Page 144 of Holidating
Damien Rossi
P.S. Part of our training is going to include running up and down hills with a seventy-pound pack. I figure after handling your luggage, I already have an edge on the rest of the guys.
In the back seat, Nicolette lets out a combination laugh and sob.
“Everything okay back there?” the driver asks.
It’s really, really not.
CHAPTER 6
ON THE RADIO: THERE IS NO RADIO
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re not as pretty as the day I first met you.”
Damien looks up into the smirking face of his buddy Jarvis, who’s perched on the edge of the next cot. “Oh fuck off. You’re no looker either.”
Jarvis lets out a low, infectious laugh. “I think I’m too tired to shower. I’m just going to sit here and solidify in my stench.”
Damien understands. Another brutal day on patrol has left both of them as heavy as concrete blocks, every muscle weary.
“Mail!” yells Staff Sergeant Thompson.
Damien doesn’t turn around because that would require too much energy. Besides, he got a letter from his mother only two days ago, so he’s not expecting anything.
He leans over and unlaces his boots, dirtying his hands. The dust here coats everything—every piece of gear, every stitch of clothing. The inside of his nose. Even after a shower, he knows he’ll still be able to taste it.
"Rossi! You got a package here. Christ, it’s heavy.” Thompson’s voice carries a hint of humor.
For him? Really?Damien rises, his quads complaining. He turns around to see Thompson holding a big, square box. He ambles over to take it. And itisheavy. That’s weird.
“Whatever you got, don’t forget to share,” Thompson says.
“Yessir.”
Damien carries the box back to his cot and sets it down.
“Whatcha got there?” Jarvis asks. “Can I have some?”
“Hold your horses.” It’s definitely his name on this box, but the handwriting is unfamiliar. Then he notes the return address is Old Route 16.
No way. It can’t be.
He pulls his knife out of his pocket and slits open the heavy layers of packing tape. Mindful of all the nosy faces turning in his direction, he opens the flaps carefully and peers inside, finding a fat plastic bag secured with a fancy gold cord.
He tugs off the cord, and a bark of exhausted laughter scrapes out of his chest. Inside the bag are an outrageous number of individually wrapped chocolate bars and Oreo snack packs. He plunges a hand down into the goodies, feeling like that cartoon of Scrooge McDuck diving into a pile of money.
“Guys?” he says, because there’s no way they’d let him keep all this bounty to himself. Not that he’d even want to. “Snack time!”
Jarvis lets out a whoop, and half a dozen soldiers surround Damien immediately. He spends a pleasant few minutes handing out cookies and miniature chocolate bars.
“Who’d you blow to get all that?” someone demands.
“It’s from a friend,” he says.
“Nicefriend.” Jarvis snickers.
Damien just shakes his head. He opens a baby Snickers for himself and bites down into the rich, sticky, nutty goodness. A candy bar in the desert is life affirming. It really is.
