9. Seven Years Ago, Haqif
SEVEN YEARS AGO, HAQIF
It happened so fast. One minute, I was sitting at my table in the mess tent, eating from a can of beans.
And the next thing I know, I’m on my back, the sky is on fire, my ears are ringing, and there’s a sharp smell of burnt meat in the air.
I remember the explosion—the blast, the boom, flying backwards and feeling my ribs snap as I crashed against something hard. But I never actually lived through it. It’s only a memory.
There is pain.
Oh god, there is pain.
A sharp, searing ache deep inside, just below my ribcage. And a duller, more intense pain in my left leg. As seconds tick by, that one turns to agony.
I cannot move, but I can scream! And so I scream, even as my head starts spinning and throbbing like from heatstroke.
“Haqif!” A figure crashes to the knees next to me. “Oh my god, Haqif!”
Krasnik. Unharmed. Pale. Shaking.
“Stay with me, Haqif.” He’s undoing his belt.
“Help me up!” I groan. “The tent’s going to collapse.”
“I’ll get you out,” he mumbles, moving his attention to something lower below.
What is that clown even doing?
He wraps the belt around my leg, which is strange, because I don’t feel him lift it. But I do feel it when he tightens the belt above my knee.
“GAAAAAAAAAARH!”
“I know, I know, I know, I’m sorry, I know, I’m so sorry!”
Krasnik’s face is wet. Not just with sweat.
He’s crying, his features scrunched up. He looks a lot younger right now—like he did when we were twelve.
My pals and I ganged up on him, beat him up, and took his money.
He cried then, too, pleading with us to give it back.
He said he needed it to buy a birthday present for his little sister.
We laughed him off and kept it. The next day, I ended up in the hospital—my bike’s brake cables had been cut, and I had a bad fall.
Since then, Krasnik and I have had more fights than I can count.
Some I won and some I lost. But I never ganged up on him with my friends again, and he never sabotaged my bike a second time.
Krasnik grabs me under the armpits and starts dragging me out of the tent, and it’s like my whole body is being pulled apart. I scream. I piss myself, and the front of my trousers gets all wet. Then I look down.
Krasnik’s black belt. Shreds of charred meat. A jagged edge of a pale bone.
My leg is gone.
Bile rises up my throat. My vision goes black, and I drift out of consciousness.
When I come to, the day is dawning pale and overcast. I’m lying on my back, grass blades crumpled underneath me.
The pain isn’t gone exactly, but it’s less blinding now, less overpowering. It’s like I’m too weak to feel it anymore. Everything is dull, indistinct.
I still can’t move, but I can turn my head.
Krasnik’s sitting with his back against a road sign pole, legs sprawled in front of him.
He looks worse than I feel. White as a sheet, dark circles under his eyes, rib cage rising and falling with each ragged breath.
He appears uninjured, but he is completely drenched in sweat.
Not an inch of him is dry—his wet hair hangs limp and heavy around his face, whatever’s exposed of his skin is glistening, and his shirt is plastered to his well-defined abs.
Bastard got a lot stronger over the past few months.
He’s all muscle now. I wouldn’t fancy meeting him in an empty alley anymore, not even outnumbered.
But still, I don’t know how he managed to get me wherever the fuck we are now.
I’m a heavy bloke. As one of the few, I haven’t lost any weight in the army.
“Oh, thank god, you’re awake!” he exclaims when his eyes land on me. “You’ve been in and out of it for hours.”
He leans over me with a worried frown, and some of his sweat drips on me like rainfall.
“Sorry, I just ... I had to stop for a bit. But we’re almost there,” he adds, still breathless.
“Where?”
“The city hospital.” He shakes his head, and more sweat drops land all over me. “I didn’t know where else to take you. The whole base is g-gone.” His voice breaks. “They bombarded everything, even the medics’ tent. I couldn’t think of anything better.”
“What city? The only city was ten miles away from the base!”
Have I hit my fucking head? Was there another city? I’m still trying to remember the base map with its pins when Krasnik destroys me with what he says next: “Yeah ... that’s the one.”
I bite my lip so hard I taste blood.
“You carried me for ten miles? You crazy bastard.”
Face buried in his hands, he’s rocking back and forth. Broken, desperate.
I think I’m about to faint again. There’s that tingly feeling under my skin, like ants, and a crushing pressure in my chest.
“Hey, Aron?” I address him, and he snaps his eyes to mine. “Why did we never become friends?”
“I don’t fucking know, man,” he scoffs, like he’s wondering the same.
“Yeah, me neither.”
I can’t keep my eyes open. The pressure in my chest increases, but there isn’t much pain anymore. Instead, a burst of intense joy flashes through me—a relief. I feel safe, comfortable, happy.
“Haqif!” Aron’s face pales ever more.
He gives my shoulders a little shake. But I barely feel that, and I only hear him from a distance.
“Haqif! Stay with me, man! We’re so close! Haqif! Please! Please!”
I close my eyes, but it doesn’t get dark. Instead, I see all sorts of colours around me.
Then I’m rising to the air, I’m weightless and flying, and it’s very warm and peaceful.