The Dust

Eggshell

He could hear nothing. He chose not to hear anything. There was nothing to hear, but he could feel the impact shatter a layer of his tactical armor, and maybe more. An egg cracked as it was dropped against the surface, the shell cracking and the yolk coming forth in golden splendor. He reached to feel the needle coldhot sharp on his fingers as he ran his hand along the jagged plate.

"These laode don't know when to give up!" he laughed, listening to the echoing laughter that he expected but could not find. He looked around, the smoke still in his eyes causing them to water so that the world was a deep pool drowning in black. He coughed and cleared his throat of the heat and dry and pulled himself back to the clean air that came easy like a drink of water after a long day on patrol. The world went red as he rubbed his eyes, and he blinked out the interference. He had forgotten the sharpness.

He checked himself again now, finding his armor to be shattered, but mostly intact. The top layer had been torn apart, and he imagined some of it had spalled into his chin. He knew that reaching to feel it now would be pointless because of his hand.

He realized that his rifle was on the ground. He went over to it, coughing against the smoke and the dry hot wind coming from the vehicle. It was sweltering; that was the word he wanted. The rifle was still in one piece, good shape. He grabbed it and held it to his shoulder. His hand wouldn't meet the foregrip. It was too tired to go up.

He'd have to make do with one. The patrol was nearly done, and nobody seemed to be sticking around to fight him. He staggered for a moment, dizzy from the smoke and tired. Just a little further and he would be home.

Left. Right. Left. Right. He moved to the sidewalk, not bothering with the main road. It let him count one two three four one two three four intervals as he moved his feet along. His ears were upset by the quiet, and he found it hard to stay perfectly upright. One two three four. One two three four. He would take all day at this rate, so he pushed himself to pass the cracks more quickly. One two three he went on and one two three was faster and the space was greater. The world swam in silence and darkness, his eyes still watering. It was hard because the smoke was still in his lungs. One two three four he relented and gave his lungs a moment of rest, one two three four five even slower but not drawing force like the eggshell caving in and yielding to the world its treasures one two three four five that golden yolk.

He saw the man running down the street with his mother. Back toward the base. He would follow them. He picked up his pace, letting his rifle drop. There weren't any Irkallans coming by anyway. He lifted his feet further off the ground, trying to keep pace with the runners, but he couldn't. He felt sweat drop over the tears dropping from his eyes dropping to the concrete splashing in impacts that would be crushed underfoot as he moved quickly forward now and there was more hope now because he could see the base's antenna wobbling on the horizon as the world tilted back and forth and his lungs burned and he opened up to let the air in like the eggshell yielded to let the air into itself and release its terrible burden and the air was cool here and moist and not dry-hot but not so cold and moist that it would carry a chill like a January morning and sleeping without sheets to wake up to his mother cooking eggs and being upset with him for kicking the bedding onto the ground when he had a bad dream not that he could control it.

His legs burned, his lung ached. The tired arm couldn't come up on its own, so he had gotten in the habit of holding it in his better arm and carrying it so it wasn't flopping around and keeping his pace down and he was close now and the gate loomed and he wondered why he had run so fast because nothing was going on. A woman stared at him, with the eyes of his mother but a different face, looking at him. Her mouth was twisted in saying something he couldn't hear chose not to hear should have heard but didn't hear but she approached with her hands lowered to guide him welcome him home to grab him and lift him up and crack him like the egg cracking on the surface colored like itself in an eggshell white that he saw as he fell and as he was lowered onto the stretcher he needed apparently and into the field hospital but it cleared as the mask went over his face and he slipped from consciousness.

He woke to the room quiet and the softness of a bed and the tired feeling remained in his arm but when he looked he couldn't see it and the man on the screen was talking about the violence on New Haven and he was on New Haven and apparently some men had died there and others had been hurt and some got really badly hurt the newscaster said critical. He recognized one of the men in the pictures but couldn't remember his name but he had to have come through the smoke with him and had to be there by his side and he felt his mother take his hand but it wasn't his mother and she looked at him and spoke something he couldn't didn't shouldn't should hear, and a tear ran down his face as the realization set in.