Isolation & Fear (Damned of the 2/19th Book Seven)

It All Comes Apart

2/19th Barracks
2/19th Special Weapons Group Area
Secure Area
Alfenwehr, Western Germany
22 November, 1987
2100 Hours
Day 22 of Isolation
Day 0 of Sobriety

The window was black, the sun having set hours ago, but the wind still brushed snowflakes across it. It was so silent in the barracks I could hear them whisper against the inch thick glass, four layers of quarter inch thick tempered glass. Part of me knew it was in my head, but all the same, I could hear the malevolent whisper of the snowflakes.

let us in...

let in the dark...

let in the cold...

let us in...

The street would be buried by morning. Not that it would matter. I had hiked down to Dead Man's Corner during the day and found out that the entire road was just gone. I'd taken pictures of it, tucking the Polaroid pictures into my parka, then hiked all the way back. Then, to be sure, I'd photocopied the pictures, using the magnify feature on the big-ass copier down in the Orderly Room to blow up the pics.

The cliff went up for three hundred feet to a stone overhang, granite covered with ice and snow hanging out a good eight meters, and plunged down nearly two thousand feet.

No sign a road had ever existed.

When I'd gotten back I'd taken a hot shower for nearly an hour to get rid of the chill that had set into my bones then gone down to the weight room to work out on the weights and on the bags for a few hours to get the blood flowing.

My dinner was behind me, on my desk, uneaten.

I lit a cigarette, staring at my reflection in the darkness backed glass, then closed the curtain and turned away from the window. The room was warm, the radiator softly pinging, the polish on the furniture and the wax on the floor gleaming warmly in the soft light of the light bulb.

The lizard grumbled to itself and fitfully stirred at the base of my skull.

My fingers automatically sought out my eye patch, making sure it was covering my eye properly. The little lizard squirmed, I could physically feel it back there, then went back to sleep.

I reached out and turned on the stereo, letting Dream Weaver spin up on the CD player, then moved over and sat down at the desk. My dinner was beef stroganoff, green beans, and peach cobbler straight out of the T-Rats. It was cold and I sat there toying with it for a few moments before picking up the entire thing and going over to the microwave.

Sixty seconds. Stir everything. Sixty seconds. Stir. Let sit for sixty seconds.

I passed the time in between by doing pushups. My shoulder still made crunching noises with each push, the center of my thigh still felt like the bone was twisting, and my knee was full of ground glass, but I ignored the pain and pushed through it all.

When the timer went off for the last time I got up slowly, leaning against the microwave and breathing hard for a minute before getting my food and returning to the desk.

I ate slowly, methodically. Eating the stroganoff and green beans first, alternating bites. That finished, I ate the peach cobbler slowly, savoring each bite and slowly grinding it to liquid between my molars.

When I finished I used the bathroom sink to wash my dishes, returned my plate and silverware to on top of the microwave, and poured myself three fingers of Wild Turkey with Coke and a handful of ice.

Screw it, I thought to myself, lighting another cigarette. I grabbed the just emptied Coke can and put it at the edge of the desk.

Something was off.