His ears were ringing and his vision was blurry as he crawled through the tiny window of the burning humvee now lying upside-down. His muscles ached and the sweat mixed with blood and sand burned, but he paid it no mind. He breathed heavily as he scanned the area, his sights stopping on the totaled enemy vehicle no more than twenty yards away.
His blood boiling, he reached back through the window of the humvee and grabbed his M4A1 Carbine rifle, immediately loading it with a 30-round magazine. All sounds seemed to cease as he acted almost unconciously, approaching the enemy vehicle with clenched teeth.
The next thing he knew, he was dragging the battered form of a man out of the vehicle, tossing him violently onto the sand in front of him. His mind was all but blacked out with rage to the point that he barely registered the man's desperate pleas for mercy. Without thinking, he raised his rifle and pointed it directly at the man on the ground, his hand gripping tightly around the rail of the weapon. He felt nothing as he tightened his finger against the trigger and fired.
...
Jared Cross jolted awake with a loud gasp. His hair was drenched in a cold sweat and the hairs on his arms were standing up as the image of the nightmare continued to flash before his eyes. It took him a moment to examine his surroundings and remember where he was.
The morning sunlight was starting to seep through the curtains of the cheap motel room. He glanced over at the attractive, young blonde fast asleep at his side, the blanket lying haphazardly across her body. As his heart continued to race, Jared thought back to the events of last night, barely remembering picking her up at the bar. He did not remember much after that - hell, he could not even remember her name - but judging by her content, unconscious breathing, he guessed it must have been good for her.
Jared sat up on the edge of the bed, groaning and rubbing his head to suppress the lingering hangover and the dramatic scenes of his dream. He thought he was done reliving these memories. It had been more than a year since he had left the Marine Corps. After seven years of active duty, enlisting right out of high school, it had been a drastic change when he was suddenly released, and the PTSD had not been kind.
Jared reached over and grabbed his phone off the bedside table. The clock said 7:15 in the morning. He stood up and lumbered over to the small bathroom, kicking the young woman's clothes out of the way. He locked the bathroom door behind him and flipped on the lights and the obnoxiously loud fan. He stared for a moment at his reflection in the mirror. The residual effects of alcohol, stress, and exhaustion were scrawled across his face. Sometimes he barely recognized the stone cold look in his grayed eyes anymore.
As he ran himself a hot shower, he allowed his mind to wander. The muscles in his arms twitched and tightened every time he saw the dream in the back of his head. It was not just the memory that haunted him. It was everything that happened leading up to that point and the consequences that followed. Sometimes he wondered how he would be able to live with himself. He may have gotten off easy, all things considered, but nevertheless, his life had never been the same. Was this the life that he was reduced to? He thought to himself - roaming aimlessly from town to town across the American west coast, crashing wherever he could afford, next to the occasional drunken female bar hopper. They all thought he was living the dream. It didn't use to be this way.
He was once a young but well respected non-commissioned officer in the Marines. He worked his way up the ranks with ruthless ambition, earning the respect of those who served alongside him, and eventually under him. He had deployed to Iraq almost immediately after completing basic training during the American-led coalition against the rapidly expanding forces of ISIS. As a heavily trained combatant, he was excited about the chance to see action. His first tour of duty was a success, as far as he was concerned. He had been a part of a number of ground reconnaissance missions, proving his natural ability to adapt to the worst possible scenarios and overcoming any obstacles thrown his way.
About six months after returning from deployment, he was promoted to the NCO rank of Corporal and began training as a team leader, and a year later, he rose to the rank of Sergeant. His career was in great standing, and by the time of his second deployment, this one to Afghanistan, he was ready for whatever the heat of war would throw at him, or so he thought.
Jared forcibly shut off the shower, standing still for a moment and allowing the hot water to drip slowly down his face. He wrapped a towel around himself and stepped back out into the motel room, the cold air of the AC sweeping over him. The woman was still passed out in the same position. He took a deep breath as he dropped the towel and began to put his clothes back on. As he looped a belt through a pair of dark blue jeans torn on the left knee, his phone vibrated on the bedside table.
Jared's eyes shot up. The sound of the vibration against the wooden surface was loud in the still environment of the room. He rarely ever received any calls or text messages, as he had few people in his inner circle to be in contact with, but he had a feeling he knew who it was from. He walked over to the table and picked up his phone. Sure enough, the only notification was a text from a contact labeled, "Marcus." Jared sat down on the side of the bed as he opened the message.
'Hey, where are you? I've got another job here if you want it.'
Jared hesitated for a moment before typing his response.
'Give me till tomorrow morning and I'll be there.'
Only a few seconds had passed before the icon popped up indicating the recipient was typing a new message, which appeared just as quickly.
'Be here tonight or it's gone.'
Jared narrowed his eyes into a thoughtful glare at the message, but before he could think of a response, another one was sent.
'Jobs are first come, first serve. The only reason I hold them for you is because you're the best at what you do.'
Like he had never heard that one before. Still, Jared knew that it was true, and right now he was not in much of a position to turn down any offers, especially when they came from Marcus.
'Fine. On my way,' he typed before sending the message and closing down his phone.
He glanced back at the woman, wondering what he was supposed to do about her. Of course, it wasn't the first time he had to get up and run like this. Without waiting any longer, he threw on his shirt and black leather jacket and pulled a $20 bill out of his wallet. He then opened the drawer of the bedside table to see if there was something to write on, but all that was there was a single Bible and nothing else. Jared cursed under his breath as he ripped a piece of a page out of the Bible, and with a pen that was sitting next to the lamp on the table, he wrote a brief note and slapped it on the table along with the 20. Without so much as looking around the room again, he grabbed his worn out backpack that he always threw under the bed and headed out the door.
The motel sat just off the freeway. There were only a handful of vehicles in the parking lot, including his Harley-Davidson that was parked right in front of the room. It must have been what he brought the woman on from the bar. He didn't feel too bad as he slung the backpack onto his shoulders, mounted the bike, and sprung it to life.
Inside the room, the young woman's eyes opened at the sound of the motorcycle turning on. Without sitting up, she scanned around the room, but it was obvious that no one was there. Her eyes soon fell on the money sitting on the bedside table. She reached over and grabbed it, holding the note close to her groggy eyes to read it.
'Had to go. Nothing personal. Hitch a ride back to town.'
Disgusted by the note, the woman crumpled up the piece of paper and threw it onto the floor. "Jerk," she muttered disdainfully.
Jared jumped onto the freeway in no time, cruising at 70 mph as the cool but strong wind rushed against his face. The sun had risen over the hills to his right, reflecting off the dark surface of his aviators. He weaved between a few vehicles, never so much as casting a sideways glance as he passed them. The only look he gave was up at a highway sign, and the words printed on it which read, "Revel City - 250 miles.