Chapter Text
November 28th, 2059 A.D.
North American Resettlement Zone
Wyoming, United States of America
“Can you see anything or do we need to get closer?”
An ancient pair of Steiner binoculars were tilted down and away from David’s face before he engaged the push-to-talk microphone of the Combat Vehicle Crewman helmet system that he wore. The storm’s high winds were whipping heavy snowflakes against the exposed portion of his face: which was just his eyes at the moment.
The man’s breath steamed up the air, despite the restriction of his balaclava, as he opened his mouth to respond.
“I think I see static position lights, but it’s not dark enough yet for me to be sure. What do you see, Kirby?”
“Can confirm static light sources. No other heat. No air-traffic in the surrounding space. And, we are not being lazed at this time.”
David pulled down the clear goggles to shield his eyes, hitting the PTT button again.
“Roll us to the Moose junction, Gerry. We’ll re-eval there if we have the fuel for the stop. And, turn the running lights on.”
“Copy that. Rolling to Moose. Watch these snowdrifts for cars and shit.”
“I gotcha. Make best speed. I want to get tucked in before my eyeballs ice over.” David chuckled.
The man watched as two of his comrades grabbed onto whatever they could on the front of the turret while listening to the Allison turbine’s incessant whining as the RPMs were raised to move the beast that they were all riding on or in. Fortunately for all of them, it was a very dry weather system that they were underneath. They were not melting the snow so quickly that their tattered uniforms were becoming soaked. Yet. That being said, it was still positively miserable to be outside of the tank in twelve-degree weather. The wind made it even colder on exposed areas of the skin.
Probably closer to zero after that consideration was taken into account.
And, none of his unit was making any effort to sing about ‘dashing through the snow’ despite the imminence of Christmas.
Despite the road’s general flatness, it still took fifteen minutes to traverse the five-miles of distance at their best speed while plowing through the depths. The portion of Twenty-Six that they were on probably hadn’t seen any traffic since the third-year of the war; not that its condition mattered any while driving over it in a nearly seventy-four-ton behemoth.
David noted the proximity to their junction and picked up a stick to tap his buddies Edward and Taylor on the shoulders. When the two men looked, he indicated that they needed to get on top of the turret proper. Even though the tank was rolling at a slower pace, he could still see that his two buddies were shaking and shivering in their cold-weather gear.
As if on cue, his gunner – Kirby – radioed. “Posture check.”
“Counter-clock the gun until it’s stowed rear.” David ordered.
“So, don’t huck a HEAT across the bow of the control tower?”
Ronnie chimed-in before David could respond. “With your shooting? Our luck is you’d hit the fuckin’ thing.”
He couldn’t hear it, but he knew there was laughter from the three men inside of the tank.
“Hold us up here, Gerry.” David radioed down. “Anything on the LWS?”
The old man didn’t respond in any other way than bringing the ancient piece of machinery to a steady halt.
“No warnings!” Kirby hollered back.
David removed his goggles again to check the airport’s situation with his binoculars. Two-miles of distance was quite a bit better than the last spot that he had chosen. This time, he could see quite a bit of movement through the billowing snow between him and the final destination.
The base was finally awake.
They could see him and he could see them. The lights were illuminating enough of the terminals, parking lot, and perimeter fencing that the grunts could be seen waving arms, pointing outbound, and scurrying about. And, David could also see the SAM batteries and ground vehicles on the northern end of the runway. However, he didn’t see any base alert lights to indicate if there was an alarm being broadcast across the regional airport.
“Alright, fellas. They see us. Last call for any of you who want to try for Jackson.” He offered with a tone of finality.
“Just keep in mind, you don’t have the fuel to make it to the Refuge proper, so…” Gerry added.
Any reply to that line of inquiry was squashed.
“Dave!” Edward tapped his shoulder and shouted over the noise from the turbine engine. “They’re squawking at us on the radio!”
David turned and reached out, from the commander’s hatch that he was standing inside, and past Taylor to unlatch the whip antenna. Attached to said whip was a medium-sized American flag that immediately unfurled in the high winds that were blasting down from the Teton Range beyond the airport. As if on cue, Kirby began to slowly turn the turret around in a manner that kept the cannon pointed at the face of Blacktail Butte. Of which, they were now sitting alongside. It would eventually come to rest over the top of the rear of the tank, where the turbine engine sat.
“Take us in as far as they’ll let us go, Gerry.” He PTT’d before turning back to Edward, shouting over the wind and the whine. “The base commander?”
The younger man nodded vigorously before handing over the handset that was attached to the multiband radio that was tucked away in his vest pouch. David tucked the speaker end into his helmet and against his ear.
“–tify yourself immediately or we will open fire!” A female voice sounded over the radio waves. Her tone was pitched a little higher than what was probably normal due to the stress of the unfolding incident on their end.
“This is the commander of the United States Army main battle tank that is approaching the Jackson Hole Airport. This is a request that you open the gate and have a subordinate available to act as a ground guide for the parking and storage of this vehicle, break,” David relayed loudly before unkeying the mic to take a weary breath, and then he keyed back up. “We are the last remaining members of the Yellowstone National Park Resistance and the One-Sixty-Third Cavalry Regiment’s armor unit. We are here to… surrender in good faith. Out.”
Without another word or waiting for one from the other end, David passed the handset back to his radio telephone operator as Gerry made his right turn down the airport entrance road. Something that was interesting to note was that the road and the mainline of the highway going towards the town was plowed clean. Of course, it was more of a gravel road these days, but it was still interesting to see.
He reached up to engage the PTT again. “Watch for a ground guide or a lead vehicle, Gerry. Follow them.” He told the driver.
There was no reply from the elder and Dave hadn’t expected one at this point.
“I hope we don’t crush any utilities in this big bitch.” Kirby relayed instead.
“It’ll be their fuckin’ problem.” David’s drawl was sharp after initiating the COMMs key.
Thirty-seconds to the gate. Maybe. He didn’t even bother to put his goggles back on. They were going to be in shelter or they were going to get caught in a point-blank gun battle wherever their adversaries decided to stop and confront them. The stinging of the wind-blown snows was not going to change the inevitable one way or another. David simply squeezed his eyes a little bit tighter in an effort to keep from being poked by the icy winds.
David noticed the figures at various intervals as they hit the hundred yard distance from the gate. There was an erected observation tower on the left side; double tiered for a machine-gun emplacement and a lower, enclosed observation level. The top level featured three large figures and two more were down at the base of the tower. The closer that the tank got, the larger the figures on the ground became. Seven, maybe eight feet in height. The taller figures could see along the top edge of the turret’s hull just fine and it would only take another degree or two of angle to look up and into his eyes. But, one thing was always there.
The unsettling sight of retroreflectors: angling the headlights back at them even though they were standing away. Off to the side…
The predatory eyeshine.
Past them and in the middle of the road was an angled, armored truck and a glow of red brake lights as it waited for the newcomers to get closer. Once the distance was satisfied, the occupant turned on the amber hazard lights as an indicator that they were to be followed.
No need to relay the order.
It was when they cleared the gate that David looked over to his left and leveled his sight on the two figures not ten-feet beyond the edge of the hulking vehicle. They were adorned much like he was. Heavily layered in combat clothing, unique patterns of camouflage, and two systems of equipment harnesses set to individual preference. He wouldn’t have noticed if it wasn’t for the fact that their arms had come out of the front of dark over-cloaks. One had their rifle slung and the other had theirs at a low-ready posture. Unlike him, they had clear goggles on. They had balaclavas underneath the straps like his men did.
But, the proportions were wrong.
Jutting.
All they could see was his eyes and short snouts, but the moment fled the trio quickly. David was positioned on the passenger side of the vehicle because the turret was in the reverse and the top-side gunner’s station lanced through their staring contest. The weather-worn CROWS-III mounted Browning machine-gun assembly eventually blocked them out of his field-of-view and forced David to turn back to the task at hand. A damaged Transparent Armored Gun Shield and the commander’s – his – M240 general-purpose machine-gun sat behind him on the right side and prevented those down the opposite end of the fence line from paying much attention to the back of his helmeted skull after their entrance through the gates.
They were already approaching a nearby hangar. He could tell that it was not something that had been built pre-war in the early- to mid-2020s. It was something of their construct. The doors were being wheeled open by two large individuals as the guide eventually stopped just past the edge of the front of the building. Gerry traversed the tank in an arc to the right before swinging it left so that he could come out and away from the entrance before stopping. David could hear the shearing and tearing of the concrete beneath the metal tracks.
The structure lights came on inside when they made for the reversal.
“Reverse and angle right. Right, right… Straighten up. Keep it coming. Plenty of depth inside, Gerry. Good on side spacing!” David instructed over the communications link. “Give us another three-degrees right… about… there! Straighten up! And, stop!”
“Tank, halted! Cooldown to shutdown initiated!” Gerry shouted back.
Sure enough, it took a moment, but the tune of the Honeywell changed and when the man closed his eyes, he could see the screen that was telling him that the “auto cooldown” mode was initiated. It was a mandatory requirement that took place before the vehicle would wind-down with a sound like that of a slowly dying klaxon.
The nerves were starting to set in. He could feel the difference between the shivering from the freezing weather that, while mostly still inside the hangar, had his body wracked and the ones that were creeping in from fear and uncertainty. The man didn’t dare look towards the entrance of the hangar and turned around to hop out of the cupola. He saw Taylor bustle past him: no doubt to set forth with the capture of the main gun barrel with their chains. It didn’t matter to do so, as there was no need to transport the vehicle by the old rail safety metrics, but the pseudo-gun travel lock was doctrinal for them at this point.
David’s attention turned to making the Browning and FN machine-guns safe and getting them covered for the time being. Stained brass casings in belts were removed from the feed trays and uniformly stowed in the ammo cans, chambers were cleared, top covers were slammed shut, and the bolts were dropped on those empty chambers. The ammunition guide on the CROWS was the bigger pain-in-the-ass to deal with. Pushing the frozen links back down into the container, David managed to waste enough time to finally hear the engine spooling down. Only when it was off did he disengage the clasp on his helmet and remove it: setting the CVC system down in the commander’s hatch. The rumble and residual sound still echoed throughout his body regardless, but now he could finally hear the rest of the world’s proceedings and the sharpness of the tattered tarps that he threw over the two support weapons.
Boot sounds reverberated throughout the building as his men shuffled around the hull of the tank. The crew was popping out of their hatches while Edward and Taylor were over the edge, pounding around the vehicle to gather their rucksacks from off of what remained of the tile armor that was stacked in rows over the hull of the tank. David began unhooking four of them that had been hung off the driver’s side of the turret before dropping them down onto the pile that had been created by his friend. The ones that were hung on the back of the turret could wait.
Truth be told, there was a weight lifted off of his shoulders. It had taken them several days to make it out of the Tower Junction area at the northern end of the Yellowstone. There had been several close calls for the group while trying to plow through Dunraven Pass just so that they could make it back down to Bridge Bay: where the tank had been stashed the summer prior. The man was glad that it was over even though they were starting a new and possibly more dangerous chapter in the novel of their lives.
David took a moment to look down through the commander’s hatch again; gathering himself one last time while contemplating on pulling his rifle out of the cabin.
In the end, he shook his head and left the FN Herstal in the small arms cradle. There was no sense delaying the inevitable, so he turned to face the demon that had haunted them throughout their entire lives. He stood up fully and walked over the rear of the turret to drop onto the front of the hull, seeing that Gerry Morris was waiting for him not off the front of the vehicle, and felt the searing pain in his knees when he landed on the concrete below.
Ignoring the waiting welcoming party, David walked up and faced the final senior leader that they had in their unit. The two men took enough of a moment to remove their balaclavas. Dave couldn’t help but reach up and pull at his beard to straighten it back out a bit.
“Are you sure that I can’t change your mind?” He wondered quietly, looking Gerry dead in the eye. “See if they can help?”
“They don’t have anything for me.” The elder growled, looking down to take his gloves off before sticking his hand out.
David nodded once and shook his friend’s hand. Gerry had been like that of a second father after his own had been killed in an ambush only a couple of years back now. Without another word, they turned in opposite directions. Gerry angled towards the door and began limping his way outside. Dave had moved towards the tank again to go dig out his rucksack from the haphazardly dismounted pile. There was a lump forming in his throat and it was only made worse by finding that Kirby and Taylor were standing there, looking right through him behind their own balaclavas, as he pulled his bag up over his shoulder. Their weapons were slung and they had other gear in their hands.
“You know what to do.” His voice rasped out. The two men nodded firmly in response.
Before David could turn around to face his portion of their mission, he heard a female scream from outside of the front of the hangar. A single, dulled crack of a pistol being discharged rang out across the parking plaza. He squeezed his eyes shut, quickly crossing himself, before pulling on a mask of determination. He turned around to make his approach with who he assumed was the base commander.
He whipped his right arm towards the door, as if throwing a baseball, to indicate that his men should proceed.
This was the first time that they were going to be in close, but peaceful proximity with their enemies. The reality standing before him was that he was going to be negotiating from a position of weakness with an anthropomorphic adversary. And, the wolf was turning back towards him with a clear look of shock written on its face. The approach was quick and he studiously ignored his compatriots as they went past his peripheral.
He stopped in front of the wolf.
Wolves.
Anthros.
David took note that everything that he had been taught up until now was weighted more in the truth.
The sight of them made his mouth drier than it already had been.
Five females and four of them were the base commander’s security detail. They were caught somewhere between shock, mortification, confusion, and that tell-tale hair-trigger of tension. The furthest one on the commander’s right was not in a position where she couldn’t see past her compatriots to gather what had happened. She had her weapon held a little higher than David would have liked because of it. If she squeezed, she would undoubtedly zip his kneecaps. And, clearly, she didn’t like his proximity given the fact that he was armed with two sidearms and a combat blade.
He realized that this was the first time in his life that he actually had to look upwards to address someone since having reached adulthood.
The man’s gaze erred to his right with enough longevity to take note that his friends were wrapping Gerry Morris’s upper torso with a poncho so that it could be tightly secured with rope or bungee cords. They would eventually bring him in behind the tank to rest for the night.
“My name is David Fuller and I am the acting-staff sergeant of this unit.” He introduced himself tightly.
The female raised a hand to halt the process momentarily.
Gloved. Not unlike his own.
“Why did that man do that?” The anthro asked.
He could hear a tinge of sadness in her inquiry.
“Captain Gerry Morris was ate up with some form of bone cancer, Ma’am. Had been for several years now.” He responded a little more respectfully than he had expected of himself.
“We could have helped with that.” She indicated.
“I have a file for you.” He said before turning to take a knee. Allowing his pack to slide off his shoulder so that he could unzip and pull out what he was looking for.
If the guard fired now, he would probably eat the round through his ear canal.
Dave stood back up with a cautious effort and offered the heavily creased manilla folder to the wolf.
Wolfess?
She took the folder and opened it. One of her guards stepped forward and turned sideways next to the commander. Possibly to act as a buffer so that the wind didn’t catch the stapled papers and whisk them away.
The folder’s distraction allowed for him to take in the fact that the group was wearing their own military’s standardized camouflage patterns. However, the lapels of the blouses were adorned with his own country’s military ranking structure. The base commander was wearing the eagles of a colonel to signify that they had an equivalent and respective structure of commissioned officers. The others were tabbed as low-ranked enlisted. United States Army emblems, to be precise.
The file inside of said folder was telling the anthro a story of ‘why’ his former captain, a real one from pre-war and the old Armed Forces, would never have ever considered taking help or aid from the State. It was an Intelligence, Surveillance, and Reconnaissance report about an event that happened in the earlier years of the war. How a small town’s populace had been slaughtered by a wayward anthro unit and how the man’s wife and three daughters had been purged in the process during Morris's deployment to eastern Kansas.
The UCAV that had been overhead had taken plenty of footage and still imagery of the event. Several photos were included in said folder.
She shut it after another minute of reading.
“I see…” She said with an uneasy breath. “I am Colonel Kelsey Shaw,”
Dave squinted at that just for a moment. It was a thought to file away for later.
“I understand that your unit is offering an unconditional surrender. Is that correct?”
“No. It is not. We are here offering a conditional surrender. The current condition is that my unit is allowed to retain our small arms – in a peaceful manner – to combat any attacks from the local wildlife. I believe you refer to them as ‘ferals’.” He clarified with a sharp and firm tone. “If it is not something that is agreeable, then I would ask that you provide us with a couple of vehicles and enough fuel to allow for our departure. And, we will trade you our fancy, but well used mobile cannon.”
“And, if not?”
“Then, hold a military tribunal right now and execute us for waging an insurrection against the State.”
“That isn’t an option.”
“Yeah…” He drawled while his empty right hand reached up to push his hair back against his scalp. “Gerry did say that that was going to be the response…”
David turned enough to watch his two friends extremity-carry the now cooling corpse of Gerry Morris into the hangar. And, the other two men were standing in flanking positions near each side of the Abrams with their rifles at low-ready.
“Well, Colonel. If I whistle, you and I are going to be two conjoined assholes standing smack dab in the middle of one helluva firefight. If we can’t leave and you won’t let us roam armed, then we’ll requisition this structure for our living quarters while having a Mexican stand-off with you from across your own parking lot.”
There was a flicker of notes being added to her own mental rolodex. He could see that much transpire in real time. What little power that David did wield was the knowledge that the weather was probably keeping flights grounded in their portion of Wyoming. The State's supplies were probably being trucked in from the south. He suspected. But, only she knew for sure. That meant it would likely be a very bad day for any anthros who were wounded this far out in the woods: if the base didn’t have advanced medical capabilities, a couple of top-notch medical officers, and possibly even a surgeon.
“Will you at least agree to leave the rifles with the tank?” Colonel Shaw asked finally.
“Trust is earned.” He replied, indicating in the negative. “But, in good faith, I left mine behind. They won’t.”
There was a tighter squint at the corner of the female’s eyes and it was not missed by a country mile. His brow knitted a little tighter with a level of controlled anger; despite the rising pressure in the emotion itself. He almost whipped the line at her. The one that inferred that dying in open combat with feral packs would have been more honorable, in the scheme of Mother Nature’s order, than being subjugated by anthros.
But, without a raising in the older and broader human society, the painting of venom on his face was clear for all of the wolves to see. What the human hadn’t realized was that he had gone so far as to even bare his teeth at them in response to her minute expression. They could see what he was not paying attention to. The heave of hot exhalation surrounded the man’s facial features for a fraction of a second before it was blown away by the winds of the broader Rocky Mountain range.
“Alright.” The wolfess responded carefully. “Is there anything else?”
And, just like that, the hostility – internally recognized or not – was shelved as if it had fallen away with the snows.
“Two of my men need medical care. If you have the supplies to spare, I ask that my team be allowed to requisition what is necessary to keep them from infection and sickness.”
“You’ll be allowed to shower before heading to the infirmary unless it’s a pressing issue. For cleanliness’s sake.” Shaw said, extending past the agreement. “However, we do not have a building to billet your men right now. So, I hope the cafeteria will do for the time being.”
“That will be fine. Thank you, Colonel. Other than that, they can wait to eat at first call in the morning. No need to wake the cooks up again just for five people.”
“They will appreciate that,” The anthro admitted with a nod. “Well, let’s get out of the weather. You and I can debrief in the morning after you’re rested and fed. I’ll have Sergeant Parks and her security detail tuck you all in for the night. And, Sergeant. You will be under guard.”
“We’ll have a watchman, too.” David replied just as matter-of-factly.
Eyes followed the Colonel as she turned and began hoofing-it across the plaza to get inside: apparently satisfied with the amicable meeting. The other wolves didn’t move to follow her, though, and the man turned to walk over to his own group.
“Kirbs! Help Ronnie. I’ll take those bags.” David indicated before helping his two wounded friends unsling their gear.
Once they were squared away, David merged his crew in with the anthro guard back outside of the main door. It was promptly shut behind them by two of the other relatively unseen support personnel. None of them missed the fact that the female who had screamed out earlier was still being consoled by another soldier nearby to where Gerry had fallen.
“The fuck is she crying for?” Eddie asked.
Before Dave could reprimand his subordinate, the one who he assumed was Sergeant Parks spoke up. “We all have a soft spot for men. Some are just softer hearted than others.”
Neither of the team leaders missed the sound of the man’s derisive snort, but neither of them commented on it nor did the man offer further verbal commentary.
David was not sure if she had meant their men or human men, though. Or, maybe, a collective total of all men.
Another consideration to file away for later.
The rest of the team was too busy being relieved by the fact that the doors to the headquarters building had opened to a very warm and inviting environment. Even if the brightness of the hallway and concourse lights left them all a little bleary in the eyes.
The only sounds that echoed through the area was the thumping of heavy-soled boots on the tile floors. Of course, David could hear other sounds from down hallways and in offices. The sounds of other work being done by unseen anthros on a nightshift possibly. It was a short and unceremonious tour to make it to the place where the anthros had their cafeteria and the overhead lights had to be turned, which was an indication that nobody was around to staff it. Which made sense.
“Drop your stuff in the corner. I will have Corporal Inwood organize the cots here while you’re seen by the medical staff.” Parks indicated.
“Alright. Change of clothes, fellas. And, you two…” David pointed to Edward and Taylor. “Take those balaclavas off. You’re not menacing this crew by a long shot.”
The two men grinned under the hoods before taking off their Kevlar helmets and peeling the navy blue articles away.
“Curiosity killed the cat.” Eddie muttered.
“Yeah, well I haven’t seen one of those yet, so shut the fuck up!” David countered firmly. “Change of clothes. Drop your non-essentials. Let’s go!”
He could see it in all of the younger men. The exhaustion. How the warmth was seeping into their bodies and causing their wounds to flare with those white lances of pain. Of course, he could feel his own issues as the weight of the bags fell right into the soles of his feet and the shift of his body armor agitated portions of skin that were pinched under wet fabric across his torso. The socks were wet, too. David just hoped that it was snowmelt and not leaking blood making the squishing noises. There was probably going to be skin that would slough-off due to strain of the carried loads on uneven terrains.
The chest harness for the man’s bear-gun had to come off before the individual body armor kit and David tucked the strapped assembly into the neck portion of the vest. There was no need for two sidearms inside of the facility and it would put the anthros at ease to see the leader of the human group showing that much trust for their kind. He was catching glares from Kirby and Ron, but a stoic visual served well to bounce those unspoken sentiments right off of him.
He knew what they wanted of him even though he hid the IBA beneath their baggage.
David couldn’t help but disassociate from reality when his second- and third-in-command roughly shoved the anthros away from the shower-room with a hateful vigor.
The flat-side of their old Army-issued weapons being used like the staff of herders to keep their old enemy from appropriating the proximity that would allow their oversight of the humans while they cleansed their bodies of the dirt, grime, and previous cases of bloodletting.
He, the Shepard, had to go first and under guard to keep the predators away from the Flock. Despite the fact that they were his Flock by technicality.
He heard it in the urgency of their wounded in the medical wing later on. How his youngest member of the team requested that he, himself, put a bullet in his head first if the congregation of anthros rushed to disarm them all.
Disarmed and laying on the table while they worked on his shredded feet.
Taylor had been the most open to the compromise. The most vocal to it.
But, he was not even the most wounded.
Ronnie had been attacked by a black bear. A feral that had taken a chunk out of his thigh before they had made it over the Divide. There had been fear of it being infected with rabies considering the elevation and lack of hibernation from said encounter.
There was no helping the nervous twitching across David’s face while he watched his friend as the anthros began shaving off the gangrenous portions of flesh before the anesthetics had even set in.
Ron’s fist and hips slammed down on the metal table repeatedly while David’s hand hovered over the butt of the pistol that was holstered on his belt.
The man was fucking screaming.
“Hold him still, godsdammit!” The medic shouted over it all.
“Stay back! Stay back! You fucking savages!” Eddie’s own terror cracked over her voice even as he held the security detail at gunpoint.
Eventually, David followed the orders of the surgeon, despite the taste of iron in the air around them, and let his guard down. He had his left side laid as flat over the younger man’s torso as he could to keep the man down on the table. A sidelong glance illuminated the reality that there was a considerable portion of flesh that was being sawed off and that was all it took to whip his eyes back to Ron’s.
It was a slab of flesh, pure and simple. Discolored and stinking of rot.
All of his leadership was gone.
A father’s years of guidance fled him as Ron Hathaway begged for David to do something. Anything.
It was worse than the moments after the attack itself and that had only been a few days prior.
“Jesus, Dave! … AGH! Justfuckingshootmenow! fuuUCK!”
Another glance caught sight of how crowded the room had become. The collective caterwauling had brought forth more of the base security and even others. Support personnel who were watching with their hands over their mouths in the entryway of the double-swing doors nearby.
Weeping.
Shocked by the scene and fearful of the rifle that was being waved around in their faces. And, a couple of them were having a shouting match between themselves and Eddie. Mediating. An attempt at keeping the peace between both sides.
“Hold still, Ron! Fucking hold still!” Kirby shouted from somewhere nearby. “You’re going to be OK!”
David’s lips were pulled back and wide. Not even noticing that the pressure of desperation was dripping through his teeth and down onto his friend’s neck. Saliva that was forgotten to be swallowed while his whole strength was being used to control his friend.
The surgeon hit another bundle of nerves and it set off a level of fear-driven fury through David that he hadn’t ever previously experienced. There was a reversal of air from his friend. A long moment of desperation and hope that the intake of oxygen, into sore lungs, would stop all of the pain. The ghastly, reversed screaming took a new tempo.
And, that was what finally brought forth his own lack of composure.
“Jesus Christ, Doc! Put him out!” David bellowed, watching as the color drained from Ronnie’s face in his throes of agony.