Zombie Soap 2: Conspiracy

Twenty-One

Jayson: Part III

Trigger warning for depression and suicidal ideas.

Jayson didn't move for almost an hour. The horror of what he'd seen -- what he'd done, gnawed at him, playing repeatedly in his mind like a song on a loop. The screams, snarls, and then cries for the soldiers' mothers had been permanently etched into his brain, piling onto the stuff he'd done in Afghanistan to survive, things he'd tried to move past and pretend didn't still give him nightmares.

He sobbed, screamed, rocked, and punched the back of the seats, unable to reign in the emotions from the past few weeks. Everything from his lack of medication and the state of the world culminated to this moment, leaving him vulnerable and bare, stripped of his humanity on the most primal level. He was alone, and now he was killing to survive. With all he'd done, he didn't know if it was worth it. He didn't know if mankind deserved to endure. All they'd done was trash the planet, drain its resources, and create a virus that had wiped out the United States, possibly the world.

The rifle he'd used earlier dug into his thigh, and he looked at it. The safety was turned off, still on fire, and Jayson recalled his time in Afghanistan, suddenly overwhelmed with guilt. He blinked, trying to quell the panic as the memories flooded him without warning.

His second deployment was almost finished. Just two more months and he'd be out of the hot-as-hell Afghanistan desert. In less than sixty days, he'd be home with Pamela, planning their wedding. Two months. He could do this.

He sat behind the wheel on yet another convey, trying to get from Point A to Point B. He kept a close watch on the road as he drove, half listening to the soldiers in the vehicle around him. Besides him, only the gunner up top remained silent, vigilantly searching for threats best seen from a three-hundred and sixty-degree angle. Specialist Hart sat behind him, going over the mission details with Sergeant Holloway.

He understood their desire to chat. More specifically, he sympathized with Specialist Hart's need to talk. This was her first deployment. She hated being overseas and knowing there was a possibility she might not make it home. Not that it stopped her from enlisting in the Army. She was proud to serve, just like they all were. Even soldiers who hated being in the military couldn't help loving their country. It was part of what defined them as warriors.

Specialist Hart already knew the mission. They'd been briefed before they left and she'd been the first to memorize it. She was interesting like that. She could learn anything at the drop of a hat. Going over the mission now made it easier to cope with the tension, but didn't lessen his as he kept a constant eye on the road, always on the lookout for signs of the enemy nearby. He tuned them out, just like he did with anyone unless the talk had to do specifically with the success or safety of the mission.

He dug the heel of his hand in his eyes. Heat shimmered on the road and sand, sparkling in the sunlight. In that one split second after rubbing his eyes, he saw it. A piece of debris in the middle of the road, perfectly camouflaged and barely big enough to make out in the glinting mirage.

He cursed and tried to swerve out of its path, but it was too late. He had no time to register what happened as the entire vehicle rattled and blinding pain pierced his side. Holy shit, he was going to die. Popping gunshots echoed across his mind, but he couldn't concentrate. He forced himself to open his eyes and wished he hadn't. Everything moved in slow motion as bullets flew back and forth between his convoy and the enemy in the distance. The heat seemed to be getting worse; stifling and suffocating. He couldn't breathe.

"Sergeant Recklaw, we you need to get out!"

He heard someone shouting. He was sure of it. Move, he commanded himself. Shaking, he unbuckled his harness and reached for the door, but the pain in his side doubled and he almost blacked out. He was vaguely aware of the sensation of someone dragging him. He tried to focus, but he was losing too much blood.