Adventures of a Drunkard Pilot

Chapter 2: Rude Awakening

The coat who tried to sedate me spoke up. “Mr. Maxwell, my name is Dr. Graves. I’m in charge of overseeing your recovery, as well as that of the other two.”

I perked up. “Arthur? Mitch? Where are they?” I stood up. “Let me see them now.”

“How much do you remember right now?” Cameron asked.

“Honestly, not much.” I confessed. I had bits and pieces of memories, emotions and snapshots of events, but that was it. “It's like a barely-started puzzle with no edge pieces.”

“Well seeing them might help,” She replied, “but first….” She crossed her arms and covered her mouth. I caught a flicker of her eyes. Then it hit me. Oh shit I’m naked!

“Sorry,” I said sheepishly. “If I remember right, I left some clothes in the locker.”

“Yeah,” she said, looking at the ceiling, “you should grab those. A lot of the nurses would be…. Distracted.”

“Well then,” I stepped over to the locker, “Let's see what I left for myself.”

I took a drag off the cigar as I looked in the locker. It was about 3 feet by 2, and about 2 and a half feet deep. There were three bags that each took up a third of the locker. The one on the left was a simple draw string pack made of burlap. The middle one was a black nylon duffle with a zipper. The one on the right was an olive-drab duffle with the letters USMC stenciled into it. I knelt down and felt the three bags as I felt the eyes of the coats, Cameron included, look away. The black bag, from the feel of it, had some guns and boxes I could only guess held ammo. The olive-drab one felt like clothes, so I grabbed it and set it on the ground. The burlap bag make a clanking noise as it shifted in the locker. Glass on glass. I suddenly remembered the stash of hard liquor and cigars I had talked the last doctor into letting me store. Pushing that thought to the back of my mind, I turned my attention to the clothes bag. I pulled the zipper and tossed it open. It had multiple pairs of camouflage pants, in a variety of patterns and colors, neatly rolled up next to some assorted shirts and cut offs. I dug and found some long black socks, some compression boxers, and a pair of oil-stained boots.

“Just so you know,” Cameron said as I slipped the boxers and socks on, “that’s not allowed in here.” She motioned to the cigar hanging out of my mouth.

“Well that sucks,” I replied, looking back to my gear and slipping some socks.

“Yeah, so if you would please-” she started.

“Oh, you misunderstood me,” I said as I stepped into a pair of urban camo pants. I felt the pocket and was relieved when the shape of a box the size of a pack of gum was there. “I meant that’s too bad for you guys.”

A shocked gasp came from her. “No! That will not work here.” She took a step to me as the 2 others, who I’m guessing at this point are orderlies, were putting the doctor I knocked out on a stretcher. “We have rules here, one you have to follow if you expect our help-”

“No,” I shot back. I stood up and faced her, my cigar defiantly glowing in her face. “I don’t need your help. You need me.”

“Oh really,” she said, crossing her arms and cocking out her left hip. “And how exactly do you expect to do anything without us?”

“Well,” I said as I stepped into the boots and tucked my pant legs into them,” I would start by using some of the gear in this locker to get out of this room. Then, I would hunt down my buddies, find our Frames, and break out.”

“Oh really? And how do you expect to find them?” man she was pissed.

“Follow the hallway,” I replied. All I got was an attempt to hide a shocked face. "Like I said, I remember some stuff. At the end of this hall,” I motioned out the door and to the right with my right hand while I took the cigar out of my mouth with the other and flicked the ash off, “is the briefing room where we meet up after cryo. You said “like the first guy” earlier, so that means at least one guy is up. With his help, I can find the other.” I tied the laces off.