Call of Desire

7. Silence

si·lence
/ˈsīləns/
noun
complete absence of sound.

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Content Warning: Death

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Ghost was used to Soap's incessant talking. But the only noise was the truck's engine and the occasional pebble that would hit the front bumper. The silence was deafening.

Soap's face was pale, covered in sweat. His breaths were short and shallow. Every few minutes, Ghost would reach over and put two fingers on the Scotsman's neck, making sure his heart was still beating.

He had driven through the night, finding a small town to refuel at as the moon rose. There was no petrol station, per se, but there were plenty of cars with tanks to be siphoned from. They were off again before anyone noticed them, so no consequences were had.

Ghost had found a road map of western Iran and Iraq in the glove compartment of the truck, following it to the best of his abilities. He calculated the drive would only take him around 22 more hours of driving to complete. Ghost was tempted to skip sleep and keep driving, but after about 10 hours of consecutive driving, he felt his eyelids drooping and his reaction time suffering. His main worry was whether the truck would start up again if he stopped for the night. Ghost was too tired to care. He pulled over on the side of the highway, looking over at Soap.

"You still with me, Johnny?"

"Unfortunately..." Soap wheezed, turning his head toward Ghost. "What happened?"

"I need rest." Ghost rubbed his face. "You mind if we sleep here for the night?"

"I'll keep watch for a bit." MacTavish sighed. "I've slept too much, I feel antsy."

"Rog'." Ghost relaxed, closing his eyes. "Don't die while I'm asleep."

"I'll try."

"That's an order, Sergeant."

Soap exhaled, weakly looking around him. They were in the middle of what Soap would call Goddamn Nowhere, all that could be seen for miles were rocky mountains and sand.

Soap glanced at his companion, who had already fallen asleep. Most of his black eye paint had long since been rubbed off, revealing his blonde eyelashes and very pale skin. There were dark bags under his eyes from the lack of sleep.

John could feel his soul slipping out of him, his life fading. Ghost was asleep. Soap could hardly move, let alone speak. He couldn't ask for help. His entire body ached, his hip still throbbing. He felt as if his head was filled with wet cotton.

This isn't happening. I'm not dying. I'm fine. This isn't happening...

John was alone.

He struggled to keep his eyes open. His breaths became shorter and shorter, his heart slowing. John MacTavish felt his eyes fill with silent tears. He let out a small wheeze, losing consciousness.

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Ghost felt an absence of sound, immediately alert to his surroundings. He glanced around, searching for the absence.

Soap wasn't breathing.

Soap wasn't breathing.

Ghost grabbed MacTavish's face, whose eyes had rolled back into his head.