Pappa Zulu – Chapter 20 (Redux)

“Life is hard. Then you die. Then they throw dirt in your face. Then the worms eat you. Be grateful it happens in that order. “

-David Gerrold

It was like going from the depths of space down to a hole in the cold, dark earth. The fall was monumental, sudden, and very noticeable. One minute, she was light as the air and the next, as heavy and dense as the ground itself, as if gravity were taking hold of her and filling her with mass. The only thing that remained constant was the gentle thrumming that marked her passage, a tinny, high-pitched ping that kept repeating itself.

Over and over again, it wouldn’t stop. And then the world became bright again. Slowly, but surely, objects and distances began to take on form and value as the light entered in. It was soft at first, but gradually became harsh and unpleasant. How was it that things were in such a state of transition, going from good to bad like this? What was happening to her that made for such ugly changes?

The constant beeping became louder.

She could light glinting off a metal surface. White pillows and sheets beyond her reach. And then there was the body lying next to her, a long tube taped to their arm and a band on their wrist.

She looked up and saw a ceiling filled with millions of perforations. She recognized them as ceiling tiles that had been installed by the lowest bidder. Combined with all the other surroundings of note, she concluded that she had to be in a hospital.

She tried leaning up, but a couple sensations jumped her at the same time and convinced her to lay back down. One was the dizzy, stirring sensation in her head. The other was the sharp pain that went up her side as she tried to shift her weight.

Placing her head securely on her pillow again, she felt around for the source of the pain. It reached up like tendrils, embracing much of her right side, but the source seemed to be her leg. She could reach to the upper thigh, but a light caress and a passing glance told her her leg was covered in bandages. Her head wasn’t feeling particularly comfortable either, and something soft and scratchy seemed to be on her face. Further examination there revealed that she had a thick patch covering her right ear.

“Whoa! Hold up there, Sarge!” said a voice. She felt a hand reach across her and take hold of her hand. The chest leaning across her was discernible enough, and the body odors wafting off it weren’t a welcome distraction.

“Whitman?” she muttered. He pulled back far enough that she was able to see his face. Sure enough, there he was. His smiling, thin face, the close cropped head, the ridiculous smile. Though she had to admit, he looked much more somber and serious than usual. And his eyes were filled with something other thank crank or childish glee.

“How you doing, Sarge?”

She grunted and moaned something unintelligible. It was the shittiest thing in the world, being unable to move thanks to sheer disorientation. Shittier still to be unable to express herself or take stock of her surroundings. Whitman seemed to understand, from the way he was nodding.

“Yeah, you’re still loaded full of morphine. Doc said you’d be okay, though, after a few weeks. It’s been awhile already so I guess you’re on track or whatever.”

She frowned at him. Neither the look he was giving her or his inability to express things coherently was making her feel any better.

“What are you…?” she muttered, her eyes closing involuntarily. Her head began to swim from the effort of speaking again and she nearly blacked out. Whitman finished her sentence for her.

“What am I doing here? Well, we decided to come visit until you got better. Not much has been happening lately, and today was my day so…” he slapped his chest. “Here I be!”

She tried to form a smile but conveyed something that mainly looked nauseous. That was sweet of him. Even if he wasn’t the face she wanted to be seeing right now.

Her eyes popped open as she began to remember where she’d been before waking up here.

“Mill… what…?”

“The Corporal?” Whitman asked. “He’s fine. Just needed some stitches and a little time off his feet. He’s up and at ‘em again, no problem. Even been acting Sergeant since you’ve been down.”

“Oh,” she replied. That was good. She could barely piece it all together, but she remembered he had been hurt too. She couldn’t even stand right, half-asleep and half-awake. But he’d been carrying something else, a wound of some kind. “Where’s… Braun…?” she asked, remembering the other thing.

“The LT?” Whitman asked, surprised. “He’s outside. He’s come to visit too, never when we’re around though. He wanted to make sure you two guys were doing okay. Of course, Mill was out of here after one day. You he keeps coming back to see every night.” He paused to laugh. Saunders felt a strange sensation pour over her. She was in no shape to describe it, but she knew it felt good. She smiled broadly.

“God… I… was so mad…”

“What’s that?” he asked.

“Guy… tells me we…. can’t…”

Her eyes drifted shut again. A feeling of darkness was descending on her, but of the incredibly warm, inviting variety. She leaned her head sideways and let herself drift. She was only marginally aware of the noise coming out of Whitman’s mouth as he turned away from her.

“Sir, she’s asking for you.”

Her breath caught in his mouth and her eyes snapped open. Was he really here, and had she been talking about him and their last civilized conversation? How much had she said?

She heard the sound of boots clopping against the linoleum and felt suddenly very alert. Her heart rate monitor seemed to be that much noisier too, registering her sudden spike in wakefulness. His frame appeared shortly thereafter and moved to her bedside, eyes about as wide as her own.

“Whoa there,” he said, placing his hand on her shoulder. “Easy there, Sergeant. Just stopping in to say hi. No need to stand on ceremony.”

She nestled back a bit, heard her heart rate begin to drop. Whitman and Braun were now standing on either side of her, watching with worry. She knew how they felt, though not exactly for the same reasons.

“How you doing?” Braun asked. “You comfortable?”

She wobbled her head, closest thing to a shrug she could manage. She was far from comfortable right now, but at least the pain was manageable. She could with less company though, the two of them standing over her like they were was feeling a bit too tight. Braun looked at Whitman and smiled broadly, though awkwardly. She wasn’t the only one feeling the slightest bit exposed right now.

“Your a lucky lady, Sergeant. You’re squads been keeping an eye on you. Everyday they come by to sit by your bedside.”

Whitman laughed modestly. “Well, the LT’s been stopping by too. Doc said you’d be coming out of it any day now, so… yeah, we’ve all been here.”

She felt a sudden warm sensation, her cheeks flushed and she felt the urge to look away. Was this flattery? The feeling that she was cared for? Hard to say, but it was nicer than worrying over having said too much or to the wrong person. She leaned back in the bed and let it wash over her, trying not to feel too embarrassed or crowded.

“Thanks…” she muttered eventually. Her eyes began to drift shut again and she felt their eyes continue to watch her...