The sharp crackle of gunfire cuts through the darkness, bringing me back to my senses. My brain feels like it’s swimming in a thick, viscous fog. Groaning, I roll over onto my stomach, almost puking from the agony in my skull. Where’s Jackson? What happened? We were out on patrol and then… Fuck! Ignoring the throbbing in my head, I begin crawling on the sand, away from the gunfire. My whole body hurts, the sand particles pelting my eyes and filling my lungs. I feel like I’m made of sand, my skin ready to dissolve and blow away in the harsh, stinging wind. More gunfire, then a pained cry. Fear squeezes my chest. “Jackson?” “I’m hit.” Jackson’s voice is filled with shock. “Oh, fuck, Kent, they got me.” “Hang on.” I crawl back toward the gunfire, dragging my useless rifle. I ran out of ammo five minutes after we were ambushed, but I don’t want to leave the weapon for the hostiles.
