Soldier Dream

Without Command

Screams. They pierced through the night air, mingling with gunshots. It was so cold. A heavy weight distributed unevenly on her back, and something was slightly pressing against her thigh. When she looked down, blonde curls brushing against her eyes, she could see the unmistakable form of a knife holster stretching down her thigh.

Her body moved without her command, scrambling up from the dirt and pressing into the wall.

A loud boom startled her, making her head jerk up, eyes seeking out the source. Gun? Bomb? Her hand reached from her knife, legs stretching into a limber pose. She could hear them coming. Low choked noises, the sound of blood gargling sickeningly. They often vomited up blood to make room for more, like an anaconda, and tonight they were attending a feast. Or so they thought. She would not be on the dinner table tonight, or any other night. She wasn't about to be desert.

Her army boots, tough and capable, pounded over the pavement, picking up dirt and chunks of flesh and hell knows what else on the way. She turned a corner and ducked behind an overturned car. There. A group of seven. Forget wasting ammo- Callie knew how easy it was for them to grab and dog-pile you before they started to eat you. Getting to close to that many when she was only one person? Too dangerous. She holstered her knife. Prepared her MP 40 with a magazine.

She paused after it clicked in place. The screaming had fallen silent. Undoubtedly dead or, unlikely, they'd gotten away. Where were her comrades when she needed them? Hopefully just MIA. She aimed, stretching up her haunches and holding her breath. Her hands shook slightly. Her blood pounded through her body.

Bang. Bang. Bang. Hopefully they'd be back soon. The blood sprayed over the road, the dark brown of it hitting the fresh red of human blood. One clunked to the ground, head smacking the pavement. She could almost hear the crack of his skull. Another squealed as the bullet nicked its' throat and as one, the remaining rampaged towards the car. Bang, bang, bang. It was so hard to focus. She sucked in a deep breath. Bang. Bang. BANG.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Callie opened her eyes sleepily, and moved a hand to whack the alarm clock's switch. For a few minutes, she lay there in the dark, allowing her brain a little time to wake up. Man, what a dream, she thought, snuggling into the quilt. They were getting so realistic it was frighting. She could still smell the copper tang of blood and feel the bruising weight of the gun on her back. It was like living out a horror movie. Each dream was a continuation of the last one. They'd been happening for weeks now, and it was only recently she'd made the decision to actually start logging the dreams in brief little notes. What could it hurt, after all?

With all the weird stuff that went down in them, she could probably write a book. With a low groan, she pulled back the cover and reluctantly left the warmth. A Winter chill was already beginning to seep in her room, despite that it wasn't even late November yet. She slipped into her dressing gown and opened the curtains, turning her face away from the grim light of day. Her light blonde hair was a short fluffy mess on top of her head, a straight as opposed to the curls that adorned her head in her dreams.

Downstairs, her dog was lying on the back of the sofa, black eyes glinting in the sunlight through slits. A little border terrier mix, she was a small little thing, and she seemed to like it up there. Probably because her dad wouldn't sit on her when she was up there. She patted Molly's head softly, leaning close to inhale the scent of dog shampoo, and ignored her mother sleeping on the armchair.

"Food Molly," she said, watching the little dog's ears prick. "Come on."

Her dad was probably out. He worked a lot. She picked up her laptop and went through to the kitchen to feed the dog. It was a strange humdrum feeling to come from such a dark, frightening world and come into this world. Home. Where she did nothing much else but endlessly scan the internet for juicy tidbits of information, fuss the dog and occasionally play games. When does life get interesting except for in dreams? She closed her eyes and leaned onto the counter. The dog's bowl scraped across the floor as she devoured the meat inside.

She'd better write those notes, she thought. Before the memories fled.