Crossing Over by Richard Currey

Author:Richard Currey
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Santa Fe Writer's Project
Published: 2018-05-14T21:24:42+00:00

McCormick’s face in the incoming’s scream-whistle-crunch, his face in mine saying More guys in there I know there’s more guys in there. We were coming into the perimeter, just outside the wire, heard the first scream and laid down flat, the world lit up and bounced. Gotta get em out McCormick says. You’re not goin anywhere Sergeant Halverson shouts from my other side. Gotta get em to the Doc here McCormick shouts back. Make sense shitbrain Halverson says. Mac stands up and moves forward. I try to stand and stop him but Halverson two-fists the seat of my pants, knocking me down. Mac rolls under the wire, runs into blue-light clearing and pulls two men, lifting them up and under his arms like dolls. Holy fuckin christ Halverson says. One of the men Mac’s carrying comes apart under his arm like rotten food and Mac keeps moving toward us. The other man is alive and gasping, groaning. OK Doc, Mac says, all yours. I stare at the gasping man, a few seconds before I know what I’m supposed to do. Mac is in from a second run with two dead men under his arms. He drops the corpses and heads back into the clearing. Come here you simple fuck Halverson shouts after him. Shit, Halverson chokes, what is this, what are we doing? Mac is hit, jerks upright, stumbles, keeps his balance and scoops up two more, both alive, his own blood seeping from somewhere above the elbow. Get your ass in here, Halverson shouts, you’re bringing in dead guys. Get in here Mac, I say, you’re hit, gotta take care of you. Mac blinks and his knees give way: he falls in a heap with the men he was carrying. Halverson and I belly crawl toward the wire to get him, barbs opening long streaks in my back as I go under and a direct hit scores the bunker just beyond, collapsing white light eaten by heat. Halverson goes to his knees for leverage and his right arm disappears, simply gone, hurricane wind. Blood’s spuming out of the hole of his shoulder and he seems more surprised than hurt looking down at his blood spattering the mud. Mortar deafening, the long scream, earthquake crunch, volcanic explosion. Halverson stands up staring at his shoulder. Another direct hit lays down, cracking the night to empty out a primal roar, gravity reversed and gushing down and away, into the earth, into the belly of the earth, and something I don’t see rushes into Halverson, folds him once, carries him oozing into mud thirty yards away.

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