The Road To (Outer) Nowhere (Space)

Chapter 18: Ghosts

Jack's eyesight was becoming blurred as he walked threw the snow back to the car. He has gasping for air and he was staggering. The hallucinogenic compounds in the tea were beating him up. A few meters from the Camaro his heart started racing and he was losing track of reality. Finally he could not sustain his wheight and fell head first into the snow, fainting. His last picture of reality was a cold, white patch of snow hitting the Camaro and exploding into millions of little flakes, that fell on the floor...

" - MOVE FORWARDS FOR FUCK SAKES...! We're gonna be mashed potatoes if we don't reach the fuckin' camp!
Jack was running... The heat was unbearable, the weight of the backpack and the M4 were taking a huge toll on his stamina. Bullets and explosions were everywhere. His platoon had been ambushed by the Iraqis, and they had to reach the base camp. The year was 1991, and Jack was in the First Gulf war.
- Jack, we need a medic down here, MacArthur is wounded.
Jack reached for the portable phone on his back pack without stopping his run for safety. He could see dozens of fellow soldiers being sniped and machine gunned right next to him. He could not stop. The soldiers exodus was a shocking scenery. He dialled the code to contact base and was answered.
- This is "Foxtrot, Lima, 5, 7, Alpha" we were ambushed, North of Fallujah, we are on foot trying to escape to Hapshire base. Under heavy fire. Snipers and machine gunners deployed in the mountains. He have tanks and helicopters gaining on us. Colonel MacArthur was wounded. Please send backup.
- "Foxtrot, Lima" acknowledged your info. Backups are not available at the moment, please contact Hapshire base, over.
- Well fuck you then...
Jack disconected the phone and shouted back to the soldier running behind him.
- Headquarters has no backup. I'm gonna try Hampshire. Inform the rest.
- OK, Hampshire to send...
The soldier didn't finish the sentence, instead he flew backwards, with a huge hole in his chest.
- FUUCK!
Jack looked forward and started shooting randomly.
- "Foxtrot, Lima, 5, 7, Alpha" to Hapshire, he are en route to your position, taking heavy fire. Please send some air support. Ambushed by Iraqis.
- Hapshire to "Foxtrot, Lima" acknowledged that. Panther airborne en route. Try and bank left into the barracks.
- OK, roger that, over.
He turned to the platoon and shouted.
- Bank left into those barracks.
He was starting to get tired, he could not run much more. A excruciating pain reached his left knee as he fell down immediately. He could still se the blood gasping out of the bullet hole... Everything became blurred, the sky turned black as the wind started blowing sand onto him. Seconds later he was completely covered. When his eyes opened again, he was in a small garage in Harare, Zimbabwe. The bomb in front of his eyes was unlike anything he had seen. He had to deactivate it at gun point. His fellow friend from the bomb squad had been shot down by the militia, right in front of him.
- So, Mr. Jack Mason. You think you can come to Africa and blow up anything and start a war? So then your army can come in and look like they bring peace? This time, I will ship your heads to the white house.
The mob leader, was a black, ugly bloke. The red eye patch was leaking blood, that he promptly wiped with a cloth. He spoke in a rough English.
- Now, deactivate that bomb or I cut you throat with this blunt knife.
- Look, you killed the fucking bomb expert you fucking gorilla. How the fuck must I deactivate this? I am only the translator.
- You are wise for a spy, Mr. Mason.
The other black guy from the militia, reached for his knife. And stabbed Jack in the leg.
- FUUUUUCK!
Jack turned around and looked at the bomb. The timer was connected to twenty different wires. He tried to remember the lectures of bomb squad back in the states, but nothing came to him. He had to improvise. He grabbed the revolver under the bomb.
- I need someone to grab this end of the wire so I can cut it.
The gorilla spoke in slang to another black. As the black put down his AK47, jack grabbed him, shielded himself with his body and put a bullet through all the militia's heads until he had no ammo. By then all the windows broke as a explosion sound filled the air. Jack was sent flying into the wall. Only to wake up inside a plane. It was January 1980, the flight was from Lisbon to L.A., and the "fasten seat belts" ding was repeating. It became louder and louder, unbearable... Until he woke up. Gasped for air and was back to reality..." It was the mobile phone. He stretched his hand, opened the Camaro's door and answered the call.
- Yes!?
- Jack? It's MeXico. What's wrong?
- MeXico, fuck, nothing, nothing man.
- You sound exhausted. What's up?
- I've just woken up from a bad dream.
- So, where are you?
- Just outside Alma. I'm leaving for Montreal.
- Ok then, meet me at Sorel Tracy. It's a small town near Montreal. We will discuss the plan at dinner and tomorrow we move out.
- Ok.
Jack took some seconds to recover from the blackout.
- Fucking tea.
He looked one last time at the small cottage. Started the engine, and left towards Sorel Tracy.