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

A Warm Bed & A Friend (Prelude Rewritten)

GPS Location Error
Inertia Navigation System Offline
Unknown Shelter
TIME/DATE STAMP ERROR
Unknown Time

The room was dim, comfortable, and warm as I sat at the wooden table and worked on the piece of leather. Stillwater had taught me to engrave, burn, and inlay leather since the cloth had come off my eyes and I was able to see. Bright lights hurt, sometimes the fire light hurt, but I was trying to get used to the fact I could see again.

Stillwater shifted and I looked over at him to see if he was waking up. He didn't speak, although I'd heard him make pleased noise petting the goat or when he took a rabbit out of the hutch to cuddle it and stroke its fur. I'd expected him to use the rabbits as food, not brush out their coats to get fine, soft, downy fur that he stuffed in the lining of clothing for heat.

I thought I was beginning to understand more.

Stillwater was no bigger than normal. Six foot tall, two hundred pounds of solid muscle with just enough brown fat on his hips to give him additionally fast burning energy/endurance stores. A hand-crafted leather eyepatch over his left eye. His face was tanned, his freckles stood out, and his one green eye burned with intensity.

But that was the end of his resemblance to his former self.

His beard fell to the middle of his chest, forked into two sections. He had brass rings in it, copper caps at the end. His hair was to the middle of his back, braided, with a copper loop to keep it together at the bottom. He didn't have much body hair, he never had, and I'd heard Aine mention that his family had Native American blood in it, which I guess explained it. His scars were largely healed up, and I'd watched some of the scars fade just in the long time we'd been in the cave. His work on the anvil and forge had returned his muscle tone, his work at engraving the metal or carving the stone or working wood had returned his fine motor control.

He was born to this kind of thing.

He only took me outside once, in the eerie twilight that bathed the ice-locked world. I'd taken one look and asked him to take me back into our little cave system.

We were somewhere else, somewhere, I suspected, that time had no real meaning.

I suspected this was the afterlife.

It was a lot better than I thought it would be.

Better than my life before.

Stillwater's snores agreed with me.

2/19th Special Weapons Group Area
Secure Location, Alfenwehr
West Germany
Barracks Building
Far Hammerhead Hall
25 April, 1987 - Saturday
2300 Hours

The tile floor of Far Hammerhead Hall was buffed to a mirror smooth finish, only a few streaks on the wax. The walls were painted above the tile half-wall, the suspended ceiling was intact, with the florescent lights every six panels still working. I passed rooms where I could hear music playing from inside, sometimes conversation.

My left leg was dragging slightly. I told myself because I was tired, ignored the sharp pains in the middle of my left thigh and the stiffness and pain in my left knee. I also ignored the mechanical knee brace. The Navy had given it to me, the Air Force had fitted it right, the Army had tried to take it away, but I still had it. It still squeaked with each step, salt water and worse having damaged the interior mechanism.

There was another one in the rucksack I was dragging on the floor.

My .45 holster was empty, my XM-16E3 was gone, my ammo pouches empty. The only thing I had left as a weapon was my Gerber Mark II and my bayonet.