A Winter Ghost
By: Harrison Voss
It was a ghost. It had to be. There was no way on this Earth that it was him! But yet the way that he walked, his face, build, mannerisms; it was all that man, that brother in arms… no. It couldn’t have been him. He’s dead, very, very, very dead. How did it come to this, though, the moment that I would be seeing apparitions of this person even though it had been years. Years! Seriously, why and how now?
My thoughts run swiftly and relentlessly as I lean back in my office chair. The floating apparatus provides enough of a support for my body, but not nearly enough for my bending mind.
But I searched his report. Indeed I reported he was MIA, but we all know what those savages do to whomever they get. I was told he was dead for a reason, for He must’ve been, must’ve! Then again, it’s been years since I’ve checked the file. Maybe… no, there’s no use in it. Hacking into a government database just to confirm that the tricks my mind was playing on me were false? It would be redundant and an utter waste of time.
I get up from the chair and stride towards the window, the magnificent glass wall that stands behind me. Through it I can see tall, towering buildings that dot the campus of the University, while beyond stands a city. Beautiful and luminous with roads of glimmering blue light that act as ribbons, which curve in, out, and between the many lofty skyscrapers of the metropolis. Yet as I watch my mind cannot help but stray out of the present and fall deep into the past. The past filled with an icy, frozen terror. The past that even now makes me at times clench my chest and want to shout with rage. The past filled with a winter that would never seem to end.
***
“I say that if we keep moving at this rate we will reach the comm. center by the end of the day at the latest,” I said while looking at a detailed GPS map that blips up in my helmet HUD.
“I don’t know if it’s a good idea that we keep going, man. I mean, we tried to make contact nearly a dozen times already and they haven’t responded.”
“Maybe they’re having just as much trouble communicating as we are navigating,” I suggested while walking forward. The man, who responded, stood stern and dignified among the barren snowy wasteland around him. Above us soft snowflakes fell continuously only to melt in instantly when they came into contact with either my or the man’s armor.
“What do you propose we do then?” I asked him. “I mean, if we aren’t going to head to the comm. center then what can we do? Evac isn’t nearly an option thanks to them denying our communications.”
“There are always others listening,” sighed the man. “I guess you’re right. Orders are orders and we’ve been at this for three days now.”
“And if we want those Reds who chased us out of the battle to catch up, then I suggest we don’t stop.”
“I highly doubt they’re even following.”
“I wouldn’t doubt anything. Come on, or is the snow too cold for you?”
“You mean the stuff I’ve been sleeping in for the past two nights? No, I’m fine with it by now.” The man turned up his own GPS display and marched forward through the snow and ice with me at his side.
