Jagged Feathers

Bullets ricocheted off the Humvee. Hatred spewed from the ends of M16 rifles. Shouting erupted from inside and outside the vehicle. A faceless driver screamed, “We’re goin’ in! Hold on!”

Boom!

The lumbering vehicle veered sharply to the left.

A deafening explosion sent pieces of metal and body parts flying. The unmistakable acrid sting of ammonia and gunpowder filled the air. Curses, screams of terror and agony burst from open mouths. Sightless eyes stared. “Oh, God!” Pain ripped through his body. “Sam? Oh, God! Please, no!”

His heart pounding in full fight or flight mode, Vann Noble jerked awake. He sprang from the bed only to collapse back onto the sweat-soaked sheets.

He clapped his hands over his ears. “Stop!” Sucking air deep into his lungs, he fought to regain control.

Champion jumped onto the bed and whimpered, then licked his hand. The part German Shepherd, part Border Collie, had an extraordinary sense of empathy.

Vann switched on the table lamp and scratched behind the dog’s ear with a shaky hand. “I’ll be okay, boy.” Champion rewarded him with a sloppy wet kiss on the cheek. They were two of a kind. Champion’s missing right ear and scars that ran deep along the right side of his body bore an uncanny resemblance to the ones Vann carried on the left side of his body.

“Dammit!” Why did it always have to be the same nightmare? Each as real as the day it’d happened. When would it end, and the constant noise inside his head stop? And when would he adjust to not having two legs to support him?

He wiped sweat from his brow, blew out a long breath, and massaged the throbbing stump where his left leg used to be. The doctors had explained all about phantom pain, that the body still believed the limb was there. But it wasn’t and never would be. The blast that ripped the Humvee in half and took the life of his best friend made sure of that.

Four o’clock on the dot. The same as yesterday and the yesterdays that stretched backward for the past many months.

Might as well get up.

He reached for a lightweight metal prosthetic and, after slipping on a thick stocking, attached it to the stump, thankful once again that the blast had taken the leg below the knee instead of higher up.

A loaded 9mm Glock on his nightstand reflected in the low lamplight. One bullet would end this relentless nightmare. Just one.

If you can’t find a reason to live, then find a reason not to die. The VA counselor’s words echoed.

Champion nuzzled his hand with a wet nose. He let out a low whine and blinked sad brown eyes.

“Looks like you’re that reason, ol’ boy.” He owed it to Champion to stick around. The dog had shown up on his front porch, starving and wounded. He gave Vann a much-needed purpose.

Coffee. He needed a good strong cup of coffee.

With trembling hands, he pulled on sweatpants and a tee, his heartbeat slowing. His gaze landed on a white stone with the strange symbol carved into it lying in a crystal bowl on his dresser.

Rena Jett’s words when she handed it to him on her wedding day still echoed. I’ve found my happy ending. Now it’s your turn, Vann. Sam would want it.

Must be crazy to consider for a minute that the stone held some magical powers.

His metal foot clicked against the wooden floor as he headed to the kitchen with Champion padding alongside.

He poured dog food into Champion’s bowl and tossed the empty bag into the burn pile, then reached for the coffee container. Shit! He’d have to go to town—only enough for one more pot.

Dread crawled up his spine. He hated going to town most of all. Too many curious people. Too many noises, and too many cars. But he’d have to do it.

A few minutes later, he leaned against the wooden railing on the long narrow porch that ran across the back of the cabin. The waxing moon reflected silver rays off the treetops. Many nights he’d stood on foreign soil and took comfort from the same moon that shimmered over the country for which he fought.

The coffee cup warmed his hands while the brown elixir settled his insides. His skin prickled as a cool fall breeze gusted around him rustling the tree branches that shaded the cabin. He was alive. That made him one of the lucky ones. Or did it? At times he doubted. It was all a matter of perspective.

He shoved a hand through his shoulder-length brown hair. Nine months out of the military, and he hardly resembled the soldier he’d been.

The brush near the creek crackled, and Champion sprang to all fours, a growl leaving his throat.

A whitetail deer stepped out of the thicket, followed by two more.

Vann put a restraining hand on Champion’s back. “It’s okay, buddy.”

Man and dog didn’t move a muscle until the deer scampered back into the thicket.

The simplistic beauty of nature helped soothe his ragged, war-torn soul and body. Finding this cabin and the quiet solitude it provided had been nothing short of a godsend.

Wolf Creek ran deep a few hundred yards behind the log cabin. Cottonwood, cedar, and elm trees intermixed with thick underbrush lined the sloping grassy banks. Nothing could have been more suited for his much-needed recuperation.

He turned to go inside with Champion close at his heels. “We need to get headed into town, boy.”

Champion whined.

“I know. I don’t like it either, but you’re out of food, and I’m out of coffee.” He rubbed the dog’s head. “We’ll go before most folks climb out of bed, but first I need a shower.”

The spray of water over his head warmed his skin and rinsed away any remnants from the recurring nightmare.

Taking the time to spread fresh sheets on the bed and toss the sweat-soaked ones into the washer. By six a.m., Vann nosed the jeep down the country lane toward the main highway, with Champion perched beside him.

Vann and crowds of people didn’t mix. They sucked all the oxygen out of the room, making it difficult to draw a breath. Military doctors had labeled them as panic attacks. To Vann, it represented weakness, and that was unacceptable. So, he tried to avoid situations that triggered them.

The military had a moniker for everything. TBI (Traumatic Brain Injury) was a term they’d used to describe the ringing noise in his head. Doctors assured Vann it would lessen with time. Some days he doubted them.

A handful of bleary-eyed truckers sat inside the Traveler’s Truck Stop as Vann pushed through the door. He chose a table near the front window with his jeep and Champion in plain sight.

Once, he’d tried bringing him in, but the owner said only service dogs were allowed. Little did he know, Champion was more than a service dog. He was his lifeline.

He devoured the sausage and eggs when they came, then ordered two sausage biscuits for Champion, who sat at focused attention in the front seat like a well-trained soldier guarding the jeep. The dog didn’t miss the tiniest movement. Whoever trained him had done an excellent job. But then what? Did the owner die, not want him anymore, or hurt him in a fit of anger? Whatever the answer, Champion’s fighting spirit and intelligence went far beyond normal.

Vann paid for their breakfast and stepped out into the chilly early morning air.

Cedar Springs, Texas, wasn’t a big town, but big enough to suit Vann. This time of the day, it was practically deserted—a plus.

Once he’d finished making the necessary purchases at the only grocery store open that time of morning, he turned onto Main street and slowed.

He passed Marge’s Flower Shop, where he peddled his nature art.

A movement behind him caught his eye in the rearview mirror. A woman sprinted down the sidewalk as if she were running from the devil himself.

Curious, Vann slowed even more. He reached under the seat for his pistol, the cold steel reassuring against his palm. He then pulled into a parking spot in front of the local drugstore. His military training kicked in.

Survey the area. The enemy could be anyone. His breath hitched.

The woman covered the blocks, growing closer. A dark-colored backpack flapped against her back, and her boots pounded the pavement.

Vann squinted and focused on her face. Sheer terror registered. It was a look he’d seen on more faces than he cared to remember. But he’d never seen that look on a more strikingly beautiful face. Her actions raised more questions than answers.

He eased the jeep door open. Champion yipped. “Stay,” Vann warned.

Every muscle taut, Vann stepped onto the sidewalk and stuck his gun in the back of his pants.

When he made eye contact, the mysterious woman let out a whimper, turned, and sprinted back in the direction she’d come.

“Damn!” What or who in the hell was she running from? Vann turned in a full circle to find no one else in sight. Maybe she’d stolen something.

One thing he understood, without any doubt—the woman was terrified.

Should he go after her?

He’d best mind his own business, although that was hard to do when someone was in trouble.

He strode back to the jeep and climbed in. Instead of heading for home, he drove in the direction she ran. His trained eye swept both sides of the street but detected nothing out-of-place other than the sprinting woman.

He shrugged. Oh well. Might as well leave her be.

Ready to turn back toward the highway, he flipped on the blinker, then let out a sharp gasp when the woman suddenly collapsed.

“Shit!” He jammed the gear into park and rushed toward her, pistol drawn.

“Ma’am?” He approached with caution. When she didn’t respond, he knelt beside her and touched her shoulder. “Hey, lady. Are you all right?”

Still no response. He stuffed the pistol in his belt and turned her over. She had a pulse, and there were no signs of blood. Drugs? Maybe.

Champion joined him. He sniffed the woman and licked her cheek.

The woman moaned and attempted to stand. “I’ve got to get out of here! They’re coming,” she mumbled.

“Who’s coming?”

She crumpled against him.

“I’m taking you to the hospital.” Vann supported her head with his arm.

Her dark eyes fluttered open. “No, please. No hospital.”

Vann took the opportunity to examine her eyes. No sign of dilated or pinpoint pupils. That ruled out drugs. “Lady, you obviously need medical attention. Want me to call an ambulance?” He dug his cell phone out of his pocket.

“No,” she cried. “Please!” She suffered through a prolonged rattling cough.

“Who in the hell is chasing you?” Vann helped her sit up.

She looked around wildly and tried to push to her feet. “Oh, God! I can’t let them get me.”

“Who?” Vann brushed her long dark hair out of her face. “You were running to beat the devil.”

She coughed again. “Please,” she rasped. “No hospital. I can’t. People die there.”

“Yes, and people also get well there. Is there somewhere else I can take you, then?”

“I have nowhere,” she whispered and closed her eyes.

“Shit! I won’t just leave you here on the street like this. You must have family or friends. Someplace you can be safe. Or I can take you to the nearest police station.”

“No!” Her chest rattled with each exhale, and another coughing fit left her breathless.

Vann glanced up at the sound of a vehicle. A black SUV slowly approached from several blocks away. His gut clenched, and the hair rose on the back of his neck. He had to do something—and quick.

“Okay. That’s it. You’re going to the hospital, like it or not.” He pushed to his feet and helped her up.

She coughed again and leaned heavily on his arm.

“That’s my jeep over there.”

Vann slipped her backpack off and lifted her onto the seat, glad for his determination to stay in excellent physical shape following his rehab. She hardly weighed anything. He tossed the backpack onto the floorboard, and Champion jumped in.

One thing for sure, this woman was no ordinary street person with her fancy inlaid boots and soft leather jacket.

Only two blocks away, the black SUV approached faster.

He met her dark eyes, pools of sadness and despair, when she gripped his hand. “Please, mister. You can’t take me to a hospital. They’ll find me there.”

Vann sprinted to the driver’s side, keeping an eye on the approaching vehicle now only a block away. The hairs on his arms stood on end like they always did when in enemy territory.

Time to move. He jammed the gears, and tires squealed as he made a U-turn, meeting the SUV head-on.

The window on the driver’s side lowered, and the unmistakable glint of blue metal sent him sailing down a side street. But not before a bullet whizzed by the jeep, missing its target.

“Oh, hell! Get down,” he yelled.

A sharp turn down a deserted alleyway put him closer to the highway. He pressed on the gas.

With one eye on the rearview mirror, he took fast zigzag turns until he reached the main road.

He’d lost them. But questions flew around his head like a swarm of angry bees.

A glance at his passenger and Champion assured him they were both safe. He slowed and put a hand on the woman’s arm. “If you won’t let me take you to the hospital or the police, what in the hell do you want me to do?”

Her bottom lip quivered. “Take me with you.” Another round of coughing left her gasping for air. She leaned against the back of the seat with her eyes closed.

“Damn, damn, damn!” The last thing he needed was a sick female to tend, even if she was beautiful.

She had problems. Problems he didn’t need. Problems that could swallow him.

If you can’t find a reason to live, then find a reason not to die.

His conscience wouldn’t let him abandon her. But as soon as she recovered enough to talk, he had to have some answers. There must be somewhere safe for her to go. But for now, that appeared to be his cabin.

He blew out an audible sigh and turned the jeep toward home.