sharp stick before it pierced its way completely between his ribs.
Helicopter blades make a sound unlike anything else in the world. Above the combined roaring of the pounding in his head and the crashing river, an immediately recognizable thumping came echoing through the canyon walls, like a welcome friend coming to take them home. Sgt. Harmon patted the wet skin of the old man’s shoulder in a gesture intended to be comforting. He was not soothed, but instead flinched and curled into a fetal position.
The sergeant felt bad for the old man, but he knew that the medical facilities back at the base would provide far better care than they could give him out here in the field. Besides, he needed to get back to finding Jabez.
The chopper landed in a clearing fifty yards from where the bearded man was curled up on the rocks. Sgt. Harmon waved to his crew and they jogged to his location, all of them now soaking wet and somewhat pissed off. Once the man was loaded inside, Sgt. Harmon helped to strap him down before twirling his index finger in the air, indicating the pilot was clear to take off.
Sliding the door shut, he noticed the old man’s eyes were open. They looked at each other for the first time, and Sgt. Harmon felt a searing shock of recognition. He couldn’t breathe. He knew that face, buried under the beard and draped in scraggly white hair. As the craft lifted off the ground, he watched Jabez pound his fists on the inside of the glass, his mouth forming screams that went unheard above the roar of the engines.
-17-
Sgt. Harmon: Night
Sgt. Harmon squinted through the thick bulletproof window in the hospital door. He overheard a group of doctors and nurses discussing the surprisingly healthy old man that had just been brought in from the field this morning. He was malnourished and dehydrated, but otherwise he seemed to be okay. Jabez was been missing for seven days. How could he be so old? Was it really Jabez, or did he just imagine it?
As visiting hours came to an end, he realized most of the doctors outranked him. Even if he wanted to throw his weight around to get into Jabez’s room, it wouldn’t work. Outside, the night was calm and warm. Sgt. Harmon sat down on the ground, trembling. He left his shirt unbuttoned and picked at the mud caked on the soles of his boots.
It was ten o’clock. Close to seven hours until sunrise. The second hand on his watch slowed itself down. Time moved through a puddle of thick sap pooling at the bottom of a maple tree. Leaves lilted by in front of him. He watched every drying vein’s detail cross his view. A small beetle unfurled iridescent wings, releasing itself from gravity’s pull and floating from tree branch to hiding spot behind a pile of rocks on the ground.
Across the way, soldiers sped past in open-topped jeeps. Others went running around corners and into doorways to deliver important messages. An alarm sounded. Troops sprinted outside the borders of the camp, rifles raised into firing position. Stone and metal debris exploded in all directions, clouding the air with the thick smell of war.
Sitting. Lost in thought. Immobile. Lost in time.
Eventually the sun did rise. Eventually the doors were opened. Eventually the sergeant stood and went back inside. Still lost.
-18-
Sgt. Harmon: The Hospital
Inside the hospital was a whirlwind. Not from new wounded patients brought in from a fresh battlefield. It was chaos. Fluorescent light tubes popped and burned out in tufts of smoke, papers flew everywhere in the darkness. Nurses and doctors ran into each other in doorways, monitors howled flat-line warnings as patients pulled off leads and tore IVs from their veins. Half-unrobed, wounded soldiers shuffled their feet through hallways, leaking reddish-brown bodily fluids from every orifice, like zombies aimlessly roaming in search of some relief from their pain.
This was worse than anything witnessed on the battlefield. The young sergeant hugged
Helicopter blades make a sound unlike anything else in the world. Above the combined roaring of the pounding in his head and the crashing river, an immediately recognizable thumping came echoing through the canyon walls, like a welcome friend coming to take them home. Sgt. Harmon patted the wet skin of the old man’s shoulder in a gesture intended to be comforting. He was not soothed, but instead flinched and curled into a fetal position.
The sergeant felt bad for the old man, but he knew that the medical facilities back at the base would provide far better care than they could give him out here in the field. Besides, he needed to get back to finding Jabez.
The chopper landed in a clearing fifty yards from where the bearded man was curled up on the rocks. Sgt. Harmon waved to his crew and they jogged to his location, all of them now soaking wet and somewhat pissed off. Once the man was loaded inside, Sgt. Harmon helped to strap him down before twirling his index finger in the air, indicating the pilot was clear to take off.
Sliding the door shut, he noticed the old man’s eyes were open. They looked at each other for the first time, and Sgt. Harmon felt a searing shock of recognition. He couldn’t breathe. He knew that face, buried under the beard and draped in scraggly white hair. As the craft lifted off the ground, he watched Jabez pound his fists on the inside of the glass, his mouth forming screams that went unheard above the roar of the engines.
-17-
Sgt. Harmon: Night
Sgt. Harmon squinted through the thick bulletproof window in the hospital door. He overheard a group of doctors and nurses discussing the surprisingly healthy old man that had just been brought in from the field this morning. He was malnourished and dehydrated, but otherwise he seemed to be okay. Jabez was been missing for seven days. How could he be so old? Was it really Jabez, or did he just imagine it?
As visiting hours came to an end, he realized most of the doctors outranked him. Even if he wanted to throw his weight around to get into Jabez’s room, it wouldn’t work. Outside, the night was calm and warm. Sgt. Harmon sat down on the ground, trembling. He left his shirt unbuttoned and picked at the mud caked on the soles of his boots.
It was ten o’clock. Close to seven hours until sunrise. The second hand on his watch slowed itself down. Time moved through a puddle of thick sap pooling at the bottom of a maple tree. Leaves lilted by in front of him. He watched every drying vein’s detail cross his view. A small beetle unfurled iridescent wings, releasing itself from gravity’s pull and floating from tree branch to hiding spot behind a pile of rocks on the ground.
Across the way, soldiers sped past in open-topped jeeps. Others went running around corners and into doorways to deliver important messages. An alarm sounded. Troops sprinted outside the borders of the camp, rifles raised into firing position. Stone and metal debris exploded in all directions, clouding the air with the thick smell of war.
Sitting. Lost in thought. Immobile. Lost in time.
Eventually the sun did rise. Eventually the doors were opened. Eventually the sergeant stood and went back inside. Still lost.
-18-
Sgt. Harmon: The Hospital
Inside the hospital was a whirlwind. Not from new wounded patients brought in from a fresh battlefield. It was chaos. Fluorescent light tubes popped and burned out in tufts of smoke, papers flew everywhere in the darkness. Nurses and doctors ran into each other in doorways, monitors howled flat-line warnings as patients pulled off leads and tore IVs from their veins. Half-unrobed, wounded soldiers shuffled their feet through hallways, leaking reddish-brown bodily fluids from every orifice, like zombies aimlessly roaming in search of some relief from their pain.
This was worse than anything witnessed on the battlefield. The young sergeant hugged
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