Silent Creed

14

It was too damned hot to breathe.

A hundred degrees at ten in the morning. That was Afghanistan.

Creed knew it would only get hotter. He already felt the weight of his gear, seventy-five pounds riding on his back. He couldn’t think about that right now. It didn’t matter how uncomfortable he felt, he was there to clear a path through hostile territory. The marine platoon he was assigned to certainly didn’t care. To them he was a perpetual outsider. Creed and his dog were there to do a job and then move on to the next platoon.

Only now he couldn’t see Rufus. The dog knew not to go too far out of his sight. Eighteen months old and he still had that easy lope of a Labrador puppy. But everything else about the dog projected strength and discipline. He got right down to business and worked hard for the same goal.

Always the same goal—find toy.

So intent he’d ignore his own discomforts. Creed considered the blistering heat and wondered if he should start an IV on Rufus before dehydration started.

He couldn’t see the dog but he knew he was there. He felt his presence even when he couldn’t quite see him. Still, Creed watched and listened. He felt his own senses heighten. Unlike Rufus, he couldn’t smell the ammonium nitrate of buried IEDs, but he could hear the breeze rustling through the nearby cornfields. His eyes could pick out a humped area of loose dirt. Sometimes even see the wire sticking up.

In camp you’d hear a blast in the distance and you knew a wandering goat or an unsuspecting villager had tripped another IED. You acknowledged it, shrugged at anyone who might have heard it, too, then you went on with your routine. But every time they went beyond the wire, things changed. Creed knew he and his dog were easy targets.

“First out, first to die.”

And in Afghanistan the Taliban targeted dogs. The bastards knew the emotional attachment. They knew what taking out the dog would do, not just to the handler, but to the whole platoon.

Creed thought it was a bit ironic, since each platoon regarded them as outsiders. Marine dog handlers came in for a short period of time and usually moved on. They rarely got a chance to become a part of the tight-knit family the others had created. Creed was used to being treated with some level of suspicion. With each unit he knew they were wondering if he and his dog would get them through safely or if he’d get them all killed.

But Creed and Rufus had been with Logan and his men for almost a month. Too long. Creed had seen things he wasn’t meant to see, and Logan knew it.

He glanced back to see if Logan was following, carefully stepping in Creed’s footsteps like Creed had taught him, looking for the shaving cream they used to mark the safe spots. But now he couldn’t see Logan. The huge mud wall blocked his view.

Where the hell was Logan?

He stopped and looked around.

Something was wrong.

There wasn’t anyone in sight. He needed to find Rufus. And he needed to find him quickly.

He rubbed his eyes, and when he opened them the mud wall was inches from his face. His fingers were muddy. The sun had disappeared into a dark sky. He blinked. Swiped at his eyes again. He couldn’t seem to catch his breath. His chest hurt. His body ached. His limbs were pinned down.

Buried.

Only the realization didn’t bring panic. A calmness wrapped around him. All he wanted to do was close his eyes. He invited the dream back. Wanted to return to the sun even if it took him back to Afghanistan. It was better to breathe that godforsaken country’s eternal dust than not be able to breathe at all.

Creed’s fingers went still. He felt his body relax as his mind surrendered. The soothing hum crackled, almost like static interfering with his brain waves. It was followed by an annoying scrape and crunch. He wanted to sleep. A scratching sound followed, insistent and growing louder.

Something poked his shoulder. Just when he thought he had imagined it, he felt a second hit. And this time it came with a rush of air.

Fresh air!

He gasped and sucked it in. Tilted his head and twisted his neck, pointing his mouth and nose toward the draft over his shoulder as best he could. The object poked through a third time and knocked him in the back.

Creed’s eyes tried to adjust to see through the blur. With recognition came relief, sweeping over him along with another influx of air. That’s when Bolo’s big front paw tapped him again.