Monster

Eight

I wasn't supposed to be there that day. My Commanding Officer only brought me along as a precaution. He said the mission would be safe and easy, and we'd be home before lunch.

The sound of screaming and gunfire was deafening. "Medic! Medic!" someone shouted from the other side of the building I was leaning against.

My heart was pounding, and my hands were shaking. I didn't want to follow that voice. I didn't want to go out there into the open where bullets were flying and people were screaming. But I could hear the voice get louder and more urgent through the comm channel. I knew that voice. He was my friend. He was my–something.

We were there to guard children, and I couldn't just stand there trembling in an alley when I could help them. That was the whole reason I'd trained for the job in the first place. I just wanted to help people. All I ever wanted to do was help.

So I took a deep breath and hugged my rifle tightly. I ran around the corner and into the open courtyard. Smoke filled the air, and buildings were half-crumbled. I couldn't even see the sky through the haze. I followed the screaming to the mouth of a little girl, no more than ten. Jimenez was leaning over her. And I could already tell by the amount of blood and where he had his hand pressed to her stomach that she wouldn't live long enough for me to save her life.

"I'm here! I'm here!" I shouted, returning my gun to my shoulder and trading it for my med-pack.

I dropped to where he had her propped up against a low brick wall, half broken. I took the bandages from Jimenez and pressed my hand against her stomach. He released her and jumped up, leaving me with nothing but a gentle shoulder pat as he resumed the fight. The girl looked up at me with tears in her eyes. I didn't know how to comfort her. I just knew I had to try. Even if it was too late to save her life.

"You're okay, sweetie. You're going to be okay." It was a lie. I pulled the bandage back to assess the damage. I was hoping it wasn't as bad as it seemed. Maybe my initial thought was wrong. Maybe it was minor. A small scrape. A small puncture easily mended.

But the wound was open. There was no exit, and it was already beginning to leak fluids other than blood. Even if I could slow the bleeding, all I'd do is give her a long agonizing death. I bit my lip to stop them from wobbling through the flood of emotion. I forced a smile on my face, even though I could feel it teetering.

"Don't be afraid," I told her. "I'm here."

Then there was an explosion of sound. I heard shouting across the street. Words and screams and the patter of gunfire. And then, all at once, it was quiet. The gunfire ceased, and there was nothing but the crackle of fire and the whistle of the wind through broken concrete. Someone broke the silence by shouting the last word I wanted to hear while sitting in a vulnerable position in the middle of an open courtyard.

"Grenade!"

The explosion hit before I could do more than process the word. One moment I was looking into that little girl's eyes, and the next thing I knew, I was yards away, lying on debris. I could feel the burns on my ear and face. Ringing drowned out all sounds except for the pounding of my heart. I struggled to get back to my feet and searched the remains of the courtyard for the little girl whose name I didn't even know. She was lying several feet away, looking peaceful beneath a blanket of plaster and brick. Her eyes were still wet with tears, but she was staring unblinkingly at the dusty sky.

"Jo. Jo?" a voice cut through the ringing. I felt hands on my shoulders as someone gripped me hard and spun me around. I gasped and blinked, taking in mouthfuls of clear air in my chilled bedroom.

"Steve?" I said when I finally made sense of my surroundings. I was at home in my dark bedroom with the tree-shaded walls. Steve was in my bed, shaking me out of a nightmare.

"Are you okay?" he asked, as a fellow soldier, not as the lover he was pretending to be. My heart was still pounding, and in the silence, I could hear my own ragged breaths. I was trembling, and the blankets had twisted around my legs. I gave a jerky nod.

"I'm fine," I told him. "I'll be fine." He leaned back on my bed. I could tell that he was seeing me more thoroughly than most people did. It was the same way other soldiers looked at me on the outside. A mutual understanding. Equals, not as patient, sister, or daughter.

"You don't really believe that," he said flatly. I rubbed my overheated forehead and tried to relax.

"No," I admitted. "But I didn't think you were asking about my mental state."

Then I rolled over and turned my back on him. He shifted and lay down beside me. He'd started the night on the futon across the hall, but he couldn't have been very comfortable. And he wanted things to go according to plan. I was sure he'd hear it if Barnes snuck in, but he stayed there for a moment anyway. I was used to being alone, but I didn't want to be. Sometimes all a person wanted was to be understood. I felt him shift, and his arm came around me.

"You don't have to do that," I whispered into the dark. "No one will see."

"I know," he replied.

I didn't ask him to move. I stared at the window where the shadows of the tree danced on the glass. The pale green light made them stand out, which meant my neighbor's porch light was on. They didn't have any pets, and it was motion-activated. It was probably just the raccoon, but part of me wondered if it was something else.

Steve's body was warm against my back. I could feel the steady thump of his heart. So I closed my eyes and imagined my own beating along. I was never good at sleeping alone. I didn't have romantic feelings for him, but it was nice. And I think he felt the same.

"Goodnight, Steve," I said.

"Goodnight."