Page 98 of Faded Rhythm

Finally, AJ brakes. The engine ticks in the cold silence as we sit there, motionless.

I look over at him.

He looks at me.

I nod slightly, then we exit.

The trunk creaks open. Two shovels. A heavy tarp, bloodstained and sagging in the middle.

We grab our shovels and start digging. The top layer is hard, but we force our way in. Each thrust of the blade sendsvibrations up my arms. The earth is damp and musty. Sweat beads break out across my forehead, cool and salty.

We sync up, digging in rhythm. The sound of metal on dirt is almost peaceful. You could almost fool yourself into thinking this was a nice spring evening working in the yard—if not for the body in the trunk.

It takes nearly an hour. Maybe more. Time is meaningless out here, just like it was in the field. Sometimes you count down to shit…two more months til I’m home. Six more days til the next meal. Two more days til mail. Sometimes you think in terms of survival; just get through this next minute. Hour. Day.

I think I’m on that time right now. If I can get through this next couple of hours, I’ll be okay.

AJ stops, leaning on his shovel like he’s satisfied. We’re about five feet deep.

Good enough.

We head back to the trunk, lifting the tarp together. Brett’s body is stiff now, mouth open in a frozen cry for help, eyes bulging and grotesque.

Nothing we haven’t seen before.

I grab his hands. AJ grabs his feet. We talk him over and drop him into his final resting place, and it’s not sad or poetic. There are no last rites. He’s just a body returning to the dirt where he belongs.

Each shovelful of earth dulls his flash. Those perfect white teeth. That diamond stud earring. The platinum chain. The interlocking Gs on his belt. None of it matters anymore. If it ever really did.

Back in the car, the engine rumbles to life, and I prepare myself for what comes next.

AJ pulls off, then he finally breaks the silence. “What happened?”

I stare straight ahead. “Brett was smarter than I thought.”

A beat passes.

“You feel guilty?” he asks.

I shake my head. “I don’t feel anything.”

It’s quiet for about five miles before he speaks again.

“Remember Kandahar?”

I pause as the name takes me back to that place. “Which part?”

“The alley,” he says. “Behind the blown-out hospital. When you were bleeding out. I thought I lost you.”

I glance at him. “But you didn’t.”

“Nope.” He turns the a/c on, angling it toward his face. “I threw your ass over my shoulder and carried you two blocks under fire.”

I huff out a dry laugh. “You were my hero, AJ. Even though you dropped me twice.”

He snickers. “Fuck you. I was injured, too.”

“I’m fuckin’ with you, man. You know I…” I trail off, my throat suddenly dry and full.

---