Silent Creed by Alex Kava

look at the empty basket of biscuits. “This was all delicious,” he told the woman, sending the crinkles in her face into a smile.
    “How ’bout the dogs? I’m sure we’ve got a couple ham bones back in the kitchen.”
    “That’s very kind of you, but I’ve got to keep them on a special diet.”
    “Oh sure, I never even thought of that. We heard about you getting caught in that last slide up there.”
    She pointed at the cuts on his face. The medics told him the one above his eye probably needed stitches, but they butterflied it instead. Said it was too close to his eye and neither of them wanted to be poking a needle there.
    “We sure appreciate you all being here. You need anything, just holler. I’m Agnes. I’m here for the long haul.”
    He nodded his thanks as she went on to the next table.
    Creed had spent almost an hour in the boys’ locker room shower trying to restore his body while he ignored all the bruises and cuts. He still felt like he had mud in his ears and gravel scratching his eyes. His chest hurt. They suspected he had a broken rib or two. The medic had wrapped him up after his shower and Creed swore the bandage felt like it was crushing his lungs. But he’d had broken ribs before and knew better than to remove the wrap.
    He shifted in his chair and realized he must have winced from the pain, because now Jason was watching him. Finally finished eating, Jason sipped his coffee. Sipping, not gulping. Maybe there was hope for this kid after all.
    “So what was it like?” Jason asked.
    “Breaking my ribs?”
    “No, being buried alive.”

23.
    C reed guessed that he hadn’t thought about it like that. Not yet anyway. Buried alive seemed so . . . final.
    He reached for his ceramic mug, wrapping his fingers around it instead of using the handle. It smelled good and strong, just the way he liked it. He took a sip, taking his time to answer, and when he glanced across the table at Jason, he saw that the kid was waiting, willing to give him a chance to consider it.
    “After I quit trying to fight it, it was actually kinda peaceful.”
    “Kinda like going to sleep?”
    “No dreams, though. More like hallucinations.”
    They were both quiet for a while, then Jason asked, “You suppose that’s what dying’s like?”
    “Maybe. You didn’t feel it with your arm?”
    Creed knew that Jason must have been close to dying, having lived through an IED explosion that had literally blown off the bottom part of his arm.
    Jason shook his head. “I guess I went into shock. Everything sort of happened in slow motion. I didn’t know my arm was gone until I woke up later in the hospital.”
    That was the way it had been for Creed, too. One minute Jabar was grabbing for the cord on his suicide vest and the next thing Creed knew, he was waking up in a hospital reaching for Rufus. Yelling for him, then trying to climb out of bed to go look for his dog. But Rufus hadn’t been harmed. Creed’s body had protected the dog. Protected him so well that he was considered well enough to be reassigned to another handler and get back to work. Because that’s what the military did back then. Dogs were classified as equipment, given numbers that were branded into their ears. Rufus was N103 and he was fit for duty.
    Creed knew all this too well. He had been ready to sign up for another tour of duty just so he and Rufus could stay together. And a stupid kid that Peter Logan had allowed to come and go in and out of their camp had blown everything apart.
    “You suppose when you plan it that it’s that peaceful?” Jason asked, interrupting Creed’s thoughts. “You know, just like going to sleep?”
    Creed had lost track of what they were talking about. “Plan what?”
    “Death.”
    “You mean like suicide?”
    “I’ve got five buddies that I served with—maybe more. I haven’t stayed in touch with some. All we went through. We risked our lives every single day over there. We couldn’t wait to get back home.