Second Chance

by Sydney Canyon

  Second

  Chance

  By

  Sydney Canyon

  Second Chance © 2015 Sydney Canyon

  Triplicity Publishing, LLC

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form without permission.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events of any kind, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Edition – 2015

  Cover Design: Triplicity Publishing, LLC

  Interior Design: Triplicity Publishing, LLC

  Editor: Caralee Anley - Triplicity Publishing, LLC

  Also by Sydney Canyon

  Novellas:

  Bella Vita

  Fine

  Igniting Temptation

  Miracle at Christmas

  One Night

  Shadow's Eyes

  Light Reading: A Collection of Novellas

  Acknowledgements

  Special thanks to my amazing and wonderful editor, Caralee. You strengthened my writing and pushed me to make this an even better story.

  Dedication

  This book is for all of those who have fought the war on terror, become disabled, suffer from PTSD, and lost their lives.

  To my wife: Without you, I wouldn’t be where I am today.

  Prologue

  The incoming insurgent fire bombarded the left side of the eight-wheeled light armored vehicle, sending shrapnel and sparks flying through the pitch-black of the desert night sky. The popping noise of the rounds hitting the metal exterior was excruciatingly loud. Flashes of light echoed in all directions, lighting up the night. The six Marines inside the Bravo One LAV-25 watched the scene unfold before them on the viewing screen as their convoy continued their reconnaissance mission. Dust clouds rolled around them on makeshift roads as their speed increased. The two-way radio crackled back and forth, mixing with the pinging of the bullets flying overhead.

  “Left flank up ahead, Bravo One!” a male voice yelled across the radio.

  “No,” said the Staff Sergeant sitting in the command seat of Bravo One, mostly to herself as she used a pen light to study the map in her hand, comparing it to the terrain on the radar screen in front of her.

  “What was that, Staff Sergeant?” asked Corporal Davidson as he fought to steer the bouncing vehicle.

  “I said no, Davidson. They are going the wrong the way!” she yelled, switching the channel on her two-way radio to communicate with the lead vehicle of the convoy. “Alpha One, you missed the mark. We need to go another two miles before we turn. The checkpoint is further west,” she barked into the radio. “We need to go around this insurgent group, not through it!” she yelled.

  It was unclear whether the Second Lieutenant in the lead LAV heard her message or not, but the vehicle turned at the next path on the left, leading the convoy directly into the heart of the enemy fire that had been hovering around them.

  “Damn it!” she yelled.

  “What do I do?” the Corporal asked.

  “Never break up the convoy. Go, go, go!” she shouted and turned to the gunner, along with the three scout troops in the back of the vehicle. Lance Corporal Wilkerson, Corporal Smith, and Corporal Leonard were firing machine guns through the tiny slit openings in the window panels. Corporal Mulky was in the middle seat, in control of the .25mm chain gun on the turret mounted to the top of the vehicle.

  “How are we on ammo?” she asked.

  “Plenty of shells,” Corporal Mulky answered.

  She said a silent prayer to make it out of this hellhole to their next checkpoint.

  Less than a minute later, she heard the distinctive screeching of the rocket-propelled grenade rounds before she saw the thin line of the orange tail flame on the screen. The insurgents had obviously launched the RPGs from somewhere out in the distance and by the time she found the incoming grenades it was too late. There wasn’t time to brace for the impact, much less try to avoid them. The force of the three explosions shattered the armored plating up front where the driver was sitting. Bits of shrapnel sprayed in all directions.

  The front of the left side of the LAV had literally exploded when the first grenade slammed into it. Then, the second grenade rocked the vehicle violently as it slammed the left side, just before the final impact, which caved in the left rear like a tin can. The front section immediately caught fire from the explosion and flames began licking their way back towards the turret.

  It was silent for a split second before the sound of more rounds pinging against the metal rang in the Staff Sergeant’s ears, bringing her back to focus. She couldn’t see anything but darkness. Her eyes burned like her face was on fire. She screamed in pain as she tried to move around in the tight, mangled compartment. She could barely get half of a breath into her lungs. Her chest felt like it had been crushed. The air around her was full of smoke and dust. Warm red blood spewed from her mouth rolling down her chin as she coughed and gagged. She heard sounds coming from somewhere inside the vehicle. Thankfully, someone else was alive. As least she thought she was still alive. “Davidson, can you hear me?” she rasped. There was no answer. “Wilkerson, Leonard, Smith, Mulky, can any of you hear me?” she tried again. She silently prayed that the lead vehicle had made it past the insurgent attack and that the rest of the convoy had turned back, but at the same time, she hoped they checked for survivors.

  “Come on guys, we have to get out of here,” she held her breath as she moved towards the seat in front of her where the driver had been sitting. She ran her hands across his chest through the sticky and warm substance covering his flak jacket. Reaching for his head, she stuck her hands into something warm and squishy like raw meat, which was also covered with the same thick wet substance…blood…no! NO!

  She realized her hands were feeling what was left of his face. Her body recoiled and her eyes opened. Everything was still pitch black. She screamed in agony from the searing pain she felt in that split second then quickly squished her eyes closed once again, reverting back to feeling her way around in the total darkness. Her eyes were burning badly, so she squeezed them shut as hard as she could. She coughed and choked as more blood poured from her mouth. She finally grabbed something towards the turret seat that felt human. An arm…She pulled as hard as she could, screaming in pain as her chest constricted.

  She finally pulled the body over the seat as she felt for a pulse. He’s alive. Oh, thank God. She felt the heat from the fire and knew the flames were dangerously close to where she had been sitting. The left section of the LAV roof was peeled back like a tin can. She pulled the young man against her. Slowly, using her legs, she slid out of the vehicle on her back with him on top of her. She could hear gunfire in the distance. The distinct sound of the AK-47 rifles made her cringe. The enemy was obviously getting closer.

  “Don’t leave me, Sarge,” he whispered.

  “I’ll be right back.” She laid him on his back and crawled back into the vehicle.

  By this time she was coughing frantically and spitting puddles of blood. Her lungs burned and her chest throbbed with every short intake of breath. Her face was wet from either tears or blood running down her cheeks from her stinging eyes. She felt her way around once again, touching everything until she came in contact with something human near the rear cargo area. She could hear the stray bullets from the enemy gunfire hitting the side of the wreckage.

  “Can you hear me?” She coughed and spewed more blood as she spoke. She could feel the warm sticky liquid running down her chin to her neck. The vehicle was full
of smoke, causing her to cough twice as much as she struggled to breathe. She fumbled around the body searching for a pulse until she reached his head and realized his neck was broken and he wasn’t breathing. “No!” she yelled.

  Something grabbed her arm and pulled her.

  “Help me,” the voice whispered.

  She touched the hand pulling on her and felt her way up until she could grip his flak jacket. Then, she reached up to touch his face. Realizing he was alive, she pulled him back against her chest. Every shallow breath that she took felt like it may be her last. She knew something was seriously wrong with her eyes and her chest, but she pushed hard as she maneuvered herself through the mangled wreckage, pulling the man along with her towards the twisted shards of burnt steel and singed wires hanging down overhead. Searing hot flames had reached the crumpled hole of the emergency hatch that she was using to crawl through the vehicle. Thick black smoke filled her lungs as the flames scorched the edges of her uniform. She held her breath and pulled as hard as she could until she and the man in her arms were out of the wreckage.

  She laid him next to the other Marine and turned away when her stomach retched. She coughed a couple of times as she felt the thick, warm liquid come up the back of her throat. As she puked, she was sure the rancid, bitter taste of saltwater and rusted metal in her mouth was blood.

  “Staff Sergeant?” rasped the young man who was leaning with her against the opposite side of the burning wreckage. She wiped her mouth on her sleeve and turned back to him.

  “What?” she said as she coughed again.

  “Enemy fire—”

  “I know. They’re on the other side,” she stopped to cough and spit more of the warm, sticky blood from her mouth. “We’re okay for now.”

  Chapter 1

  One week later, Darien woke up in Walter Reed Medical Center in Washington, D.C. The first thing she noticed was everything was dark, very dark. Her chest hurt. Her throat burned. Her head felt like it was about to explode.

  “Hello?” she whispered hoarsely as she ran her hands up and down her arms, feeling the IV lines protruding from her body. Why can’t I see anything? “Hello, is anyone there?” She tried a little louder.

  “Ssshh. Your throat is still tender.”

  “I can’t see. Where am I?”

  “You’re in the hospital. I’m Dr. Nelson. Do you know your name?” the doctor asked as he checked her vitals.

  “I’m United States Marine Corps Staff Sergeant, Darien Hollister.”

  “Good.”

  “I can’t see. What’s wrong with my eyes?” She tried again and everything was still completely black. She couldn’t tell whether her eyes were open or closed.

  “Your eyes were hurt in the accident, Staff Sergeant Hollister.”

  “Am I blind?” she whispered.

  He sighed and squeezed her hand. “I’m afraid so. Shrapnel sliced through your corneas down to the anterior chambers of your retinas. There was nothing we could do. I’m sorry.”

  Tears silently rolled down her cheeks. When Dr. Nelson moved to let go of her hand, she squeezed. “What about the other soldiers in my convoy?”

  “Lance Corporal Michael Wilkerson had two broken ribs, a concussion, and minor cuts and bruises. Corporal Harlowe Mulky also had a concussion plus a dislocated shoulder and bruised hip. They have both been released. I was told you saved both of their lives.”

  “I…all I did was pull them from the LAV,” she said quietly.

  “Yes…but, Staff Sergeant, you not only pulled two grown men from a burning, mangled wreck, you did it blind with a collapsed and punctured lung, as well as four broken ribs.” He squeezed her hand again.

  “I remember the other three Marines?” She paused, “Davidson, Smith, and Leonard—”

  “Yes ma’am, they all died from the impact of the RPGs. There was nothing you could have done for any of them,” he sighed and stepped back from the bed.

  Over the past six years, since the beginning of the war, Dr. Nelson had seen a number of various injuries come through the Army Hospital. This one seemed to hit him the hardest.

  When he left the room, Darien reached up to touch her eyes, letting the tears flow freely. She sobbed until there was nothing left inside of her.

  Chapter 2

  Darien hadn’t been home in over a year after being deployed to Afghanistan. Now, she was sitting on the beach in Oceanside, California, the only place she ever really called home, staring out at the sunset that looked like complete darkness to her. It had been three months since the attack on her convoy and the damage to her eyes was tremendous, preventing her from using the subtle differences in black and gray shadows that most sight-impaired people relied on. She let the sand run through her hands, trying to remember what it looked like.

  When she had been released from the hospital, she’d gone to a rehabilitation center for another three weeks to learn how to live as a blind person. After that, the Marine Corps decorated her with various medals and achievements for her service and gave her an honorable medical discharge. At that very moment, the tiny part of her life that had still existed shattered to pieces. She’d just turned thirty-four years old. Her career had been ripped out from under her, and it had taken everything she knew right along with it.

  She reached down and filled her palm with sand once more, letting it slide through her fingers. She had stopped crying long ago. She didn’t hate the world. In fact, she was sure she completely skipped over being mad and went straight to depression. She couldn’t live alone for at least a year according to her doctor, and she was tired of depending on someone to be there for her twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. She thought about putting her condo up for sale since it was on the sixth floor, and she still couldn’t figure out how to read Braille. She constantly bumped into things in her home, and her gourmet cooking days were also over. She purchased a microwave with Braille writing under the numbers and words, so that she could at least attempt to make some foods. Yet she still struggled with learning the sequence of raised dots.

  Her mind drifted as she felt the coolness of the night start to work its way across her bare arms. She continued to run the sand through her fingers, listening to the waves crash against the shore. She tried desperately to remember what the waves looked like. She could barely remember what she looked like anymore. She was stuck in a world of complete darkness.

  The voice next to her brought her attention back to reality.

  “What would you like for dinner?” Val asked.

  Darien wanted to say nothing, but she knew she had to eat. Her cousin, Valerie, had been a huge help since she found out about the accident and flew to Washington, D.C. with Darien’s parents. Val and Darien had been best friends since Val was six and Darien was eight when Darien beat up a boy that was picking on Val in elementary school. When Darien was released from the hospital, Val insisted on moving in to take care of her and had been her rock for the past three months. Darien’s parents were thankful for Val’s assistance since they lived in Arizona and still worked full-time jobs. They wouldn’t have been able to take care of their daughter unless she’d moved back to her childhood home, which she’d refused to do.

  Darien had moved to Oceanside when the Marine Corps stationed her at Camp Pendleton eight years earlier and Val was living 45 minutes away in San Diego, so they saw each other often and had remained best friends over the years.

  “How about pizza?” Darien suggested.

  She wasn’t ready to sit in a restaurant. The only time she ever left the house was to take the ten-minute drive down to the beach. Since the day she was released from the hospital, she’d worn a dark pair of Oakley sunglasses to cover her eyes, but she’d started taking them off in the house two weeks ago. This new act had made Val believe her cousin was finally starting the slow turn towards some kind of normalcy. The doctors had told her before she brought Darien home that it could be six months before the wounded woman would allow other people to see her blindness. The
doctors had also given her a bunch of pamphlets on Post Traumatic Stress Disorder to help with Darien’s adjustment.

  Val turned towards her and smiled. Even though the sun had set and it was dark outside, Darien was still wearing her dark glasses. She was getting better at telling time since she was learning how to read the changes in the temperature throughout the day.

  “Pizza? Dare, you have to eat more than pizza, babe. How about I cook us some grilled chicken and vegetables?” Val said.

  Darien smiled at the childhood nickname her cousin had always called her as she stood, brushed the sand off her pants and turned towards Val. She sighed, “Chicken it is.”

  Val jumped up and smiled, then grabbed her hand to lead her out of the sand towards the car. “You need a haircut,” she murmured.

  “Really? I hadn’t noticed,” Darien replied, pulling her walking stick from her pocket and snapping it open with a flick of her wrist. She hated using it, but if she ever wanted to learn to live alone again, she’d need to get used to using the stick to help her find her way and keep her safe. The doctor had also suggested getting a seeing-eye dog, but she wasn’t ready for that step. Val thought otherwise and had made an appointment for the next day at the rehab center that handled the dogs.

  ***

  “I don’t need a dog, Val.” Darien said as they walked into the doctor’s office for Darien’s check up. She was supposed to follow up with the Ophthalmologist every month for six months so that he could keep up with the changes in her optical nerves.

  “Darien, you will eventually. Why not start now? You and the dog could learn together.” Val tried again as she signed her cousin in at the desk.