Page 45 of Running Risk
CLAYTON: THEN
“Sergeant Daniels? Can you hear me?” a voice says.
My eyes are closed, and I can’t seem to open them. There’s beeping and distant voices, but this one is right near me. I try to open my eyes, but I can’t.
“Sir, can you move your feet?” the voice says again.
Why wouldn’t I be able to move my feet? What’s this man talking about? Why the hell can’t I open my eyes? Did I move my feet? Did he see it? Where am I?
“I’m sorry, Ma’am. He still isn’t awake.”
My heart sinks hearing a soft cry at my side, and someone squeezes my hand. “Thank you for trying. Can you tell me what happened to him? They didn’t give me much information over the phone before I flew here.”
I know that voice. Mom? What’s she doing here? What’s she talking about?
“I don’t have all the details, but from what I understand, he was shot a few times and fell off a balcony.
He has a laceration above his left eye that we were able to stitch closed.
We got the bullets out, thankfully with minimal internal damage.
But when he fell, he crushed his knee in the fall.
We repaired it the best we could, but we aren’t sure how much damage will be permanent until he wakes up and goes through physical therapy. ”
Holy shit. I vaguely remember us being under fire, but I can’t remember much.
I don’t remember falling. My unit was yelling during the attack, and I was doing everything I could to get them out safely.
I attempt again to open my eyes, but it feels like they’re sealed shut.
Part of the problem might be the cut he mentioned, but I’m also tired.
My whole body feels like it is melting into the bed as my mind drifts off.
“Clayton, I would really love it if you would wake up.” Her soft cries make her voice crack, and she places a kiss on my hand.
I try again to open my eyes, and one of them barely opens, showing me a bright and blurry room. “Mom?” My voice is dry. I wince as more light floods my vision.
She gasps. “Clay? Oh, my god. Help!” She squeezes my hand. “I need a doctor in here!” she yells toward the open doorway. The tears in her eyes fall down her cheeks as she presses her cheek against my hand. Her soft cries fill the hospital room.
After I’m able to open one eye and the blurriness has subsided, a doctor comes in to examine me more than what the nurses have been doing since my mom called for help.
“Sergeant. It’s good to see you awake,” the doctor says, picking up my chart and walking closer.
I give my mom the cup of water she handed me moments ago and look at him through my good eye. “Tell me how bad it is, and when I can go back.”
My mom gasps, but I don’t spare her a glance. I have a squad that needs me back as soon as possible. I don’t have time to stay in this hospital bed. I have a duty to them.
The doctor’s lips press into a thin line. “I’m sorry, but you won’t be returning to active duty. They have already started your paperwork to be honorably discharged.”
My heart pounds, and I attempt to sit up.
The monitor beeps more frequently, which only makes my nerves more on edge.
I haven’t been home in over four years, and I have just reenlisted for another four years.
This is supposed to be my career. What am I supposed to do if I can’t go back?
I get shot, and they are already so quick to discharge me?
The doctor lays a hand on my shoulder. “I know what a shock this is, but unfortunately, with the injury to your leg—” he pauses.
“Just tell me,” I nearly growl.
“Clay,” my mom says, shock clear in her tone.
He stands straighter. “I’m not sure you will walk again on that leg. It’s going to take months of physical therapy to see if that’s a possibility.”