by Vivien Vale
Seconds slip by that feel like hours to me. Hours where I feel at my pockets, listening for the tell-tale clink of ammo. Hours where I check the clip to make sure she’s not jammed. Hours where I look around me and see how close the enemy is.
I rush forward, low to the ground, bringing up my gun and slamming it into the first guy’s jaw. I dodge sideways, flinging the gun out with my left hand and hitting another guy in the chest. I come up, swinging around, flinging the gun out with my right hand, hitting another guy in the face.
More are coming. Thick waves of them. Endless, hostile. Coming to kill us. Smoke pours from the ship and into the sky as I turn around, braced and ready.
Behind me, I hear screams. There’s a dull boom, closer than the others.
The ship’s been hit. We’re fucked. We have to get out of here.
Surrounding vessels are invisible, but I know they are there. There were a few more in the fleet but through the smoke I can’t see shit. I don’t know which ships are the enemy and which is us.
I don’t know where they boarded. I can’t tell how close they are to me.
Why can’t I see any fellow soldiers? Where the fuck is everyone? Am I fighting on my own? Did they leave and forget me?
I turn around, bolting through the smoke as a shadowy figure rears up, and my arm moves without conscious thought—it comes up hard, bringing my gun into contact with a human skull.
My enemy goes down, hitting the deck with a thud. For a moment, the unreality of the situation reaches fever pitch. There’s a ringing in my ears.
The guy plastered to the deck is in a ship uniform. It’s not an enemy. It’s Benson.
From our first day, we were mates. I see him smiling easily in the sun as we clean the deck. Tossing potatoes at my head on kitchen detail. Short sheeting all the beds on laundry day.
When he laced the Captain’s food with laxatives, we got put on latrines. Every single dirty job there is to do, we were in it together. I clung on to his adventurous spirit, his mischievous nature.
The isolation and loneliness of being at sea gets to everyone. Especially if you’re new to it, and recently torn out of a comfortable, familiar world into a hard, sharp one. Still, it was all just a joke to us, ships don’t get hit and sink, not in this day and age. Or so we said.
I doubted my decision to sign up in the first few weeks. Without Benson, I would have bailed. He had a long line of soldiers to live up to, and was keen to show all his uncles, his dad and granddad, just how great he was—to follow in the family footsteps, and make a name for himself in a long line of service men.
He should be by my side, kicking ass. Not bleeding on the deck. He has the heritage, the training, the drive. How can he be a crumpled mess while I’m still standing? It doesn’t make sense.
“Benson? Benson?” I lean down, grabbing his shoulder. He doesn’t move, blood pooling around his face. The dull booming and trampling of feet are miles away now. All I can hear is the ringing in my ears. All I can see is Benson’s broken face.
For the first time, panic grips me. Before now, I was scared, but in control. I could taste the panic but my human brain protected me, holding my conscious thoughts just outside the bloody violence.
Now I’ve fucked up. Now I’ve made a mistake. I was so honed for attack I hit someone I know. Someone who came to help me.
I can feel myself trembling as the ringing in my ears gets louder. There’s a pressure in my head. I put a hand up to it, shaking it a bit. This doesn’t help, it only makes the smoke and splashes of red spin wildly against the ship and sky.
The world has become a crazy, bloody place where nothing makes sense. I realize, I can’t move Benson without a stretcher. I forget where I am, and what’s happening for longer than a few seconds. Parts of my mind are trying to rationally come back to me.
One look at Benson and I’m panicking again. I don’t know what to do.
A massive boom nearby shakes me to the core. I look around me, clinging to my gun.
Enemy. Enemy coming.
They are closer than before. Maybe they got what they were after and now they are just going to sink us.
I grab Benson, trying to pull him up. His hands flutter against me and he groans.
“Get up! Get up, Private! That’s an order!” I roar at him as he blinks. One foot comes up, trying to stabilize himself. I get an arm around him and start dragging him.
He falls, eyes closing. The enemy are right on our ass. I grab for him again, losing the gun. I don’t give a fuck about anything except grabbing and dragging him to safety.
Out of the looming smoke, hands grab me. I fight them until a stern voice cracks through my panic.
“Lawrence! Stop it!” Something in me recognizes the officer. He and others are dragging me down the deck.
“No, no, Benson—” I reach for him as they drag me. Through the smoke I can see the enemy pouring over him like ants; their massive boots pulverizing him while he lays helpless against the hard steel of the deck.
“We got ‘em all?” The officer barks.
“As many as we’re gonna get. Move!” Another voice cracks across my thoughts.
“Keep dragging him, Lawrence? Help us, man. We have to move!”
“No. No. Benson!”
“They got him, man, he’s gone! Come on!”
I try to wrestle free, desperate to pick Benson up, get him out from under those trampling feet. I can’t fight all the hands that have me, dragging me away. I see Benson crushed under waves and waves of black boots, without a damn thing I can do about it.
I’m aware, but that’s all I am. The world is dark. I can’t see. I don’t know if my eyes are closed or if the smoke has gotten so thick it’s blacked out the light.
I feel the heaving of the sea. The bobbing of the lifeboat. I hear them pulling us away from the ship as it gets hit one more time and blows. Smoke pillars up into the air, and the explosion bathes us in red orange glow.
I realize I can see. Red fire, black smoke, blue sea. They bob up and down as my eyes lazily flick open and closed.
I’m shaking. I can’t feel anything. My stomach is cold, sick and tight. I can’t move. The shock sets in and I’m grateful for it. It sweeps away my thoughts and my feelings and leaves me blank.
Except for one thought.
The ship is gone. Everything’s gone.
How am I still alive?
Chapter 26
Wyatt
“Wyatt!” That sounds like Ruby.
What is she doing here?
Looking around, I don’t see her. I have to get to her, though. The heat will bake her soft, fair skin.
I turn in a circle, confused, trying to locate her.
“Wyatt. Wyatt, please. Wyatt!” The gunshots are fading away as her voice gets louder and more demanding. “Wyatt!”
I’m shaking. The ground feels like an earthquake is starting. Dust flies, the ground crumbles and I look down to see if I should start running.
What the fuck?
Little by little the haze of my memories lifts. I hear crickets instead of gunfire, and I smell the campfire before I actually see it.
I’m shaking because Ruby is jerking on me like a spider monkey. She would probably be climbing me if she could. She has one hand around my neck where she is pulling me towards her, yelling in my face.
Thank fuck I didn’t hurt her.
It’s like someone controls a radio dial of memories, and as Ruby’s voice came up louder the flashback dies down. Too bad my fucking sight doesn’t come back as quickly.
Sinking to my butt, Ruby follows me down, landing hard next to me.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Dropping my head into my hands, I scrub my face vigorously. My sight is slow to return. I’m buying time, just trying to collect my thoughts. This is exactly what I wanted to avoid.
I knew it would happen, but never thought ahead to it happening in front of Ruby.
Benson again. Not a shocker considering how much I
think about him.
I’m never going to get over that. I’m such a fuck-up, getting him killed like that. I’ll never forgive myself. It’s that very memory that reassures me how much of a monster I really am. I’m haunted.
How does anyone ever get over something like this?
It doesn’t matter what the shrinks say. It’s hard to imagine forgiving myself in this lifetime.
Damn. My eyes are watering and each pant of my heavy breathing brings in the soothing campfire smell. I fight the tears. I can’t show her this weakness.
“I’m sorry, Wyatt,” Ruby’s soft voice by my ear helps. It takes a minute for her words to register.
Snapping my head up, I meet her gaze only inches from mine. She’s hanging on my arm, practically sitting on my lap.
I wish I could just relax in her hold. Let her hold me and just fucking forget.
“Why are you sorry?” I ask. My gravelly voice betrays my nerves, so I clear my throat, trying to pull all my senses together.
She doesn’t answer. Instead, her soft fingers comb through my hair. Her nails hit my scalp and I relax into her soothing embrace. The soft, solid feel of her next to me helps slow my breathing, too.
“I’m sorry that happened. I’m not sure what I did, but I’m sure I must’ve done something,” she explains. She still has her hand in my hair and her face is only inches from mine. “Does this happen often?”
I just nod my head. Her sympathy is not what I want.
She needs to understand that I’m not the same young guy that she knew from the past. I’m a killer.
Fucking damaged goods.
“Wyatt, did something happen? Like, while you were in the SEALs?” she asks. “Is this why you change the subject all the time?”
Her question has me pulling from her to stand. My legs are shaky as I take a step away from her, immediately missing her warmth.
Her arms drop, and she slumps onto her heels, looking at me with bewilderment.
“Ruby, all you need to know is that I’m a monster, and that I deserve every ounce of torture reliving all of this brings,” I say.
I blow out a long breath. Embarrassed, I move away and start loading the fire.
Fucking stupid ass post-traumatic stress.
I always thought I was invincible. Physically, I coasted through my service. Never shot. Not even a sprained ankle.
But coming home was an adjustment. Nightmares turned into panic attacks. Panic attacks eventually became full blown visions. Some days are worse than others, but it doesn’t seem to be improving. Yet.
Glancing at Ruby, I notice she hasn’t moved. She’s still sitting on the ground just watching me quietly.
She’s so beautiful and looks so small sitting there.
Patient and kind.
So much more than I could ever deserve.
“When I was in training, they taught us so much. We were prepared.” Looking at the fire, I think back to those grueling days. “But for all the physical training, the gun and munitions training—they can’t teach you how to deal with the death. It’s all around you, all the time.”
Ruby doesn’t say a word but when I look up, she’s moving closer to the fire across from me.
Holding her hands out to the warmth, she doesn’t say a word—just stares at me. Waiting for me to continue.
“I was an idiot. Nothing had ever been hard for me before. My life wasn’t perfect but anything I set my mind to was easy.” I laugh cynically and meet Ruby’s gaze across the fire.
She isn’t laughing.
There is so much more to Ruby than I ever imagined. It’s been a lot of years, but she isn’t like a lot of women I have run across.
She isn’t filling the air with needless chatter and pissing me off with pointless platitudes.
God fucking knows, I’ve heard them all.
Time heals all things.
Everything happens for a reason.
It was meant to be.
What doesn’t kill me makes me stronger? What the fuck is wrong with people?
“I made it. I’m alive. But I don’t feel like I’ve won.” Crouching down, I look across the fire at Ruby. “All I could think about when we were there was coming home. Now I’m home, and it seems like all I think about is being there. It’s fucked up.”
Ruby’s eyes are tearing up and that pisses me off. I’m not trying to make her cry. She’s just such a beautiful, sympathetic person.
The complete opposite of me.
“Our lieutenant was a hard-ass motherfucker. He ran us through the hoops over and over. In training they use whistles. One blast and we have to drop to the ground, hands over our ears and legs crossed. Two whistles, and we are supposed to crawl, and three means get the fuck up and run. Crawling through the mud in training, with the flashbang and smoke grenades, you could barely make out the boots in front of you. We all thought, ‘How could it get worse than this?’ We were so fucking naive.”
Poking the fire, sparks shoot up.
Quickly looking at Ruby, I try to center myself in her eyes.
The last thing I want is to have another flashback.
“I want you to understand that I’m not the same. I’ve made some awful mistakes. I’ve cost lives,” I finally say out loud. I can’t look at her anymore.
“I’m not the same either,” she says. Ruby’s sweet voice is quiet, forcing my eyes up to confirm what she says. “We have both grown up, and even though I know that my life has been boring and simple compared to yours, it doesn’t mean I’ve changed any less.”
Sweet, sweet Ruby.
She’s all I’ve thought about for so long. I’ve picked up women specifically because they remind me of her. But I don’t deserve her, and she certainly doesn’t deserve me.
“These flashbacks, they come out of nowhere. I can’t tell where I am, and I can’t control what I do when they happen. I don’t want to hurt you. What if I swing at you or choke you?”
“Have…” I cut her off quickly.
“I care about you.” Her question dies out immediately at my statement.
“You are everything beautiful and clean and wholesome. You deserve someone like that for yourself. Not a fucked-up, scarred ex-soldier with flashbacks and panic attacks.” I’m shaking my head and backing away from the fire and her.
“I don’t want to hurt you. I care too much about you to take that chance.”
And, just like that, she grimaces at me and her arms fold across her chest.
Chapter 27
Ruby
I’m still really freaked out about what just happened, but now my temper fires up and distracts me. I welcome the change in mood and don’t question it. Only later do I realize that Wyatt has probably triggered me on purpose to avoid talking about it.
“I’m a grown woman, Wyatt. I decide what’s best for me. No one else.” I scowl, glaring up at him.
I’m outraged by his suggestion on so many levels.
That he could even think of making a decision concerning me without my input. That he should assume things about me. Most of all, for excluding me from his heart so easily.
“You don’t know everything there is to know about it, Ruby.”
“So, why not tell me so I can have all the vital information I need to make my decision?”
I know I’m being a catty, dramatic bitch with my sarcastic tone, but I can’t help it. He really struck me with a low blow. And after our heart-to-heart.
He draws a hand down his face, shaking his head.
“Don’t put me in a corner over this. I am telling you. Some things you just don’t talk about.”
His eyes look over my head, somewhere far away. I know he’s lost in his memories. I can see how they torment him.
Doesn’t he trust me enough to share it with me? It hurts so much to think of that. Maybe he’s hurting so much, he can’t see anything clearly. Like an animal with a wound that attacks anyone who comes near.
I feel cool, calm concern coming to blanket my a
ngry rage. I’m still frustrated, but I’m moving past angry.
“I’m dangerous, Ruby. That’s all you need to know.”
“Don’t give me that crap, Wyatt! What do you mean, dangerous? You’re the same guy you were in school.” So far, he has not seemed all that different to me. A little quieter, maybe. I don’t feel any violence in him at all, only sadness and regret.
He shakes his head, violently.
“No! My time in the service affected me. That’s all I need to say, isn’t it? I can’t remember the official party line right now. But all the dark nasty shit associated with those words is personal to me. Do you get it? I’m a weapon. All I can do is kill.”
I look at him steadily, arms crossed over my chest. He’s reacting all over the place, with hand gestures, erratic eye contact, and even pacing a few steps. I see tension running through his muscles as he turns away.
A few minutes ago, all I wanted was for him to open his eyes. I just wanted to cradle him in my arms and make the bad things go away. Now, he’s trying to tell me he IS one of the bad things. And that he should go away.
“Are you telling me that you’re going to hurt me?” I pose.
I keep my voice low and even. Forcing him to turn back and look at me. His eyes, lit by the firelight, look red-rimmed and panic stricken.
“I won’t mean to,” he whispers, so softly. “I don’t want to.”
“Then, don’t!” I yell. I step forward, desperate to hold him, to bring back the intimacy of only a few minutes before, when we flirted by the fire.
He lunges away, not letting me touch him.
“Wyatt!” I cry out in frustration. He looks at me like he wants to come to me and comfort me. Silently, I will him to understand. To come back to my side and hold me.
“Ruby,” he says softly. His fingers twitch.
He wants to touch me, I just know it. All I have to do is convince him it’s safe. That I can handle it.
He doesn’t need a damsel he can rescue. He needs a strong, understanding woman that can stand by him. Someone he can rely on when the going gets tough.
I don’t care how tough it gets. I never want to be away from him again. I just have to convince him.
“All I see right now is someone in need of help. You didn’t do anything bad. I know whatever it was, it was intense for you—”
