Braxton
The noise is deafening, the sounds loud and brutal enough to petrify anyone. I lie on the wooden floor of my cabin shivering, my hands covering my ears, trying to drown out the screams for help, the bellows of agony coming from my team. I open my eyes, but the dust makes it hard to see. “Brax,” I hear Dough call my name. He’s close, but I can’t see him.
“Where the fuck are you, man?” I cough.
“I don’t know. It’s cold, Brax,” I can hear his teeth chattering. I try to move, but something heavy keeps me immobilized. Water continues to seep into our sleeping quarters on USS Essex.
“Hang in there, Doughboy.” I attempt to remove the fear from my voice.” “We’re getting out of here.”
“It’s cold, man.’ His voice is so small, it makes something inside me ache. We hadn’t expected the onslaught. Dough and I were off duty and ogling a couple of Playboy magazines when it happened. First the whistle, then the crack, and then the blast that led us here, trapped under wood and metal.
“If we get out, I’m asking Marilyn to marry me,” he laughs, then immediately starts to splutter.
“Man, she doesn’t even know your name.” I try to push up whatever is on me, the hardest bench press of my life. My chest burns, my arms feel like they’re about to give out. “Dough?”
He doesn’t answer. I manage to get free, but my leg hurts like a bitch. I drag myself into a sitting position and heave a breath. Who knew that such little exertion could feel that excruciating? They don’t call me “Indestructible” for no reason. “Doughboy? Marcus?” I call again into the darkness. He doesn’t respond, but I hear movement, so I drag myself in that direction.
Marcus Brussel, better known and Doughboy for his love of carbs in his teens, and I have been friends since we were kids. He and I share a tiny cabin that fits only a bunk bed and a small desk, so he’s close by, but him not responding makes it harder for me to find him. In the darkness, all I can see is a slight red glow that must be the doorway.
The vessel was attacked, and we were likely going to blow, which means Marcus and I have to get out of here. The shouting almost drowned out by the clamor continues around me as I drag myself on my uninjured side toward where I hope my friend is. I feel around in the dark, and sure enough, I feel a bulky figure. I find his shoulder and shake it lightly.
“We gotta get outta here, Dough.” I tell him, grateful that I can hear his soft breathing. “Marcus, come on.” I urge.
“Ain’t gonna make it, Brax,” his voice is labored. I choke out a sob.
“What about Marilyn?” my voice is shaky, and he says nothing. I feel his chest then run my hands down his body, and when I realize half of my friend is missing, I let out a scream that deafens me. I start chest compressions anyway, but I know he’s gone. I know I’ve lost him. I couldn’t save him.
I start to talk to Dough, telling him about all the things we’d do when we wake up and realize this is all a dream. Then I cry some more, and when my body feels so cold I can’t breathe anymore, I close my eyes, and I welcome whatever’s to come.
A shrill cell phone ringing has my eyes flying open. I look at the digital clock on the dashboard, and it reads 9:00 p.m. I’m sitting in the passenger seat of a sleek limousine. I fell asleep. I look over at Butch, the driver, who casts me a sideways glance, no expression on his face.
I open the door and drag myself to my feet. I’d been planning to wait an hour then go inside, but now I’m fifteen minutes late. Fuck. I adjust my suit and slightly sway as I make my way to the entrance of the gentleman’s club where my client had a meeting. Ericson Bryant, more commonly known as ‘Void’, was signing up with the biggest record company in the country. He’s made quite a name for himself.
I remove the red rope that blocks the entrance, and a man matching my six feet but much bulkier blocks my way. “By invitation only,” he growls.
“Void is in there, I’m his bodyguard. I don’t need an invitation,” I say through gritted teeth.
“If you’re his bodyguard, why aren’t you in there with him?” Fair enough.
“Little bitch asked me not to, said he wanted to do it on his own,” I shrug.
He laughs. “True, that kid is a little bitch.” We smirk at each other just as the door flings open and a very high Void and a woman with rainbow-colored hair that looks vaguely familiar stumble outside.
“Brax, my man, this is Tracy,” Ericson slurs.
“This way,” I say, grabbing his arm to steady him. I turn and cameras are flashing in our faces. I push Ericson behind me as I push my way to the limo. Where did these assholes come from? They shout out all kinds of questions, which I ignore, blocking their flashes with my hand until I’ve got Eric and his girl safely inside the limo.
Hopping into the driver’s side, Butch starts pulling away.
“What a night!” the woman yells, and Ericson whoops loudly in response.
“Some Eminem?” Butch asks. I nod and Godzilla blasts through the speakers. As we drive to the hotel, I watch the woman straddle Eric in the rearview, sucking his face. I push the button to the partition.
The driver and I help the stumbling artist and his latest conquest into the hotel room. The woman’s clothes are in disarray, and Eric is barely able to stand on his own two feet. After we close the door to the bedroom, Butch wishes me good luck, and I plop into an armchair after seeing him out.
I sigh.
You’re gonna do great things, son. I remember my father’s words like he’d said them to me yesterday. We’d been standing at the harbor looking at Navy ships after we had a tour of one of the vessels. Men in service had greeted us and led us through what I can only call a moment of truth, an awakening. I was only eleven, yet that was the moment I realized I wanted to be a Navy SEAL. I still remember my father’s face as he looked down at me, the pride and love he’d always been known to show.
