Page 37 of Dax: Gratefully Bonded

“You’re also suffering from PTSD,” Rolen said gently. “I understand. It’s very common for survivors of trauma to be angry about their experiences. That said, I do expect participants in this class to treat both me, and each other, with respect. Is that something you can work with?”

“Yes,” I said, just about managing to cut off the automatic ‘Sir’ that nearly followed. Too many years in the military made for some strange habits.

“Good,” Rolen said. “For today, I’d like you to attempt all of the exercises, but feel free to stop if any of the activities are causing you pain. I’ll spend some time with you individually in the second half of the class to work through the ones you’re having difficulty with, and to develop a few exercises specifically for you, to strengthen the appropriate muscles. Any questions before we start?”

I shrugged. I hadn’t spent a great deal of time thinking about what this class would involve, so I didn’t have any particular expectations. “No, that sounds fine.”

Rolen smiled and nodded. “And this is…?” he asked, turning his attention to Dax, who was lingering behind my shoulder.

“This is Dax. My support worker,” I replied, without blinking. The information brochure on the class had said I was allowed to bring one, and I figured Dax fitted the criteria well enough.

Rolen merely nodded. “And will you be participating in the class?” he asked Dax.

Dax glanced at me, clearly caught by surprise by the question. “No, he’ll just be watching,” I said.

“Very good. Everyone should be arriving in the next few minutes, and then we’ll get started. Feel free to have a lookaround until then. Ah, good morning, Liz,” he said, glancing beyond me to whoever had just arrived. “We missed you last week. Glad you could make it this time.”

I took a quick glance over my shoulder, anticipating giving the newcomer a polite nod, then moving away to mind my own business. But the instant I got a look at her, my polite intentions vanished.

A small, Wasop woman stood in front of me… and my eyes immediately honed in on the stump where her right arm ended, just below her elbow.

My vision swam, and images crowded my head of Lieutenant Ru, eyes wide in terror as a gaping maw full of jagged teeth closed around her hand during our desperate escape from Ixralia. Of the writhing vines that reached out to grab her as she plunged her knife into the beast’s head. Of the way she’d screamed when the creature had let her go… but had taken her hand with it. My entire body flushed with heat as I was pulled under by the images. My chest felt tight. My lungs locked up, and suddenly there wasn’t enough air in the room.

“You got a problem?” I heard the woman ask, her voice a snarl as she took a step towards me in challenge.

I backed away, unable to tear my eyes off the stump of her arm. Phantom pain surged up my leg. I felt the slick drip of blood down my side. Then suddenly, my line of sight was cut off as Dax stepped between us.

The woman turned her anger on him instead. “What the fuck is his problem?” she demanded of Dax.

I turned away, feeling the floor tilt beneath my feet.

“He suffers from PTSD,” I dimly heard Dax explain. “He knew a woman who lost her hand in a traumatic injury. I suspect seeing you has triggered some unpleasant memories. We apologise for any rudeness.” I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder and allowed him to lead me away into a corner. “Sit down,” Daxinstructed me, so I did, sitting with my head lowered for a few minutes until my heart rate slowed and I could breathe easier. Slowly, the images faded, and I was back to staring at scuffed wooden floor boards. “Fuck,” I muttered, rubbing my eyes. Dax was still there, right beside me, and I noted with relief that no one else had come over to bother us.

After a pause, Dax asked, “Are you ready to join the group? Or would you like to stay here a bit longer?”

I looked down at my hands. There was no blood on them. No craters where I’d had to pull the leech-like parasites off me. Those wounds had long since healed.

“Yeah, let’s get on with this,” I said, managing to get my feet under me. Dax, to his credit, let me stand up on my own, though he remained nearby, just in case.

By the time I was feeling steady enough to turn around, the rest of the group had arrived. There were the two Wasop women; the one with the missing arm, and the other one who had been stretching when we’d arrived. That one had no visible injuries, though she moved stiffly as she came over to join the rest of us. There was also a Solof man with extensive scarring down the side of his face, a human woman who had a walking stick and a pronounced limp, and a Sedgeged man with a brace supporting each of his hind legs. The Sedgegeds were an interesting species – their bodies were covered from head to toe with brightly coloured feathers, and they had a tendency to walk on all fours when not engaged in formal business. They also had beaks, rather than soft mouths, and spoke in a series of chirps and whistles. Fortunately, our translators were well equipped to interpret their language. The Solof man and the human woman had each brought a support worker with them, which made me feel a little less conspicuous about having Dax there.

Rolen called the class to order, and we got started on some basic warm up exercises. He introduced me to the class briefly,but I was relieved to find that I wasn’t expected to give any kind of explanation of my injuries. Then we split into groups and headed to different stations around the room, working through a series of exercises, some designed to strengthen specific muscle groups, while others were meant to improve balance or range of motion. For the first twenty minutes or so, I found the movements too easy. I’d been in the military, after all, and for all that I hadn’t been exercising much lately, I was used to vigorous workouts.

But in the second half of the session, the intensity increased dramatically. Rolen cautioned us repeatedly to slow things down if the exercises were causing pain, but I relished the opportunity to extend myself. I’d been taking things far too easily, as far as physical exercise went, at least, and it was nice to have a faint reminder of what my body was actually capable of, if I bothered to put in the effort.

Coming to the end of my most recent exercise, I set down the exercise band and turned to head over to the rows of coloured tape. They were more for coordination, laid out to guide us to walk in figure eights, or to extend our steps instead of shuffling. I stepped up to the first set, in a fluorescent green…

A clattering boom echoed through the room, and my vision swam red. I screamed and ducked, leering vines towering over me. A second gunshot echoed through the narrow space, and I scrambled backwards until my back hit a tree. Or what passed for a tree on this godforsaken planet. For all I knew, the fucking thing was about to eat me. A vine wrapped around my wrist, but I shook it off, lashing out as a creature tried to pin me to the ground. Someone else was yelling, but I didn’t recognise the voice. Was there another crew here, as well as my own? For fuck’s sake, did I have to rescuemorepeople?

There was more shouting, and I recognised one voice. Dax. He was shouting at the creatures to get back, to stay away fromme, and I shuddered at the thought of him having to fend them off all by himself. I tried to move to help him, but everything was too dark, and I couldn’t see, my body frozen, my breaths coming in short, choppy pants.

And then…

And then everything got quiet. The light of the too-bright sun flickered out, leaving everything dim, bathed in shades of blue. That was better. Ixralia had been red. So much red, all the time. Red like blood. The blue was cooler, softer. And the silence settled, the faint pad of footsteps tapping gently across the room towards me.

“Ezekiel?”

I struggled to reply, not quite able to get my throat to work. “Hmm?” I managed, after a few tries.