“Where am I?” I ask, the words weakly falling from my lips, the chill of the ice chips against my throat numbing the pain.
“Walter Reed in DC, bro,” Navas says.
“How long have I been here?”
“Three days. You got hit a week ago though.”
Got hit? I scan my brain for what he could be talking about, but come up empty. The last thing I remember is loading up for mission to search for—
“Sergeant Adams,” I blurt as soon as the thought hits my brain, “what about Sergeant Adams?” Navas looks at Katie and then to the ground, then to me again. He opens his mouth to say something but stops himself. When he shakes his head slowly from side to side, I close my eyes and let the information sink in. “What happened to me?”
“You got hit by an RPG. Got you pretty bad.” I open my eyes back up, and I can see Navas’s eyes have left mine again and are back on the ground. He breathes out, long and slow.
I feel the heat. I smell the burnt skin. I taste the soot.
“What happened to me?” I repeat, gritting my teeth, needing to know the true state that I’m in.
Navas looks at Katie, but she just shakes her head, covering her mouth with a trembling hand as tears well up in her eyes. My body trembles, panic gripping at my throat. “Somebody needs to tell me what the fuck is going on.”
Navas looks down to my legs and my eyes follow his gaze. If it’s possible, my heart fucking stops. Adrenaline, fear, confusion … they’re all pumping rapidly through my body.
Where there should be feet, there aren’t. Almost instantly, the events play through my head like a frenetic, fucked-up slide show.
The patrol … door-to-door raids … getting called back … taking fire … My vision goes black and I squeeze my eyes shut. There’s something else, but I can’t see it. What is it? What else happened?
Katie rushes to my side, climbs into bed with me and wipes the tears from my face before wrapping me in her arms. It calms me a bit, but I need more answers.
“What are you doing back?” I ask Navas, trying to trigger the missing memory.
“I took some shrapnel from the bomb. Got me pretty good in the head. Nothing major, but they sent me here with you for some testing and to remove the shrapnel.” As he says this, I notice for the first time that he’s wearing a hospital gown. “Everything’s good though, man. They’re gonna keep me here for a few more days and then release me.”
“What about Elkins and Thomas?” I ask. Navas looks confused, and then all at once his face goes pale.
“Elkins is still in Baghdad. He’ll come back with the unit in a week or so. Thomas …” His words trail off and my heart kicks into high gear.
“What about Thomas?” I ask, feeling my voice start to turn on me, the knot in my throat getting rapidly tighter. He doesn’t respond, nor does he look at me, and for some reason Katie has tightened her grip on me. She lets a few tears run down her face, which she does her best to hide from me. “Please, Navas!”
“Thomas …” Navas breathes out and wipes a tear from his eyes. “Thomas is dead.” His eyes find mine. “He was shot, Clay. You got hurt trying to recover his … his body.” Navas points toward the bedside table and I slowly turn my head. A Silver Star sits beside a Purple Heart and Combat Infantryman Badge atop the nightstand. “They gave you that,” he says.
His words make my blood run cold. Nothing. They mean nothing.
My eyes are on the awards, but my mind isn’t. That horrible day finally comes into focus and I can see Thomas on the ground, helpless and reaching for me. Tears push the confines of my eyes before rolling down my flushed cheeks. A sharp pain stabs straight through my chest, and the pressure sends shockwaves through my body and up into my skull. I’m dizzy and beginning to feel lightheaded. My eyes flutter, and for a moment, I feel sick to my stomach.
“Clay, you good, man?” There’s concern in Navas’s voice. I feel Katie lift her head, and she does her best to wipe my face dry. My eyes drift shut and then bob heavily before opening back up.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
“Baby, are you okay?” Katie asks. Through my cloudy vision, I see a doctor approach. Katie gets off the bed, and then, in a flurry of activity, a nurse rushes in the room and starts checking my vitals. I close my eyes at the feel of her ice-cold hand against my forehead.
I listen as the doctor rattles off some orders before saying something to me. “Sergeant Clay, my name is Dr. Vincent. I’m one of the physicians that have been taking care of you. Can you tell me what you’re feeling right now?”
I blink my eyes several times and watch as he slowly comes into focus. “Woozy … lightheaded … sick,” I say. It’s the only thing I can come up with. A chill races through my body.
The steady beep emanating throughout the room gets louder and louder. The doctor eyes the monitor and then quickly makes his way toward the door. “I’ll be right back.” Concern is thick in his voice, and I can tell Katie picks up on it. The tears return and she comes in close again, kissing me on my forehead and then my lips. I try and kiss back, but I can’t.
Why can’t I kiss her?
“Please, please, please, baby, fight for me,” she cries out, nuzzling her face into my neck. Why is she asking me to fight for her? What’s going on?