in the sky to the north, and then another to the southeast.
“Jan, I think those were nuclear blasts. Get inside, close all of the windows, and fill the bathtubs and sinks with water. Fill any container you can find with water. I’m going to the barn. I’ll be right back.”
Jan busied herself with collecting water when she remembered to call her sister up in Chicago to make sure they were okay. She picked up her iPhone XX and touched the home button. Nothing happened, so she went to the bedroom and took her husband’s phone from the nightstand after disconnecting the charger. She tried to make a call, and his phone was dead also. Jan was confused and worried now. She tried her Fitbit watch, but it was dead along with every electronic device in the home. She ran to the upstairs bathroom and turned the water off just before the tub overflowed. Next, she checked the downstairs bathtub and waited a few minutes before it was full.
Jan was pleased when her husband returned from the garage with a bag, and his Coleman lantern shining bright. It lit up the room. “Darling, use this duct tape to seal the windows and doors while I go bring more supplies and food in from the pole barn. We need to assume we were nuked and keep the radioactive fallout out of the house. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Jan watched her husband calmly work to make them safe and was very proud of him because he always knew what to do. They had married thirty-five years ago, raised their three kids, and paid for two of them to go to college. Zack was a maintenance manager at a distribution center in Lebanon, and together they earned a good living. They were working hard and saving for their retirement when the lights went out.
Zack had purchased twenty-six acres on Lascassas Pike toward Auburntown off a side road. There was a small, older cabin on the property, and Jan and he stayed there every chance they got. He had dammed a small creek to make a five-acre lake, built a pole barn, and planned to build a modest home on the property before they retired. They had chickens, a few pigs, and a milk cow. They planned to add more stock. The property wasn’t far away, so Zack or Jan dropped by every day to care for the animals and tend their garden. Jan had even learned to churn butter.
Zack wasn’t a nutty doomsday prepper, but he did believe in being prepared for disasters. He thought the country was headed in the wrong direction with all of the wars, and worried the fighting would spill over to America. His mechanic skills came in handy while fixing up the farm and preparing it for them to live off the grid. He repaired the old tractor and most of the old farm equipment.
Their youngest son, Jason, had joined the Army, and had only been home twice a year for the last 10 years. Their other son, Mike, lived in Atlanta and came back with his wife and two kids about once every three months. Their daughter, Michele, lived in Clarksville, and only visited with her boyfriend on holidays and special occasions. Jan wished the kids lived much closer, but had given up on having them around much anymore.
Zack came back into their home with another Coleman Lantern lighting up the darkness. “Honey, come help me pack this stuff into the spare bedroom.”
Jan replied, “Zack, is it wise to have these lights on? If you are right about the country being nuked. Remember, Jason and I like those post-apocalyptic novels, and someone always tries to kill you and take your food and water when theirs runs out.”
“Girl, you read too much. Come on and give me a hand.”
Zack thought for a minute. “Hon, if anything happens to me or this does turn out to be an apocalypse, please head to our place. I plan to head there if those were nukes. We can’t stay here if the crap hits the fan.”
Early the next morning, Zack had a light breakfast and sprang a surprise on his wife. “Hon, I’m going to walk over to town and see if anyone knows what happened.”
“No, please don’t leave me here all alone.”
He replied, “We need to know what happened, and we need to band together with our neighbors to survive, if this is what I think it is.”
“Please be careful.”
Zack kissed his wife goodbye. “When I get home, we’ll get ready to make a trip to the property. We might want to stay there until this is over. Please pack a few light bags with some clothes and food. I’ll pump up the tires on the bikes, and we can ride there in an hour or two, maybe longer if I can find a way to hitch one of the kid’s wagons to a bicycle.”
Jan watched her husband walk out of sight, and then returned to the kitchen and washed the dishes.
☆
Chapter 3
About 5 miles west of Cookeville
The soldier’s torso hung over the side of the medical pod with her arms dangling in my face. I knew who she was, even without a head. Her blood covered the side of the pod and the floor under it. She was Private Joan K. Malone from Columbia, Tennessee. She had been in my company in another squad, and was a close friend of Maria’s. The tattoo on her right forearm gave her ID away. I didn’t know her that well, but she was a sister soldier and tears came to my eyes. Her pod had broken open, and something had crashed into her. God, I hoped my pod hadn’t crashed into her when I was ejected from the aircraft.
I know I’m a bit slow, but it finally dawned on me that Maria and my other wounded friends could be on this plane. I saw four more pods anchored to the sides of the cabin, and noticed three were open and empty. The first pod’s ID tag said, Private John Long. Well, I didn’t like the tall prick, but I was glad he made it out alive. The next one placed a smile on my face. It was Maria’s pod. It was empty, but at least I didn’t see her body. I now had hope. It was then I realized that I cared for her more than I’d thought.
I’ve never been good at socializing, and was horrible at that dating thing. Women confused me and frankly, scared me. I got along okay until things got serious, and then I bailed. I wasn’t much better with kids. One lady told me I wasn’t emotionally available. Whatever the hell that meant. She added that I should have been born a dog. I took that as a compliment.
One pod was still closed, and my heart raced as I thought about finding another living soldier. The nametag said Private Carl Vinson, so I moved over to it and saw the two outside latches were open. I lifted the clamshell top, only to see a soldier who had suffered a broken neck during the crash. I closed the pod.
I moved on to the back of the tail section and saw the female medic still strapped in her jump seat. Her head had been slammed against the bulkhead behind her, and a jagged piece of the fuselage protruded from her stomach. I owed her my life, and couldn’t do a thing to help her. I would tell her family how she’d cared for her patients to the very end.
I steeled myself against more carnage while I searched for food and clean drinking water. The cabin was a tangled mess, but there were clear signs that someone had survived the crash besides myself. I saw evidence that someone had opened a couple of MREs and eaten them. Darn, tha
t made me hungry. I found two cases of bottled water and drank one sixteen-ounce bottle by squeezing the water between my teeth. I searched for a medical cabinet and found several plastic bottles of medicine. One had oxycodone acetaminophen 10-325 written on the label. I took one with a swig of water and stuck the container with another ten to fifteen pills in my pocket.
Suddenly, it hit me that other military people had survived the crash and left me behind. “What the hell happened to no one left behind?” I mumbled out to no one in particular. The bastards left me. My mind wandered to why they would do this. Was I too much of a burden to carry, or were they just selfish assholes? I then thought, “I’ll kill the selfish pricks when I find them.”
Then it came to me. “Maria wouldn’t leave me behind unless she thought I was dead. Maybe someone hurt Maria. I would rip the throat out of anyone who hurt Maria.”
The nightmare from the flight sprang forth in my mind. I could taste the man’s blood and see him dead on the tarmac. It was too real.
I dwelled on having been left behind for way too long, and finally decided to move on and survive.
My search continued, and I found several bags of IV solution. I saw bottles marked NaCl 9 %, Lactated Ringers, and 5% Dextrose in Water. I opened the one marked 5% Dextrose first because even I knew dextrose was some kind of sugar. It didn’t taste too bad, and I drank half of the bag. I placed the five bags of Dextrose and three bags of Lactated Ringers in my duffel bag. I thought I remembered the Ringers was kind-of-like Gatorade for your blood, and would help replace lost salt and potassium. Okay, so I never claimed to be a doctor, and I didn’t die from drinking the stuff over the next several days.