Lucas
As I feared, the peace I’ve grown accustomed to over the past few months is fleeting. The pressure in my chest grows tighter and tighter the closer we get to our destination.
Feeling the progress I’ve made over the past few months dwindle away is demoralizing, especially since a part of me hoped the Navy docs were wrong. That with time and a lot of hard work, I’d someday return to the man I used to be. The sure-footed, unflappable operator who could walk into the most dangerous of situations and execute the mission to plan. The fact my heart is pounding out of my chest at the mere thought of entering a sleepy little town, all but confirms that part of me is gone. For a man like me, whose purpose and identity were built around my career as a Navy SEAL, this setback feels like a sentence worse than death.
Rubbing the back of my neck, I take a deep breath before exhaling loudly. The nervous energy surging through me makes it feel like the world around me could come crashing down at any moment. Since choosing to return to this place, I’m back to teetering on the edge, waiting for that final blow that will push me over the point of no return.
It’s a fucking struggle. Like swimming against the current with your feet and hands tied behind your back, except much worse. For unlike in my drown-proofing training at BUD/S, that inner voice that evokes calm and a calculated plan for survival is replaced by demonic voices that question what the hell is the point. Why fight? Why struggle to survive if all that is left of my life is this hopeless and bottomless pit of suffering?
Thankfully, the feel of Nero’s cold nose poking at my shoulder pulls me out of the dark thoughts before they fully take hold. It’s why he’s here.
“I’m good. We’re good.” I try to reassure us both, the warm softness of his fur under my fingers helps settle my unease. “Everything’s going to be alright. We go in, do some recon, then lie low until it’s time. I got your six, and you got mine.”
I pat his head with my free hand one last time, keeping the other on the steering wheel. Determination courses through me as I work through the plan. Focus on the mission and trust in the team. That’s how we both made it through our military tours, and that’s how we’ll make it through this weekend.
“Keep it together, Holt. It’s only two nights.” I tell myself.
Tapping the steering wheel nervously with my thumbs, I notice the Welcome to Ruby Creek sign coming into view. My eyebrows draw together, as once again I question my decision to stay at the Old Mill Inn. At one time, the Inn was run by an old friend of Dad’s, but since the old guy would have to be in his 90s, I’m counting on the fact he should have retired by now. With luck, whoever runs the place won’t recognize me.
As for the rest of the town, I’ll do my best to not venture out during the day when most of the townspeople are out and about. It’s doable but will prove a challenge, given that Main Street is the business district of the town. Everything from the Inn, to the local bar, the grocery store, the barbershop, the diner.... just about every business is located off or near that major stretch of road. It’s a guarantee that someone will notice my arrival, which means it won’t be long before news of the derelict drifter with a dog makes its way through the town. I was 17 years old the last time I was here, so I’m hoping that buys me at least some anonymity. If not that, then the homeless mountain man look I’ve adopted in my depressive state will hopefully do the trick.
“Of all the weekends, why did it have to be this one?” I ask Nero, who cocks his head to the side like he’s trying to understand what I’m babbling on about.
I had every intention of staying outside the town limits in one of the neighboring campgrounds. That plan went to hell thanks to the warming spring weather and the fact it’s Mother’s Day weekend. Every campground and hotel in a 70-mile radius of Ruby Creek was sold out. The Old Mill Inn was the only one with availability, thanks to a last-minute cancelation, per the man who confirmed my reservation.
“It’s crazy how little this place has changed,” I tell Nero, who eyes me suspiciously. His ears in constant motion as he tunes in to the surrounding sounds.
Considered a small mountain town, Ruby Creek sits at the center of the Allegheny Mountains in Pennsylvania. Its lower elevation offers a beautiful 360-degree view of the mountain ranges that surround it. While it doesn’t offer much in the way of skiing like the neighboring communities, its mountain climbing and hiking trails are some of the best in the area. And the fishing, Christ! I still remember that 38-inch Northern Pike we caught at Ruby Creek Lake when I was 15. Though not native to our waters, somehow the beasts moved into the area and made a home there.
“Before we leave, we should do a little fishing. What do you say, boy?” Beside me Nero whines, his eyes scanning the world outside his window. The unfamiliar area is making him restless and stirring up his need to get out of the car and explore. “Just a few minutes more.” I rub my hand over his ears to calm him.
Though I try not to think about it, growing up in this town was the highlight of my life. Back when I was a kid, I never imagined living anywhere else. Being born into a small town doesn’t only mean you know most of the residents, it also makes you part of a tight-knit community. The people of this town take care of their own. Even those nurturing feuds that span generations will stand by one another, especially against outsiders. If you’re from here, no matter who you are or where you’ve been, you belong here. Aside from this town, the only other place I felt that kind of camaraderie was with my brothers and sisters in arms.
Pulling into the grocery store parking lot, I’m relieved to find only a few cars. It shouldn’t surprise me, considering it’s 6:30 on Saturday morning. Sometimes I forget normal people start their day after the sun rises. It’s a luxury Nero and I rarely partake in, since most nights we’re kept awake by the hyper-awareness that comes from knowing that darkness is the perfect cover for the enemy to hide. It’s yet another lingering aftershock from our previous life.
After turning off my truck, I reach for my phone and wallet, then signal for Nero to get in position so I can strap on his vest. As a retired CAD, or Combat Assault Dog, the harness is his uniform. He’s used to it, having worn one throughout his career. This one is like the ones he used in Afghanistan. The only difference is the Service Dog patch, which I had added when I relocated him to New York. Though not entirely true for Nero, it signals to anyone we encounter that he’s not a pet.
While you wouldn’t know it by looking at him, Nero went to war and almost died fighting for our country. Trained to do everything from parachuting out of planes, sniffing out explosives, and taking down armed assailants, at one time, the government considered him a weapon in our SEAL arsenal. Though he’s obedient and follows my every command, he too has his share of PTSD triggers that could prove dangerous to those unaware they should keep their distance. It’s a risk I took on when I agreed to adopt him from the program, and it’s why I do everything in my power to ensure he always feels safe. The patch serves the dual purpose of protecting him from the public while protecting the public from him.
Getting out of the truck with leash in hand, slight pressure is all it takes to get him to follow. His body is on high alert with eyes up, eagerly awaiting my command. Even in retirement, he’s ready to work.
“Let’s get this done,” I tell him as he follows at my side. His watchful eyes scan our surroundings as we move, glancing up at me every now and again to ensure he doesn’t miss a hand signal.
We only need a few things to hold us over. Enough so we don’t have to leave our room at the Inn until late in the evenings. Some water, protein bars, dog food, and maybe some jerky for us to share. Entering the store, I’m relieved when I don’t recognize anyone. Though I know we’ve been spotted by the few who are either insomniacs or woke at the crack of dawn to be here, we keep to ourselves. I make quick work of grabbing the few things we need, and I’m grateful when I see the self-checkout lanes. It allows me to scan, bag, and pay for my things without having to talk to anyone. It’s not until I’m walking back to the parking lot that I feel the electrifying tension coiling up my spine.
The sudden weight in the pit of my stomach as my body responds to a perceived threat slows time. My senses heighten as I scan the area, which is when I see it. Immediately, the alarms go off. My nervous system kicks in and my heart pounds in my chest. Everything inside me screams I run, that I move to evade, but try as I might, I’m frozen in place. Unable to move. Barely able to breathe.
Tuned into my moment of panic, Nero emits a warning growl. His eyes come to me, looking for the signal granting him permission to neutralize the threat. And that’s when I hear it. The sound of my past, colliding with my present and obliterating any hope I had of making it out of this town unscathed.
“Lucas?”
The sound of her voice is like a cool spring breeze blowing on overheated skin. The initial shock to the system urges me to turn away, but the welcomed relief is comfort like I’ve never felt. It’s a stark contradiction. A huge breath escapes my lips, as I remain locked upon the whiskey eyes that still haunt my dreams. As if the world has been tilted on its axis, the tension in my body is replaced by shaky limbs, and it takes considerable effort to keep from falling to my knees. Caught somewhere between the past and the present, I’m unable to formulate a coherent thought, except for the one that demands I confirm it’s her.
“Embree…?”
NOTE: Chapter 5 Continues in the next episode.
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