The Game is War

Chapter 1  


    The black smoke had cleared from the tattered battle ground. Sal was plastered to the ground holding his M4. My ears were still buzzing from the explosion of the mortar that landed at least 20 feet from us. The only thing I could actually understand from Sal was, "Get down!" In the next few seconds a glimmering object in the distance was staring right at me. Sniper! As the shot rang out into the air I jumped towards Sal. The bullet glazed my ear and left it scratched. Blood trickled down my ear. Sal touched my ear and screamed to me, "It'll be fine! Just rub some dirt on it!"
    Sal was an Australian soldier that was stationed in America to give support, during the war. Originally Sal was an Australian social worker who had no excitement in his life. Once he was drafted into the Australian army he said he was more excited then sad and worried. He thought that this was his time to see the world and feel death grip his soul, in a good way. I don't actually understand how having death grab you by the soul was good, but Sal was a strange man.
    I kept searching the black blood land for any stragglers from the explosion but I had other reasons for searching the unholy land. Sal looked to me and asked me, "Why do you keep looking out into the motionless crowd." I told him I was looking for survivors. He shook his head and said, "No, no mate! I know you're looking for something else!" I looked down at the ground and looked back to him
"I'm looking for my father."
"Your father? Sorry mate, but if your pap is here he's most likely dead!"
"I know, but if he was I'd at least like to find his body."
"Well I'll help you find him, but it may be hard to locate him."
"Why?"
"Because he might be scattered everywhere so it's going to be a puzzle to put him all back together."
Sal laughed at his own joke. I stayed there motionless, but wanting to cry because I knew he was probably right. Sal said some pretty mean things but at least he was honest. Most of the men here will lie to your face. One man stole a piece of my bread, right in front me, and told me he had no idea where it went. At least when Sal takes my bread and soup he tells me, flat out, that he took it and ate it.
   We kept searching the field but it was impossible for several reasons: There were too many bodies, the black, choking smoke blocked our view, and bullets kept censoring our beady eyes. I finally gave up and believed that either my father was dead or wasn't there that day. I wanted to be optimistic but I knew that the truth was that he was probably dead.
    The gunfire began to cease and Sal and I were left alone in the broken house. We decided to move to another building that had a house, just in case if there was rain or if there was a drone looking for warm bloods. We moved across the field with stealth by crawling and going from cover to cover. We reached our destination and settled in the upstairs master bedroom. The house was very nice looking. There was a broken chandelier on the ground that looked like a fortune and the house was almost as big as a mansion, or at least was. The other side of the house had a hole the size of the 9/11 memorial, in the ground. The bedroom we were in had beautiful red and mustard colored drapes with paintings that looked like they were painted by Picasso. Sal and I took the King sized mattress and placed it up against the windows to make the room dark. We placed blankets on the ground and made sure we were facing the door, just in case if an intruder decided to play find the rag dolls. I never understood why the Russians and the Syrians called us rag dolls. Sal said it was because they thought they could control us and that we were just play things. I thought it was nonsense.
    Sal looked over to me and asked me, "Chris, how old are you?" Me and Sal had met a few hours ago and saved each others lives a few times, so we didn't know each other too well. "I'm 17 years old, sir." He laughed and placed a cigar into his mouth. "First of all don't call me sir, ever. And second, boy you ain't supposed to be putting your life on the line just yet. You still have one year left to live, mate. I say go live outside of the black blood zones. Go home and be with your family." I looked down to the floor and told him, "I don't have a family anymore." Sal looked to me and smiled, with the cigar in his mouth. "I'm sorry to hear that," he said. "But if there's one thing that I learned back in Australia that no matter where you are, you will always find home. But this ain't home, boy. And don't try to make it one. You'll regret that decision." I smirked and went into the next room. I needed time alone. I didn't want to tell Sal about my father.
    My father was in the Navy but was switched over to the Army once the war started. He was stationed here in Washington, so I was hoping I'd see him somewhere. I hadn't seen my father in 10 years so maybe I did see his cold, bloodied face. I just didn't recognize it. But I at least wanted have one living family member, in this world. My mother died of a stroke 2 years ago and my sister, Sarah, was killed by a bomber, in our old house. I had no where else to go so I joined the Army to look for my family and fight for the girl of my dreams, Vanessa. But Vanessa is a whole other story so I'm not getting into that.
    Night fell and Sal and I were stuck in the house until morning. We placed a few candles around the room and placed a few spare mines downstairs. We wiggled into our blankets and kept our 45s under our pillows.
     In the middle of the night I pulled out my pistol and pointed it at the door when I heard a scream. I slowly got up and went to the window and looked out. The night was dead, but the scream kept scattering through the air. Then I heard another scream. Then I heard another and another and another. I kept looking outside feverishly but I could not see any living being screaming. The screams kept occurring. I curled up on the floor and covered my ears until they stopped. Then all of them, except one, stopped. The scream was faint but the scream was trying to say something. "C....." I placed my ear against the window and tried harder to make out what the scream was saying. "C....." Something dropped outside of the door and made a loud thud. I then looked back and saw a dark, bloodied figure outside. It looked at me with it's dark eyes. It was a blonde woman with blood streaked down her hair. I almost thought she was a brunette. She took her eyes away from me and turned to a dead body on the ground. She pointed to the body and kept whispering something. I then heard another thud and I looked behind me. She was there with her cold finger right in front of me, right on the tip of my nose. I pulled my gun out of my holster and placed it in front of her face. My hand shook so much that I almost dropped my pistol. The figure kept whispering the word I couldn't understand. "C...." "What?" I asked. She tilted her head and looked me right in the eyes. "CHRIS!"
      "Chris! Chris, my boy we're under attack!" I jumped up from the bed and grabbed my M4. Sal and I ran out the door, avoiding every mine placed and jumped the fence. We ran to the building across the street and went into defensive mode. I shook my head and realized that the creepy woman was just a dream. It was all just a dream. It was all just a dream. It was all just a dream...

To be continued...