//------------------------------// // Ch.11 Ciao Roccia // Story: DayP // by Thunder Seethe //------------------------------// DayP How does one live through such calamity; an affliction, such as I, living in a world of discord. It is our belonging. Early morning, about three o-clock sharp; now is the best time to move. In the new island of Chernarus, there is a brief moment of silence. When all of the horror that has been caused, there is a prayer that's sent out. The skies that once was illuminated by the burning helicopter, the fire, screams, and everything in-between, silenced. A moment of serenity. What a thing to say in this god forbidden land; the same god that caused the disaster known as the apocalypse. Zeds, often mistaken for zombies along with their traits that we've not seen, but come to believe from the horror movies we've watched before this event; horizon. Horizon was when the island of Chernobyl was vanquished by the American soldiers, and unfortunately, have succumbed to radiation sickness. They said the contamination dissipated. During the raid on Chernarus, they have spread the radiation while dying from it. Buried in the soil, whatever new crops that grew on their decomposed bodies have infected the living. A zombie infects by blood. Zeds, they're much different- almost magical beings, but explainable through the large occurrence of phenomenons throughout the event, horizon. Horizon wasn't the nuclear reactor going off, in fact, this isn't even a real event- I just call it that because there weren't any scientists in the area to prove me wrong; we were cut off from the world, and the world wanted it to be that way. The event that I call, horizon, has nothing to do with black holes or the sun coming up; nor the raid on Chernarus. It was a bright light. Early morning, January 15, 2055 The sun crept through the shades of the medical tent that I lay in. Bandages tied tightly around my forehead and knee, the smell of blood and human flesh lingered throughout the camp. Even after being here for weeks, you never get used to that repelling smell; if I could walk fast enough, I would have ran away. In fact, the man next to me already tried, provided that his legs weren't bleeding with consistent pain. I talked to him, he told me that he never went far, he soon found himself lying on the grass. His fellow soldiers brought him back here. The smell followed him. A few hours passed. Then a few more. Before I knew it, it was time for me to sleep, and that's when it happened. "Hey," the commander said as he walked up to me. Usually I would sit up and salute, but there was no energy left in me. "you're going home." By those words, I was shocked. I looked at the others who were worst off than me. Missing limbs, bullet wounds, and here I am with a small stab wound in the knee. I was confused. Why do I go home? I didn't argue, this may be the thing that saves my life. Still, I would be leaving my brothers in arms behind. Who am I to argue with my own commander? It was settled, I'm leaving in that Russian acquired Ural to home, or some other military medical facility. Whichever is better than here, and I can only hope and pray for the safety of my friends caught up in the bloody battle. He held his hand out to me and I took it. He swung me up out of my bedridden position and helped me to the Ural. Outside of the medical tents were like a whole new world. The smell still lingered, but it was a different, much more cleaner smell than the tents. It was like it was disappearing from my knowledge, but stuck around in the corner of my nostril to remind me of their suffering. I crawled in through the back and took a seat next to the other wounded soldiers with bandages on their heads, some covering their eyes, and most of them were moaning from whatever level of pain they were in. Then the smell became more vivid. For me, my leg was surprisingly numb. Probably in shock from me standing for once in a while, but it was a wonderful feeling to not feel anything. I was still under mental and physical fatigue. It ached to think, but I couldn't help myself. My uniform was stained of a few circles of blood. Only one bullet in the leg and I was going home, or away from here. To be honest, I think home would by anything but here. Here is a horrible place. I remember those days when I actually dreamed of being in the military. Dreaming of killing the enemy and being a hero. Acts of valor, saving fellow soldiers, and completing the job at the same time. Earning medals. And here I am, sitting in this truck with a bunch of wounded with a bullet in my leg. My only act of heroism was charging into the battlefield wading through bullets and killing someone. I don't know him, he doesn't know me, so why did I shoot? It really makes me question the humanity of war- if there is any. Why are we fighting? Too many questions that are left unanswered, and I doubt I'll ever get it. Rumors say that the Russian's have a weapon capable of causing an apocalypse, nuclear, gas, chemical, parasites, I don't know. Rumors are rumors, and I try not to believe in rumors. A few minutes passed and I could hear the engine starting. My heart lifted a little. It was at that moment when I realized that I'd never have to see this dreadful place again, at least not for a while. That thought alone made my heart skip a beat! The idea of me holding my family in my arms again. Wife and soon to be child, I was reminded how much I had to live for. All from the start of an engine. The movement made everyone shift slightly in the tight area. I was crushed, and the numbing my leg was once in disappeared and pain came back with a vengeance. Of course, mimicking everyone else in the truck, I screamed in pain. I really wish I was shot in the hand or something. I looked at my right hand which was clenching the bullet wound and bloodstained bandage. On second thought, if I was shot in the hand, I would still be fighting, and I'd never really get to have that secret handshake I wanted to do with my kid. I guess I'd be able to do a nub-bump instead of a fist-bump... Don't know if that's really worth losing a hand for, though. I returned to clenching the wound, just in case the cut reopened during the shift and sudden pressure. "Sorry!" The driver called from the front, "Road up ahead will be very bumpy, try to sit tight!" As if on cue, as soon as he said bumpy, the truck began to shake vigorously and the other wounded men began bouncing and falling of their seats and onto the wounded and possibly dead laying on the floors. I usually don't cuss, but damn! I tried to ignore the pain and hold on to the back of the truck. Thank god that I was positioned in the back, and not in the middle. A few more minutes of bumps later, I could hear distant gunfire. The echoes of the AK's and occasional explosions could be heard over the booming noise of the engine. I peaked my head out of the truck, just slightly, and caught eye of a few American choppers with M240's and gunners on each side of the chopper. I smiled at the sight, but I stopped when I realized that they were going into battle with one soul purpose: to kill. The driver in the front whistled and cooed, "that's our boys right there, yeehaw!" He paused and looked towards the direction of the choppers and proceeded with an explanation. "Word has it, they're going to put on some fire for the other boys to run in a building and claim that secret whatchamacallit in the enemy territory!" I looked back out once again, and the gunfire increased. The sound of men charging and yelling for moral boost could be heard. We may be getting close to the battlefield, hope not too close. "If it all is true, this could mean the end of this part of the war, and take it all the way back to their homeland of M-o-ther Russia!" The driver continued. He focused back on the road ahead to take precaution of not crashing. "When you boys get to the medical facility, you'd best be listening to the radio, if we win, ya'll are certainly going to be drinking tonight- first shot is on me!" The driver offered. He seemed very happy about the situation, but when I take a life, even if they were going to shoot me, it doesn't feel right. Not unless it's an animal of some sort. I must have stared at the driver for some time. My ears were getting deaf from the engine, and even more deaf from the distant explosions. To add to it all, I started hearing the choppers come back, probably to refuel and rearm. It sounded like it's coming this way! I poked my head out to show support for the soldiers leaving the battlefield. My ears started ringing, and the sound of everything seemed to stop. The chopper, the engine, even the distant battle that was taking place. All silent, and the ringing sound. The chopper was still moving, in shape, but it was falling rapidly and losing control. I looked at the driver while covering my ears in hopes of stopping the sound that I've confirmed to be an external sound, and not just me. The people in the truck were also holding their ears and looked as if they were yelling. Keeping their eyes closed and staring at the ground, shaking. The driver was no longer holding the wheel, and the glass in front of him shattered. Blood poured from the driver's fingers which were hanging off to his side and created a small puddle under his hand. I looked what was ahead, but it was nothing but a light- a very bright and blinding light. I would say bright as the sun, but then I'd be lying. This is brighter than the sun. It burned to look at it. It burned to look close my eyes, I could see through my eyelids as if I had x-ray vision. I looked away and put my hands up in front of my face, doing whatever I could to stop the pain. I no longer am conscious of the pain in my leg, just my eyes and the burning sensation. I must keep focus. To no avail, I started hitting whatever was near me out of frustration. I couldn't see, I couldn't hear, I couldn't feel the pain in my legs. I could only feel the burning coming from that horrific light. Almost instantly, the burning stopped, the light had ceased to exist, and the truck soon started swerving out of control and off the side of the rail. Earning its last few screams of the wounded, and me flying out the back opening. I've never thought I'd say this, but thank the Russian's for not putting seat belts. I rolled down the hill, no faster than the truck which occasionally took flight and was stopped by a tree. I skid down the hill, rolling every so often, trying to dodge tree's but I was too disoriented. I could barely move my arms, and I could still not hear. To my right, I saw a large cloud of smoke emerge from the totaled truck, and in front of me, a wonderful rock saying hello to my head.