“Thanks, yours too,” Caleb said and turned to admire the flame-licked dragon down one calf and matching design on his prosthesis. They became engrossed comparing tattoos.
“First time here?” Aaron asked Phoenix.
“Yup, looks like an amazing place,” Phoenix said, surveying the equipment, therapists and rock-climbing wall which hulked conspicuously in the center. “How long you been here?”
“Nine months.”
Phoenix exploded with disbelief. “Nine months! I’m complaining after just two.”
“In the military, we get great benefits,” he replied.
Tara explained. “These guys come in with shrapnel, burns, traumatic brain injuries and all kinds of complications. Some of them have been through dozens of surgeries. That’s part of why it takes longer.”
“I stepped on an IED. I saw my legs get blown right off. I didn’t know about my arm until later. My guys got tourniquets on me and saved my life.”
He looked at Phoenix expectantly. “What happened to you?” Apparently, sharing injury stories was ade rigueurform of greeting.
“Mine’s not really patriotic. I got run over by a train.”
“Ouch. How’d you end up under a train?”
“I saved a guy who was trying to jump onto the tracks.”
“You rock,” Aaron said.
Stoic Tara winced. “But you ended up there instead?”
“Yup.”
“Thatsucckks.”
“The important thing is you lived to tell about it.” The blond warrior whistled.
There was perspective. Yep, Phoenix lived to tell about it.
“At least the train gave you a good-looking stump.” He pointed at Phoenix’s bare arm, visible beneath the pushed-up sleeves of his shirt.
“Good-looking stump? Is there such a thing?” Phoenix asked.
“Yeah, instead of an ugly stump,” he explained, lifting his elbow to show the bumpy, misshapen flesh and angry purple scars running up the back of his humerus. “They put metal and junk in IEDs. Does a number on you.”
Tara observed one then the other, not a whit of disgust at either of them. “This guy’sbelowthe knee,” Tara added, gesturing towards Phoenix with a nod of approval.
Aaron appraised Phoenix processing all of this. “Below the knee is like a scratch,” he said. “That’s what we call a paper cut. You’re lucky. Left leg, too. You’ll be able to drive a normal car. Wait’ll you don’t even need that cane.”
Lucky? Not needing a cane?
This guy had the experience to know what he was talking about, and he verified the tall tales Nadine had spun. Phoenix felt hope resist stubbornly then rise a little. He wasn’t alone. He was part of a community of tough guys who were fighting—not just to subsist, but to thrive.
“There are below-the-knee amputees going back into active combat,” the soldier bragged.
Phoenix nodded, absorbing a new sense of possibility.
Caleb’s murmured conversation with the other veteran turned towards motorcycles.
“I can’t wait to get back on my bike,” the ginger-headed guy said.
“I’m going to rock climb. You want to come?” Aaron asked, pointing towards the artificial tower covered in multicolored hand and foot holds.
