Page 36 of Echoes in the Storm

Of course.“Get changed, Cam. I’ll be back in ten.”

She rolls onto her back as I step out and pull the door shut behind me. Soft sniffles filter through the wall as I kneel and rescue the prints from the mess on her floor. My chest tightens as I take stock of the images properly for the first time. I’d looked before, but neverlookedat what the images contained.

A woman surrounded by love.

A mother whose world was complete.

A perfect stranger’s life before it was torn away in the blink of an eye.

Just like mine.

First Corporal Piata looked at the envelope in his hand, at the torn edge that signified the contents had been checked over and approved to go through the internal mail to reach the base in the middle of Buttfuck, Nowhere.

He hated dust. Hated it when he was home and renovating the old state house that he’d managed to buy with his wife before he re-deployed six months ago. Hated it even more now that the fucking stuff was ingrained in every pore of his body. It wasn’t even sand, like you got on the beaches at home; they were the fine granules that stuck to your nose hairs when you were sandblasting an old car. The gritty, unforgiving kind.

He pulled the scarf that permanently sat around his neck over his mouth and nose, and pushed the exit door to cross over to the mess hall. His unit had rolled in a little under an hour ago, most of the men heading straight to wash away as much of the road grime as they could before filling their guts with the basic fare the kitchen served night after night.

The evening was cool, nothing unusual for the desert. But something else lurked in the lazy breeze that made dust devils in the yard. Something unsettling.

His gaze dropped to the letter again as apprehension took hold of his throat. He hated being the bearer of bad news, had resented it since he was the one to let his mum know that Uncle Benny had passed away at the local RSA after a heart attack. Grief was an unforgiving bride, sweeping in and taking you for all you had.

And the guy who had an imminent wedding date with the bitch? Yeah, he didn’t deserve this. It was always the good ones who seemed to lump all the bad luck.

“Just in time, you fat bastard,” his buddy called out as Piata stepped into the hall and shook his scarf off.

“Yeah, bro. Another five minutes and I bet you would have eaten all the vanilla pudding, hey?”

Fuck, he hated this. Duke was his best mate, his buddy who kept the miserable assholes laughing when the reality of life in the desert got them down. He was so happy, so unaware that in less than sixty seconds his whole world would change.

“I, uh, I picked this up for you, man.” Piata handed the envelope over; staying close for the fallout he knew would come.

Shit, Duke could take all the hate and rage out on him if he so wished, and he’d stand there and take it, because fuck it, wasn’t that what best mates were for?

“What is it?” his buddy asked, lifting the torn edge. “You read it, you dirty dog?”

“Nah, man, but I was warned what’s in it.”

All traces of humour slid from Duke’s face, his arse hitting the table behind him as he stared at Piata. “What, bro?”

“Read it.” Piata jerked his chin at the envelope, wishing he hadn’t stopped by the admin building. Maybe then he wouldn’t have felt obligated to take the job. Maybe then somebody else would have. But isn’t bad news the kind of thing you’d rather get from a friend?

Duke slid his finger between the edges of the envelope, pulling out the single sheet of paper from inside. He unfolded it, smoothing the creases as he began to read.

Fuck—why didn’t somebody phone this one in? Piata understood how things worked, knew that calls on the Sat-phone were few and far between. Especially when they couldn’t be sure who was listening in while they were stationed in the middle of nowhere. But shit, this kind of news by letter? What fucking year was it? 1954?

“Bro, tell me this is some sick joke.” Unshed tears rimmed Duke’s eyes as he held the sheet of paper between them. “You fuckers getting in early for my birthday?”

Piata said nothing, just shook his head at his best mate.

“Tell me!” Duke roared, throwing the letter down. “Say it, you fucking cunt! ‘This is a joke, Duke.’ Say it!”

He wished he could. He wished more than anything the words “drunk driver” and “Duke’s wife” had never been said to him in the same sentence, but they had, and all he could do now was stay with his best friend while he rode out the storm.

“It’s real, bro.” Piata reached out, placing a hand on his mate’s shoulder and squeezing hard. “I’m so fucking sorry. I know you loved her.”

Duke’s eyes rolled back as he stared at the ceiling, trying to compose himself. “Them, man. Them. She was pregnant.”

Fuck.

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