The Shadow of Chernobyl

The Nuclear Fortress

The sudden screech of tires against asphalt pulled me out of the bottomless pit I'd fallen into, like a hook that caught a starving fish; it was better to throw it back into the lake and let it go.

However, as much as I wanted to continue to soak in my own sorrow, I had to move. Taking a glance at the other passengers didn't do me any good; the sorry sight almost made me feel even worse, almost. What was different from the start of the drive to the present was that one of the wounded, his face covered by a stained cloth, wasn't moving. The medic that sat beside him didn't even bother shaking him awake, telling me all I needed to know about the fate of the poor bastard.

Since I was at the closest to the truck's end, with great effort, I pulled myself from the position I was lying in. My back hurt. I should've zoned out in a more comfortable one, but I couldn't care one bit. Compared to everything else, it was as numb as my teeth after eating ice cream.

Pulling at the handle, the bed of the truck opened wide, allowing the passengers to exit the four-wheeled graveyard.

I made a mental note when I discovered something a little funny; even as I were, I was becoming familiar with gore on an unhealthy level. The brutal dismemberment of flesh, the red paint that stuck to every surface it could get its sticky fingers on, the paused expressions. However, the smell...

God, it was terrible. I could never ignore it, it was so strong, so disgusting, similar to the feeling of being poisoned. Even if I closed my nose, I could still taste it in my mouth.

I shuddered at that, pulling my legs to my chest in order to let the others step out of the back. One by one, the healthier soldiers left the truck, leaving only the field doctors and the wounded inside. Soon after, out of the corner of my eye, a few soldiers climbed in. They were different, they hadn't come with us from the battlefield. Their clothes were cleaner, and they were determined, functional members of the army. There was so much life in their eyes, so much light. I wanted to envy them, but I couldn't. I just couldn't. It wasn't their fault they got lucky and stayed behind to guard the powerplant.

I would never wish anyone to fight alongside me on that field. I wouldn't wish it upon my worst enemies, though I never had many anyway.

Counting the hairs on the back of my left wrist, I watched in silence from time to time as the guards helped the crippled out of the truck, two of them conversing with one of the medics. The entire conversation was lost on me, but there was something along the lines of "what happened?" and "how many?" and "situation report."

Eventually, after five minutes, give or take, I was the only one left in the truck. The guards didn't bother with me, and I didn't wonder why.

Resting my forehead on my knees, I closed my eyes, a distant artillery shot going off elsewhere. I breathed the air, deep and slow, the ever-present scent of gunpowder there, always. At least they had the decency to take the deceased out of the truck.

"Hey..." a voice I recognized called, quietly.

I groaned in response, turning away from the good doctor.

"C'mon, step out. The driver needs to park the truck."

"N... No..."

"... I know how you're fee-"

"Shut," I cut him off, a touch of anger rising within me, "You don't, so don't try..."

He sighed, "Please, just get out... They have rations, would you like that?" I could go for a snack right about now. I hadn't eaten since morning, having to be ready for an attack any second made me forget about...

Why did he have to be so nice? It wasn't fair. He didn't have to be so patient with me, yet he chose to not give up. I bet even if I told him the worst insults I knew, he wouldn't budge. I guess that's one of the things that made him such a good medic.