Man of War by Sean Parnell

Author:Sean Parnell [Parnell, Sean]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Thriller, Military
ISBN: 978-0-06-266880-6
Publisher: William Morrow
Published: 2018-09-09T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 34

On board the cargo ship bobbing in the Mediterranean Sea, Nathaniel West pulled the shower door open and twisted the knob all the way to the left. The pipes bucked and shuddered against the bulkhead, before belching an intermittent stream of brown water.

He tore at the wrapper, but the soap was wet and the packaging slippery. The wax paper refused to come off. He gave up on the soap, letting it fall as he stepped under the nozzle, face upturned. “Dammit.” The smell of his burnt clothes was alive inside him and the only thing he could think to do was suck water up his nose.

It burned, but not enough. He groped for the knob, found it, and maxed out the heat. He opened his eyes, water going from lukewarm to scalding, chill bumps spread across the patches of unscarred skin—the ones that he could still feel. West was losing control, he would have puked but hadn’t eaten anything all day, and as hard as he retched, the only thing to come up was a little bit of bile.

He’d been here before and knew there was only one way out. Pain, and lots of it. The burning in his eyes and nasal cavity wasn’t enough, but, unable to see, he pawed for the wall with his left hand, rage scorching the fear.

He steadied himself, and a second after his left hand found the tile wall, he launched a jab with his right. It was a solid blow, the impact rushing up his arm and into his shoulder, but it wasn’t enough. He hit it again and again until his chest heaved and his arm was sore. He backed up to the tile on the opposite wall, cold on his ass. It sent a shiver up his spine that spread until he was sitting on the floor of the shower.

Nate sat there, calm now despite his shoulders, which rose and fell rapidly. “You’re good, it’s all good,” he self-soothed before sucking on his bloody knuckles. The blood rolled down his forearm, mixing with the water—reminding him of the oil that floated on the sea. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back like a junkie who had just spiked a vein. The hot water beat down on his face and rolled over the scars.

The memories were still just as vivid, but he could take them now.

He remembered swimming toward the light, lungs burning, arms and legs heavy—lead-filled. When his head broke the surface all he could think about was getting some air, but the world was on fire. He took a deep breath, sucking in a lungful of the black, acrid smoke. It tasted caustic and West realized he’d surfaced in the center of a large puddle of oil and gas. Horrified, he saw a wall of flame barreling down on him, orange and yellow fingers clawing at his gas-soaked face. He was burning, and his shirt had become a torch. He flailed at the flames and his last thought before sinking below the surface was his family.

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