Qadat: Part 1

1

Darkness.

Jerry tasted copper.

His ears rang. His body ached. He gasped for breath, sucking in dirt. Coughing. Gagging. Retching.

Did I step on an IED? Am I dead?

Jerry’s head swam. A distant voice called his name. Everything sounded like he was underwater. Jerry opened his eyes. Seeing darkness and dirt. That voice… calling his name. Something pressed Jerry to the ground. It was heavy. He groaned, trying to push himself up. Trying to roll over. His left wrist hurt. His rifle awkwardly slung to his body. Jerry’s day pack prevented him from lying completely flat on his back, but he now stared upward. He saw a circle of blue light in blackness. A silhouette of… someone’s head, wearing a Kevlar, yelling his name.

“Garza!”

Jerry coughed up blood and wet dirt. His hearing returning.

“He’s awake!” The silhouette disappeared.

Jerry patted his legs, making sure they weren’t gone. He wasn’t sure if he had stepped on an IED. Where the hell am I? He checked his limbs. Everything was where it was supposed to be. He shook his legs. They worked. Everything still worked. But he felt hungover. His rifle was covered in dirt. The magazine had fallen out and was pressed to the ground where he had first woken up. His eyepro was missing.

He groaned. Coughing, he managed a ragged shout, “Hey! Where am I!?” His voice echoed.

The head reappeared, “Garza! Don’t move! Are you hurt?”

Jerry checked his legs again, he moved his arms. His left wrist felt numb. “I… I don’t think so! Where the fuck am I?!”

“You fell into a damn hole! Are you sure you’re ok?”

Of course, I fell into a hole. Jerry unclipped his Kevlar and took his gloves off. He patted his head, checking for blood. It was too dark to see, so he rubbed his hands together. If there were blood, it would dry quickly. Sweat would be slippery. His hands felt slippery.

“I think I’m concussed, man! But other than that, I’m fine!”

The silhouette shook his head, “Ok! Don’t go anywhere! We’re going to get you out! And hey!”

“Yeah?!”

“I’m still a fuckin’ Staff Sergeant, shitbag!”

“Aye, Staff Sergeant!” Fuckin’ asshole.

Jerry leaned against his day pack and checked his watch; about an hour had gone by. His wrist felt stiff and numb. He stopped spitting out blood, which came from a loose tooth after the fall. His whole body ached, but at least the ringing in his ears subsided. His nose had been bleeding, but now that it stopped, he could smell again. It smelled like a tomb. Like wet mold.

He was surprised he wasn’t seriously injured. Although that would have bought him a ticket out of Afghanistan.

Should have broken my legs.

Sipping on water, he wiped the dirt off his rifle and checked his gear. He kept his flak jacket on because it was cold and damp. His body still used to the baking heat of Helmand. His Kevlar rested next to him, and he used it as an armrest. Staff Sergeant would kill him if he saw him do that.

He pulled his NVGs — Night Vision Goggles — out of his cargo pocket and untied the cord that kept them secure to his trousers. It was a single scope that he could clip to his Kevlar, he held it to his his eye and pulled the knob on.

The world became green static.

He was in a circular hole, like a well. Small enough for five people to lie across. The rock wall wound its way up to the opening, and the blue sky beyond. Dirt covered the floor, and to his left, a black opening. Like an empty doorway.

If he stopped moving, he could hear the darkness.

Nothing else made noise except the soft whine of his NVGs.

He turned his NVGs off and attached them to his Kevlar. The opening made him nervous.

With my luck, there’s probably Taliban waiting in there.

What was taking his platoon so long? They probably needed special equipment to excavate him like an ancient artifact. A memorial to Marine Corps shitbags. Actually, they probably would leave him here. “For the good of the Corps,” Staff Sergeant would say.

Faint snapping rippled in the world above him. The loud retort of rifles and an M240B machinegun shook the air. Were they taking contact?

An explosion rocked the Earth. Dust floated in the air. Rapid staccato snapping. Rifles returning fire. Adrenaline pumped into Jerry’s body.

Now aware of the opening in the wall.

Scooting his back against the wall, Jerry put his Kevlar back on and turned on his NVGs. He posted security on the opening, aiming his rifle into the black rectangle.

Another sharp explosion. This one was close. Screams for a Corpsman followed.

Shouting.

Minutes dripped by.

The sound of the rifle fire and the M240B grew further away.

Jerry worried. Trading glances between the black rectangle in his NVGs and the opening above.

A different sound slowly replaced the rifle fire. The distinct slapping of AK-47s and a PKM echoed down the hole. Panic began to grip Jerry’s throat as he realized what was happening.

He was being left behind.

Jerry slowly took a knee and kept watch on both openings. He could hear shouts in Pashtu.

He kept his pack close.

A glance towards the circle of light revealed a silhouette of a head. This one wore no Kevlar.

It disappeared.

A black dot, like a tiny period, appeared and grew larger.

Jerry leaped for the black opening, diving into the void as fear propelled his body past the pain and aches. He pressed his body flat against the ancient dirt as a loud explosion walloped his senses. His ears rang. Dust filled the air.

Jerry rolled over and checked for shrapnel. His NVG mount bent at an angle. He faintly heard a soft thud. He covered his neck and pressed into the dirt once more as the grenade exploded. Destroying what was left of his day pack.

Standing up on legs of jelly, Jerry stood in a hallway carved into rock. He noticed another entryway to his left, gaping at him like a black mouth. He stepped into it and found himself in a room. No larger than a small office. He picked a corner and watched the doorway.

From the tunnel, he heard the firefight grow more distant and further away. Until he heard the guns no more.

2

The black opening stared back at Jerry through his NVGs. The sweet acrid scent of explosives competed with the stench of rot.

Cold air brushed his neck.

Jerry turned around and noticed a small square opening on the wall, like a window. He stood up and peered through the opening. It was a perfect square, expertly cut into the stone wall, which Jerry noticed was smooth.

A black void greeted him, breathing cool air into his face, carrying the scent of rot. Jerry focused on what he could see. The floor was smooth. He couldn’t see any walls. He adjusted his NVGs to focus further out. A camel spider ran across the opening’s ledge.

Jerry jumped back. He hated spiders.

The camel spider paused, its front arms raised like it was searching. Jerry wanted to gag. How many of those things were down here? He turned around to resume watching the opening.

A pale, headless figure stood in the entryway.

Jerry yelled, jumped back, and fell into the wall. Knocking the camel spider onto his neck. Dancing on his skin. Jerry snapped his rifle into his shoulder to fire at the pale figure.

It was gone.

Jerry slapped and swatted at his neck. Cursing. He could feel the thick, coarse hair of the camel spider prick his skin. The legs tapping and searching for the inside of his warm flak jacket.

Jerry shouted, flinging the spider off and stomping on the dust-covered floor. He didn’t bother to check if the camel spider was dead; he stared at the entryway with his rifle raised.

Who was that?

Jerry took a knee, aiming his rifle at the entryway. He flipped his PEQ-16 IR laser on. This time, he would be ready for whoever was there.

It had no head.

He heard splashing.

It was naked. Pale like the moon.

More splashing. Distant shouts of Pashtu.

No neck. No hands.

Something metal clanged. Banging as it fell down the hole. Crashing into the ground. Heart pounding, Jerry stood up and approached the doorway, ready to shoot.

He popped out of the doorway. Nothing there. The NVGs showed an empty hallway. A set of small footprints led into the darkness.

The smell of gas punched his nose. He turned around to see what had made that noise.

A fuel can lie at the bottom of the hole. They were pouring gasoline.

Jerry turned and ran. His NVGs bouncing and throwing his depth perception off. More black doorways whipping past him. The floor transitioned from rough dirt to a smooth floor with a thick layer of dust that exploded into the air with each step. Steps that desperately sought safety. Steps that followed someone else’s footprints.

Light blinded his NVGs and illuminated the hall in a hellish orange glow. Fire scorched the air. Heat rushed down the hallway, drowning the cold. Jerry ran into a wide open space and doubled over. Exhausted. His legs shaking. Mouth cotton-dry. He breathed through thick air that reeked of death. It made Jerry gag and retch.

Slowly standing up straight, dust settled as Jerry adjusted his crooked NVGs. Sweat pouring down his face. It was cold again.

Very cold.

Jerry scanned the void. The floor stretched into eternal blackness. A set of tiny footprints led into the darkness.

Jerry followed them.