Prepper

Part One - Chapter Thirty

The first thing I am aware of is the pain. Everything hurts. My whole body seems to throb. My mouth tastes like metal and seems to be full of sand or something. I can't swallow. I come to realize that I am not dead, not quite at least. I am also vaguely aware of a voice, familiar and loud. It is yelling and I think the yells are meant for me. For now I ignore it. My ears are ringing, the tinnitus is more difficult to ignore. I keep my eyes closed, shutting out whatever horrid reality awaits. I have a great fear that if I open them I will discover that bits of me are missing, that I have become some abstract impressionist version of my former self. I wiggle my fingers, I wiggle my toes, my extremities seem to be intact.

"Wake up, sir! Wake up!" The voice implores.

Oh god, it's Hartt. He's giving me a good shake and if he starts slapping me I might have to hit him. On the other hand, I'm not dead, or captured, well unless...

I open one eye. It still works. I open the other. Hartt is looking down at me, I am on the floor of the TAPV. Hartt has a fresh cut beneath his right eye, his cheek is smeared with blood.

"Hartt." I say, all hoarse and raspy. "What happened?" I try to sit up unsuccessfully, my head swims, I lay back again. Hartt pulls me forward and props me up on a ruck and pushes a canteen at me. I take a long drink and swallow what I believe are bits of teeth. I run my tongue over the sharp, jagged edges inside my mouth. I'm going to need some dental work.

"You got blown up, dumb ass." Jake's familiar voice says. I turn my head enough to see Jake perched on a seat nearby. His face is pale and drawn. I can see his mid-section is wrapped in a large dressing. Blood is seeping through it.

"You look like shit." I reply.

"He took a round through the abdomen." Hartt says.

"Why am I alive?" I ask, it seems an important question. "Or how? That Bradley should have blown me to pieces." I just don't understand how I could have survived that.

"The Brad didn't shoot you." Hartt explains. "It blew up."

"What?"

"Hellfire, from an Apache." Jake adds.

"The helicopters I heard? It wasn't my imagination— wait, we have Apaches?"

"No we don't." Hartt answers. "They must have been from the U.S."

"Pennsylvania likely." Jake says. "It also means there were likely US Special Forces on the ground, someone had to be lasing those targets. Might also explain how we got out of there without taking a Hellfire ourselves."

"Or it could have been my driving." Hartt quips.

"Unlikely." Jake says. "The Apaches cleaned house while we made our escape. Hartt has been off-roading ever since, trying to get us clear of the city."

"Where are we now?" I ask.

"In a field, a few clicks outside Rose River. If I can cut across a couple more fields, we'll intersect old Mason side road. From there it's only forty minutes or so to Grey Harbour." Hartt explains.