Page 1 of Nomad
PROLOGUE
SANDMAN
An undisclosed location…
“How many days do ya got, Sandman?”
Aaron Milan, one member of my special forces’ unit, groaned when he took the seat across from me. A dusting of fine sand covered his dark tousled hair, making it look stark white against his tanned skin. As he raked his palm through the dark strands a few times, a cloud of white dust fluttered into the arid desert air like a fine mist. No matter how much we brushed the shit out of our hair or off whatever clothes we wore, within minutes, the powdered film saturated it again.
Dark bags highlighted Aaron’s usually mischievous light green eyes, which were now puffy and red from lack of sleep. We got a few hours at a time, but the last few days, I’d noticed something else bothering him even if he wouldn’t talk about it. Something weighed heavily on him. His haunted stare concerned me, and lack of sleep had nothing to do with whatever he struggled with.
We waited for our next orders at a temporary outpost in the middle of nowhere, in a country halfway around the world, with nobody around for miles. The wind moaned, stinging my cracked lips. The relentless dry winds kicked up the fine sand surrounding us, covering everything from us to our temporary barracks. In places like these, we kept an eye out for insurgents and fucking sandstorms; it wasn’t uncommon to see the ominous sight rolling across the open plain.
I took a swig of cool water from my canteen, swished it around my mouth, then spit it out. Grit and dust always coated my tongue. The shit got everywhere. I needed a change, tired of seeing the beige, barren landscape and the sand getting in my eyes, nose, clothes—whatever crevice or orifice it could crawl into. Not only in scenery, but in my life before I ended up bat shit crazy.
These past few weeks had been slow in terms of our orders; not sure whether that was a good or a bad thing. We’d been on one recon mission in the past week, and the closer it came time for me to go home, the more I wanted it.
Well, not home since I didn’t have a physical one, but I was ready to be stateside. The open road called to me. It was like an itch I couldn’t scratch one I’d had since the first time I sat on a bike. The vibration underneath me, the rumble of the engine in my ears, the wind in my hair—it was freedom. And this… this was like being trapped like a rat in a cage.
I’d done my duty for my country. Now, it was time for me to relax and enjoy life. I’d done more than my fair share of tours since special forces units didn’t deploy like conventional troops, which meant I’d spent more time in places like this more than I liked. I’d shed enough blood to last a lifetime and more. Now the younger kids could do all the grunt work. I didn’t have it in me anymore to continue because I was getting too old for this shit.
I pulled on the cancer stick between my lips, the red tip flickering, a nasty habit I’d picked up around the age of fourteen when running with an older crowd. By that time, my mother had been hooked on every drug imaginable, and my father… he wasn’t much better than my mother. If the fucking military didn’t kill me, inhaling cigarettes’ deadly chemicals sure as hell would. I blew out the pale white smoke, rings rising into the air before tossing it on the ground and stamping it out with my boot. I smoked, but when around nonsmokers, I never subjected them to my habit, if possible.
“Two more days.” I wiggled my fingers, leaned back, and propped my dusty combat boots up on the wobbly card table, the metal chair groaning under my weight. “And I’ll be out of this goddamn hellhole.”
I gazed out at the desolate landscape, thanking the Big Man upstairs I’d never have to see another fucking desert for the rest of my life unless I chose to. And I didn’t see that shit happening.
“Thank fuck,” I said. “I’m so ready, man. I’m ready to say goodbye to all this shit.”
I took stock of my temporary home. Once upon a time, I loved being in the desert or the jungle with the sounds of nature and my comrades echoing around. However, when I started questioning why the hell I was in all these foreign countries, where people were trying to kill me, it sunk in. It was time to get out.
It took me two years to decide. Now that the time was closer, I was glad I’d decided to retire. I wasn’t getting any younger, and I wanted to live a little before I died.
“I hear ya, Sandman.” Aaron nodded with a huge grin, the first genuine expression I’d seen from him since he sat down. “Find you a nice, secluded beach somewhere, get fucked by a random broad, possibly two, and get shitfaced like it’s nobody’s business. Sounds like fucking heaven.”
“Sounds about right.” I ruffled more of the fine sand from my hair. “Sunshine, whiskey, and pussy are all I need to make my life complete.”
I propped my hands behind my head and closed my eyes as the desert sun’s rays filtered through the mesh covering overhead, battering my sunburned face even more. If I imagined hard enough, cool wind brushed against my skin as I rode my motorcycle down a long, deserted road to nowhere in particular. Not the hot, dry air of this godforsaken place. Two more days, and it would be over.
If I can keep my ass alive.
Aaron blew out a breath, getting my attention. I wiped the sticky sweat from my brow with the tan and blackshemaghscarf I’d picked up during our last mission, took a drink of cool water from my canteen, and then focused on him.
“Sandman, I’d love nothing more than to go home to the wife and kid.” He shook his head. “I can’t give it up, man. I’ve told myself so many times, ‘Walk away, Aaron. You have a beautiful, amazing wife and kid at home.’ Man, what I wouldn’t give to wake up next to my woman’s luscious body and go to sleep next to her. To hug my son and not miss a moment of his life. I’ve missed so many of the important parts already. His first steps, the first day of school. All that important shit because of fucking places like this.”
Aaron looked around, then shook his head. He propped his dusty boots on the table with that haunted look in his eyes. The somberness in his voice caused my hackles to rise. It was hard to relate. Nobody waited for me stateside, but something about Aaron concerned me.
Maybe he’s missing them.
We’d been in an undisclosed location for over six months gathering intel and taking out insurgents. I’d never been so ready to leave a place in my life.
With each passing day, Aaron’s demeanor changed. At first, I shook it off. We were in a fucked-up situation. Killing people wasn’t easy, despite what civilians might think. We dealt with the effects of that shit every day, mostly internally. However, this conversation made me think there was something more going on than him missing his family.
“No matter how much my wife begs me to retire,” he continued, pulling me from my thoughts, “or how much my son cries when he knows I won’t be around for a while, selfishly, I can’t give it up. I love and miss them both with everything in me. While it’s shitty of me to enjoy my job when it keeps me away from them, serving is who I am. This shit is in my blood, and I’ll die out here in the desert, sooner rather than later. I know it.”
I narrowed my eyes at him, concerned where this conversation might be headed. “What do you mean, you know it?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, man.”
