Page 54 of The Infinite Light of Dust

“Glad to see your personality isn’t gone.”

“Just my nerves from the waist down.” He was joking, but the reality hit me hard. I found myself blinking away tears but did my best to keep it light for his sake.

“How’s Fischer?” he asked, his voice dry and raspy.

“Better shape than you. But he’s here too. The screwdriver really did a number on him.”

“Where’s Phillips? That motherfucker.” Mendoza began to cough, and I jumped up to his side.

“I should call the nurse. At least drink some water.” I held the carafe to his chapped lips. He downed more than I’d expected him to.

“Where is Phillips? Did they lock him up?”

I didn’t know how to respond to that.

“No. They can’t find him.”

Mendoza tried to sit up but failed. The movement killed me. I had never believed in miracles or praying, but I found myself talking to the unknown, begging for all of this to be undone, for Mendoza’s life to not be this way forever.

“They can’t find him?” he repeated, refusing to accept that.

“They will. They just haven’t yet.”

I should have been surprised that the justice system and the MPs had failed us, but sure as hell wasn’t. I would chase that man to the end of the earth if they didn’t find him within the week. He could come back at any time to finish what he’d started.

“And Karina? How is she?” Mendoza inquired.

“Not sure. She’s in better shape than you, physically at least. I’m going back to her dad’s after I leave here. She’s been staying there the last two days.”

Both of us turned our attention to the door as Fischer limped in, holding his side with both of his hands.

“What the hell are you doing up?” I scolded him, moving to help him walk.

“I could hear you two from next door and wanted in on the fun.” He half smiled, and if he didn’t have a literal hole in his body, I would have elbowed him.

“You crazy fucker! Why did you do that?” Fischer sat down on the edge of Mendoza’s bed. “You could have died!”

“You almost died,” Mendoza responded simply, like they were talking about picking bread up from the fucking commissary.

“I can’t believe you,” Fischer groaned. “You crazy bastard, stepping in front of a bullet for me. An actual bullet!”

“I’d do it again.” Mendoza’s voice was clear, dead serious.

“You bastard.” Fischer leaned a little to try to hug Mendoza but winced in pain when he bent his torso. “Thank you, but you should not have done that. You have a family.”

Fischer began to cry, and Mendoza’s fingers twitched, trying to reach for him, but he couldn’t.

“I told you I had your back. I’d take a bullet for both of you, any day. My life has been over for a while now, yours are just beginning,” he whispered, growing tired from talking as soon as he woke up.

The idea that Mendoza believed his life was over already was devastating enough, and amplified the fact that so much had been taken from him, again and again. I could see the dark edges of my mind creeping in, remembering cold sleepless nights in the desert, recalling the faces of the innocent people Mendoza would never forget killing. He wasn’t to blame for what had happened in Afghanistan, it had been an accident, but that didn’t make it any better. His alcoholism spoke for itself. I pushed the shadows back, unsure how much longer I would be able to do so.

“No more bullets,” Fischer begged, wiping his wet cheeks.

In another reality, this scene would have been funny, the irony of this entire situation being so damn heavy but all of us trying to find the humor in the darkness.

“Are you still going to be able to enlist?” Mendoza asked.

“No clue.” Fischer rubbed his chin, his blue eyes full of worry.

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