5. Creed

CHAPTER 5

CREED

Darkness. A heavy, oppressive darkness that clung to my skin like a second layer. The air reeked of sweat, gunpowder, and the iron tang of blood—thick and suffocating. My boots crunched against the sandy ground, each step sinking into the sandy earth beneath me. The heat bore down from a relentless sun, but that was nothing compared to my racing pulse or the weight pressing against my chest, like I was carrying the entire desert on my shoulders.

"Move, move, move!" a voice barked, crackling through the radio strapped to my vest. It was Trent, his tone steady even under the pressure. Always calm, even when chaos swallowed us whole. But his voice felt distant, like it was coming through a tunnel.

I gripped my M4 rifle tighter, the textured grip rough against my calloused palms, slick with sweat. The strap dug into my shoulder, the weight a familiar ache. Around me, the sounds of gunfire ricocheted, popping like fireworks. But these fireworks weren't for celebration—they were the deadly percussion of war, each shot a reminder that we were in the thick of it, that each breath could be our last. The air filled with the crackle of burning debris and the low, ominous rumble of distant explosions.

Trent's shadow loomed to my left, his movements fluid despite the chaos. A few yards ahead, Jones staggered, clutching his side where crimson stained the khaki of his uniform, blooming like a poppy. His breathing came in shallow, rasping gasps, and his face had that hollow look—the kind you get when you know the fight's almost over for you.

I tasted the salt on my lips, the grit between my teeth, and forced my legs to carry me forward. "Jones! Keep your head down!" My voice was raw, barely audible above the din, but I pushed it out, desperate. We were almost to the extraction point—just a little further. But the path ahead was a death trap, bullets kicking up dust all around us, each one too close, too damn close.

My breath turned shallow, lungs burning, every inhale thick with the scent of burnt oil and sand. Jones collapsed, his knees hitting the dirt hard. Time slowed, every second dragging like a blade against my skin. I reached out, my fingers brushing the edge of his vest, feeling the coarse fabric scrape against my skin, but my grip slipped.

"Creed! Get down!" Trent's shout cut through the haze, but it was too late. The force of the blast ripped through the air, the ground bucking beneath us. My body jerked, a shockwave slamming through my bones, my head snapping back with the impact. My vision blurred, stars bursting behind my eyes, and I was falling, falling into the hot sand, arms flailing uselessly. The taste of copper filled my mouth, bitter and metallic, as if I'd bitten down on a bullet.

The world dissolved into fragments—Jones' gasping breath, Trent's muffled shouts, the low hum of the helicopter in the distance. My chest heaved, heart pounding like a war drum, but no matter how much air I sucked in, it never seemed like enough. Jones' eyes found mine, wide and glassy, and I saw something break in them. A sound clawed its way up my throat—a plea, a promise, I don't know what it was—but before I could speak, everything shifted.

The scene twisted, contorting like a nightmare unraveling. The sun vanished, replaced by a cold that cut through the desert heat, freezing my skin. The landscape bled away, turning gray, the colors draining like someone had pulled the plug. I tried to reach out, to find something solid, but the sand turned to ice beneath my fingers, burning with cold, leaving my hands numb. The wind howled, a banshee's wail carrying the echoes of those last desperate moments.

And then, Jones wasn't there anymore. It was just me, surrounded by shadows, the emptiness closing in. My heart thundered in my ears, each beat a hammer against my ribs.

"Not again—God, not again." The words tumbled out, but they felt ripped from my chest, swallowed by the darkness. I turned, searching for Trent, for anyone, but I was alone. My breaths came fast, sharp, leaving my throat raw. The silence pressed against my ears, drowning out every thought, every sound.

I jerked awake, heart slamming in my chest, the car seat digging into my back. Cold sweat clung to my skin, my shirt soaked through. The heater whirred softly, filling the car with warmth, but it did nothing to chase the chill that had settled deep in my bones. My hands shook, knuckles white where I gripped the edge of the seat.

I blinked, focusing on the frost crusted on the windows, the dull orange glow of the streetlight filtering through. For a moment, I could still hear the gunfire, smell the smoke, feel the desert sun burning my face. But it faded, leaving behind the steady hum of the heater and the distant sound of traffic on the highway.

My breaths came in ragged bursts, each one a reminder that I wasn't back there, that it was just a dream. Just a dream. But my chest still ached, my mouth dry, the ghostly taste of sand still clinging to my tongue. I wiped a hand across my face, fingers trembling, and tried to steady my breathing.

It took longer than I wanted to admit before I could unclench my jaw, or convince myself that I wasn't going to choke on the air, that my heart would eventually slow. But the shadows of that dream clung to me, the faces of my comrades, Jones' empty eyes, refusing to let go.

I forced myself to take a deep breath, feeling the cold air fill my lungs, grounding me in the present. I wasn't in the desert anymore. I was here, in my car, in Chicago, where the only battle I had left was the one inside my head.

And just like every other morning, I wasn't sure I was winning it.

My face was hot with exertion. Sweat dripped down my back despite the cold, contrasting with the goosebumps that spread across my skin. I sat upright and raised my eyes to look outside. The frost on the front window made it nearly impossible to see anything in the parking lot.

I let my body slump to the seat again and closed my eyes, attempting to push the memories to the back of my mind. My whole body felt heavy, uncoordinated even. I pushed through the fog in my mind, shutting out all that had happened during that mission. Clamping down on the bitter bile that rose in my throat.

It was proving difficult to remember happier memories. They were few and far between. Whatever excitement and wonderful experiences I'd garnered during my service were overshadowed by my father's reaction when he heard I'd been booted out of the military, stripped of my position and forcefully ejected from the only career I'd ever wanted.

Forcing my brain to be in the moment, I let myself imagine how soft Avery's voice had been as we talked for several minutes.

There was no use trying to deny my instant connection to Avery. But I had attempted to and done a messy job of it. It was hard to forget the confusion on his face when I turned him down.

Guilt shredded my heart into bits.

Even though it had been momentary, it was nice to have someone look at me like I was worth something, like I was special. I was probably exaggerating Avery's attention because I was attention-starved, anyway.

Fuck that! My life didn't need any more complications.

Shadows danced in the early morning light just in front of me. Still shaken up by my dream, I immediately put on my headlights. The guards wouldn't come snooping for loiterers for at least another hour.

Despite the lingering worry of where I would get gas money to fill my tank, I forced myself to relax and adjusted into a comfortable position in the car. The gentle warmth that radiated from the heater lulled me into a peaceful sleep. As my eyes fluttered closed, the world around me faded away into a dreamless void. Time seemed to pass without notice. It could have been minutes or hours before a sharp knock on the window jarred me awake.