Downfall

[firebreathingfishies]

I've posted too much in here I promise this will be the last thread I make in here for a while

This is just going to be the one chapter, no reams and reams of wandering around a wreckage etc. I just typed it up a few hours ago and was pretty proud of the outcome. Let me know what you think

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He watched a small insect scuttle over his fingers. It was a spider, but his mind didn’t really process that detail properly. Thankfully it disappeared without biting him. Little did he know that if it did bite him, he would have been dead within a couple of hours. But again, fortunately, he must not have appeared to be that appetizing covered in blood and dirt.

A bird cawed out nearby. The unfamiliar and sudden sound made him jerk suddenly and his body screamed out in pain. A moment later and he yelled out himself. The arm that had just been crawled over by an incredibly deadly spider was badly broken. It felt like there was cracked glass under his skin. He rolled onto his relatively uninjured side and clutched his mangled arm to his chest. He opened his eyes and through his tears the brilliant sunlight blinded him. More sounds began to reach him; sounds that he hadn’t been fully aware of before. The sound of a whining engine, and the even more distinct sound of screaming. The smell of burning filled the air.

Mitchell Stambler didn’t have time to be injured. He managed to get up onto his knees, however it took great effort. Various different pains shot through his system and he groaned out. No time to be injured though. There would only be time to complain if he got moving. If he stayed where he was he would be dead within minutes.

Stambler got unsteadily to his feet. The uneven surface of the sand beneath his boots made him stumble, but he quickly regained his balance. The sun was beating down heavily on his shaved head, making the blood that covered his face feel almost cool in comparison. He tried to figure out what the hell had happened, but his mind wasn’t allowing him to have proper control.

A woman was shrieking somewhere. It was an awful sound, and Stambler wished she would shut the hell up. It was hard enough trying to think without that hindering his efforts. Clutching his arm to his chest, he staggered towards the flaming wreckage.

‘Johnson!’ he yelled, despite the stinging in his throat. ‘Harkley!’

Only agonising screams responded. Stambler made his way to the carnage and looked around wildly. To the right of him a woman was writhing on the floor, her torso up in flames. Two other men were frantically trying to put it out. Stambler moved away from them, only concerned about one thing. A man sprinted past, calling out in a language he could not understand. Again Stambler ignored him.

‘Johnson! Harkley!’

He was grabbed quite suddenly. A new pain shot up his arm from the sudden grip there, and he snapped his head around to the frantic woman. She was screaming and shrieking at him in the same language as the man who had just passed him. Her veil was burnt and singed and her dark eyes were wild with terror. Stambler shoved her off him forcefully.

‘Get the hell out of here, lady,’ he barked at her. ‘It’s dangerous, okay?’

The woman continued to scream at him. Stambler shoved her again, causing her to fall back into the sand. He didn’t have time for hysterical locals. He left her shrieking after him and delved into the chaos. After a minute or so he recognised a pair of Army-Issue boots poking out of the burning wreckage. Immediately he ran to them and grabbed them, hauling despite the searing heat on his face and the agony of his broken arm.

Eventually he managed to get the man a safe distance away from the wreckage. The left side of his face was badly burnt and his clothes were singed. Despite this, Stambler slapped him twice.

‘Harkley!’ he yelled at the bloodied man. ‘Can you hear me? Harkley?’

The man lying on the sand was no older than twenty. His eyes opened groggily and he looked up at Stambler. He blinked, and then his face contorted as the pain reached him. He screamed out, arms and back arching. Stambler pushed him back down and shook his head.

‘Keep still, Harkley, you’ll be fine. Where’s Johnson?’

The young man looked down at his burnt body and moaned. ‘Oohh…. Oh my God…’

‘Harkley, snap out of it.’ Stambler ordered. ‘Where’s Johnson? What the hell happened?’

Harkley let out a high pitched sob and shook his head. ‘I… Johnson went up man… He… He was burning…’ Another sob escaped him. ‘That guy came out of nowhere! He… he ran right into us and… and…’

Stambler nodded and shushed him. ‘It’s okay. It’s okay. The medics will be here any minute, okay? Hold on.’

Stambler left the young solider lying on the ground sobbing and went to inspect the damage that used to be their patrol car. By now it was just a burning shell. The bomber had run right into them. The area was supposed to be secure.

As he watched the fire danced, Stambler wondered why the hell he had signed up to this in the first place. A woman walked up to him calmly and put a hand on his shoulder. He turned and frowned at her.

‘Sir.’ She said, the bottom of her face concealed with a veil.

‘You speak English?’ Stambler demanded, turning to her.

‘Sir, are you okay sir?’ she asked.

Stambler frowned. He began to feel disorientated. ‘What?’

* * * * *

‘Sir?’ The airhostess was looking at him worriedly, her soft hand placed on his shoulder. ‘Are you okay sir?’

Stambler blinked at her, disorientated from his deep sleep. He rubbed his face with the palm of his hand and managed a nod. ‘Yeah… Yeah I’m okay.’ He looked at her in puzzlement, wondering why she had woken him.

‘You were talking in your sleep.’ The airhostess smiled. ‘I thought you might want to be woken.’

Stambler nodded, casting a brief glance around him. A couple of people were looking at him curiously, but they looked away when he caught them. He glanced back to the airhostess and nodded again. ‘Thank you, ma’am.’

‘Would you like a drink?’

‘Please. Something strong.’

Obediently, the airhostess headed away. Stambler ran his fingers through his short hair and glanced around again. A middle-eastern man sat across the aisle, hands clasped in his lap and staring forward intently. Stambler briefly narrowed his eyes, and then looked away.

He journeyed back to Iraq every time he slept, reliving the horrors of his three years stationed there. He normally woke up dishevelled and disorientated, and slightly shaken. He always had to have a drink. He wondered where the hostess had gotten to with his drink. She returned with two small bottles of whiskey and he took them gratefully. Her eyes lingered over the right side of his face for a few moments, they way everyone’s eyes did, before she smiled and moved away. Stambler watched her go and then unscrewed the lid off the first small bottle. He was only halfway through pouring it in the plastic tumbler when he heard a young voice pipe up from beside him.

‘What happened to your face, mister?’

Stambler glanced up, surprised, to the young round face peering over the top of the seat in front of him. The child’s eyes were round and curious. Stambler felt a familiar cringe. He didn’t like kids.

‘Walt!’ the man from beside the child said abruptly. ‘Hey man, that isn’t cool.’ The man glanced over to Stambler looking embarrassed. ‘I’m sorry man.’

Stambler half smiled and nodded. ‘It’s okay.’ he replied. He watched the kid move out of sight. He frowned in a way that showed that he wasn’t used to not getting his own way. Stambler didn’t say anything else. He tried to tune out the man quietly scolding his son.

His hand touched the right side of his face briefly, to be met not with smooth skin but a rough and uneven area. Stambler quickly knocked back the whiskey and opened the second bottle. He didn’t like to be reminded of the huge, disfiguring scar that covered about 40% of his face, but it was hard to avoid it. Especially around kids.

The plane cabin shook, causing some of the whiskey to slop over the side. Frowning, Stambler drank the remainder before it had a chance to escape also. He enjoyed the burning sensation as the liquid slipped down his throat, however he couldn’t enjoy it for long. The cabin shuddered again, and this time the airhostess came over the loudspeaker and told everyone to fasten their seatbelts. Stambler glanced down to see his was already fastened, but he couldn’t remember fastening it. He peered out of the window beside him, trying to focus on his destination. Focus on the future, not the past. There were too many things in the past that were haunting him.

The plane shuddered once again. Stambler was expecting it to stop quickly but it didn’t. Instead, it dipped quite suddenly. Stambler gripped the armrests, knowing from experience that this wasn’t just regular turbulence, and that the plane would not likely recover from such a sudden dip. He looked out the window to see where exactly they were. Over the ocean. Not a particularly good sign. However the fact that they were still plummeting wasn’t a good sign either.

The other passengers screamed as a groaning, metallic sound filled the air. The gas masks dropped from the ceiling and Stambler quickly pulled his on. Gripping onto this armrests, he looked around. The middle-eastern man had his own gas mask pressed against his face, still staring ahead intently. In front of him, the man and his son were gripping each other tightly; the man’s hand firmly holding on the boy’s gasmask.

The front end of the plane ripped off, sucking out passengers and luggage alike. Stambler closed his eyes and smiled. Perhaps he wouldn’t have to wait until he got home after all. He wouldn’t have to die at his own hands. That would be one less thing to taint his soul with.