The first thing I am aware of is the pain. Everything hurts. My whole body seems to throb. My mouth tastes like metal and seems to be full of sand or something. I can't swallow. I come to realize that I am not dead, not quite at least. I am also vaguely aware of a voice, familiar and loud. It is yelling and I think the yells are meant for me. For now I ignore it. My ears are ringing, the tinnitus is more difficult to ignore. I keep my eyes closed, shutting out whatever horrid reality awaits. I have a great fear that if I open them I will discover that bits of me are missing, that I have become some abstract impressionist version of my former self. I wiggle my fingers, I wiggle my toes, my extremities seem to be intact.

"Wake up, sir! Wake up!" The voice implores.

Oh god, it's Hartt. He's giving me a good shake and if he starts slapping me I might have to hit him. On the other hand, I'm not dead, or captured, well unless...

I open one eye. It still works. I open the other. Hartt is looking down at me, I am on the floor of the TAPV. Hartt has a fresh cut beneath his right eye, his cheek is smeared with blood.

"Hartt." I say, all hoarse and raspy. "What happened?" I try to sit up unsuccessfully, my head swims, I lay back again. Hartt pulls me forward and props me up on a ruck and pushes a canteen at me. I take a long drink and swallow what I believe are bits of teeth. I run my tongue over the sharp, jagged edges inside my mouth. I'm going to need some dental work.

"You got blown up, dumb ass." Jake's familiar voice says. I turn my head enough to see Jake perched on a seat nearby. His face is pale and drawn. I can see his mid-section is wrapped in a large dressing. Blood is seeping through it.

"You look like shit." I reply.

"He took a round through the abdomen." Hartt says.

"Why am I alive?" I ask, it seems an important question. "Or how? That Bradley should have blown me to pieces." I just don't understand how I could have survived that.

"The Brad didn't shoot you." Hartt explains. "It blew up."

"What?"

"Hellfire, from an Apache." Jake adds.

"The helicopters I heard? It wasn't my imagination— wait, we have Apaches?"

"No we don't." Hartt answers. "They must have been from the U.S."

"Pennsylvania likely." Jake says. "It also means there were likely US Special Forces on the ground, someone had to be lasing those targets. Might also explain how we got out of there without taking a Hellfire ourselves."

"Or it could have been my driving." Hartt quips.

"Unlikely." Jake says. "The Apaches cleaned house while we made our escape. Hartt has been off-roading ever since, trying to get us clear of the city."

"Where are we now?" I ask.

"In a field, a few clicks outside Rose River. If I can cut across a couple more fields, we'll intersect old Mason side road. From there it's only forty minutes or so to Grey Harbour." Hartt explains.

"Why are we stopped then?"

"We had to stop and stabilize Heather." Jake says, matter-of-factly, but I see a twinge of emotion on his face as he looks down.

I had not noticed I was lying right next to her. Someone has cut away her shirt, leaving her mostly naked from the waist up. She has several wounds dressed and an IV jabbed into one arm. A bag of Ringers hangs above her, infusing her with fluid.

"How bad is she?" I ask.

"Pretty bad. She took some damage, but you saved her life. If you hadn't taken the tank commander out, she'd be dead. We have done what we can, she's as stable as we can get her. But she will bleed out internally if we can't get her to the hospital soon." Jake says.

"I wasn't fast enough, I'm sorry Jake, if I'd gotten my shot off—"

"Fuck that noise Connor, you took that asshole out. He got off a single shot, before you put a bullet through his neck. And you did it on a burning rooftop while under enemy fire. You did as good as anyone. It was a helluva shot - right Hartt?"

"It was, sir." Hartt nods.

"Besides, we don't even know if he hit her, and it's not important. The only thing that matters is that we are clear and we need to get back to Grey Harbour."

"What about you? You don't look so good." I say.

"I'll be okay. The wound is through-and-through, probably shot me with a Green Tip." He assesses.

"Green Tip?"

"It's a kind of bullet." Hartt explains. Again, this gets me thinking about how Jake just seems to know all these intricate details about armed conflict. Add that to the fact he single-handedly assaulted a position on high ground, and succeeded.

"Jake, I think we need to talk." I say, propping myself up further.

"Maybe." He answers and winces as he shifts in his seat. "First we need to get Heather home. Let's get this bucket moving."

I crawl up to the front and plop myself in the passenger seat. "Shotgun!" I say weakly and take another drink from Hartt's canteen.

Hartt takes the driver's seat and we move out. Next stop - home.

* * * * *

It only takes thirty-five minutes to reach the hospital, thanks to Hartt's expert navigation and judicious use of the accelerator. With little traffic on the back roads, he had no reason to slow down. At the hospital, he is first out of the TAPV and returns with several people and gurneys for both Jake and Heather. As they are whisked away I say to Hartt. "Wait here, I gotta find Kate." I catch up to Jake and assist wheeling him into the triage area.

The emergency room is overwhelmed with the influx of wounded from Rose River and no one has the time to speak with me. I hobble down a few hallways to find admitting, things are much the same there. A woman in scrubs wanders by, I grab her arm.

"I'm looking for my wife." I say.

"I'm sorry sir, there is no visitation, we are under a code orange, you will have to come back later."

"I don't even know if she's alive!" I blurt out. "Can you just please tell me if the critical patients were evacuated back here from the mall?"

I can tell by the pained expression on her face that she has no answer for me even before she answers. "I'm very sorry, I can't tell you that. Leave your name, your wife's name and your contact information with the staff and we will get back to you as soon as we can, that is all I can tell you. I'm sorry."

I reluctantly get in line, wait my turn and leave my information with the hospital staff. I leave out the nearest exit to get away from the mad throng of people and spot the TAPV across the road. Hartt must have been told to move it. I walk over and find him leaning against it having a cigarette.

"Is she here?" He asks.

"They can't tell me. It's a zoo in there."

"We can come back tomorrow, hell, we can sleep in the TAPV and check again in a few hours if you like."

"Nah. If she's here, they will notify me. I have to get home to my son."

"Point the way."

We make the short trip back to the neighbourhood in silence. The battle at the mall still rages on in my head. It's replayed over and over. The crack of every bullet narrowly missing its mark, the boom of every blast from that tank. The face of every man I put to death.

I have Hartt pull into Jake's driveway.

"Jake said you could crash here." I tell him. "I'll show you where the spare key is."

"What about you?"

"I'm just around the block, and I have to stop and pick up my kid."

"It's four in the morning." Hartt says.

"I don't think that will be an issue."

"Don't you think a TAPV in the driveway might freak some people out?"

"Frankly Hartt, I doubt anyone will take a second glance. It's Jake's house after all. It kind of suits him."

I show Hartt into the house and get him settled in. Before leaving, I shake his hand and thank him for saving my life. Twice.

Walking up to Ari's door, I pause at the step to the porch. I'm suddenly terrified of facing Heath. I'm still paralyzed when the door opens, the silhouette of Ari's large frame fills the doorway.

"Are you coming in Connor?"

I step into his home and instantly I feel safer. The familiar surroundings, the warmth and the earthy scent of cumin that still lingers in the air from last nights dinner.

"It's good to see you again. Looks like you have had better days. Where is Kate?"

"Kate..." I struggle with my words. "Kate was wounded and I don't know for certain where she is." I say. Hearing myself say the words makes them more real. I have no idea if Kate is safe or not, or if she even made it out of Rose River. "The hospital is supposed to let me know tomorrow maybe."

Ari's expression doesn't change. "Heath is in the den." Is all he says.

I walk to the den, a small lump of blankets on the loveseat indicates to me where I can find Heath. Both Diesel and Merida are curled up at the foot of his temporary bed. Diesel opens his eyes sleepily and closes them again, I'm not worthy of further scrutiny. The tip of Merida's tail wags only slightly as she watches me approach. Neither dog moves.

I lean over the sofa looking down on Heath, his face peaceful and innocent. I don't wish to wake him, I don't want to tell him about his mother and at the same time I don't want to lie to him. I touch his shoulder lightly, just to verify he's real, that this is real. I watch tears fall into his hair. I clasp my hand over my mouth to seal in the pain that is seeking an outlet. I'm at once, both ecstatic to see him again, and frightened that I am no longer the father I was, or the father he deserves. I pull my hand away afraid that I'll transfer some terrible malady of the spirit, afraid that my very presence will corrupt his innocence.

A large hand squeezes my shoulder. Ari speaks softly, "Let him sleep. He is safe here. You need some time. Go home and get some rest, we will see you in the morning. By then you will know what to say."

I turn and nod. He's right, I hope. I can't face Heath like this. I can scarcely face myself.

The walk home is a blur, but now I am standing in the dark in the kitchen, running my hand along the granite counter. I'm trying to convince myself that this too, is real, that I am safe, standing in my home. It's hard to reconcile the feelings I am experiencing, hours ago I was in a war zone. How long has it been since I last stood in this kitchen? Two days? Three? It's so mindbogglingly surreal, I feel like my head might explode.

I grab a glass from the cupboard, and the bourbon from another. I slop some on the counter as I hurriedly fill the glass before I gulp it down. I savour the burning sensation and drop the glass in the sink. I descend to the basement and put the empty Sig in the gun safe, I take the Colt .45 out, charge the magazine with eight rounds and slap it into the pistol. I tuck it in my waistband and head back upstairs.

Standing at the front door with one hand on the Colt, I listen. I hear nothing, but I crack the door and peer down the walkway out to the road beyond. I don't expect anything to be there, yet I do. I close the door and pace until I can't stand it any longer and I return to the kitchen and take a long pull on the bourbon bottle. I pray for the liquor to take effect soon.

I open the garden door and step out on the deck, the cold air feels good on my face. The sky has cleared and the legion of stars wink down from the heavens. I gaze up, spot a satellite and track it until it disappears from view. The stars are comforting for some reason, maybe because they are distant, oblivious and indifferent. Maybe because they persist, no matter what events unfold down here, the stars remain. They shine over our lives and over our deaths, neither brighter nor dimmer, just present, bearing witness to the follies of man.

Orion is up there again tonight, threatening, once again to loose a celestial arrow at some unseen beast. I toast him and take another drink. I too am now a hunter, a hunter of men. I don't know how many I killed, but what does it matter after the first? I wonder if I am somehow tainted by what I have done. Am I by definition, a murderer?

I knock the slide of the pistol against my temple, as if to dislodge the swirling, buzzing, pestilence of self-defeating thoughts. I consider the unthinkable, the desperate resolution of this burdensome life. The means lies in the palm of my hand. A silent, peaceful, everlasting sleep.

I think about Heath, asleep with the dogs snoring by his side. And Ari, my mentor and friend. Jake, who is like a brother to me, and Hartt, twice my saviour. Last is Kate and I know not where she lies, or if she lives, although I feel that she must. My heart breaks a little for each of them.

The stars whisper to me, in their ancient, secret dialect. Their message as clear to me as the night sky. Laid bare is my only path forward.

Persist.

*** VOTE || COMMENT || SHARE ***