Inevitable

From a very young age, John Calloway had been forced to combat the sensations of sleep paralysis. It was just one of a number of perils associated with premonition. In this case, he began his routine, as always, with trying to wiggle his toes. He could not really wiggle his toes but his brain still took the attempt as a signal to focus attention on his extremities. As his mind floated in an endless ocean of static nothingness, a chill began to work its way through his body. His fingers and toes came alive with a burning pain that quickly retreated into numbness, like all the blood in his body had left his limbs to die. His legs shook unsteadily beneath him in the darkness and if it wasn't for the pressure on his hips and knees he would've thought he had no feet at all. The cold crept along his legs and arms until it came to his chest where it was repeled very suddenly by an area of warmth. It tingled and buzzed as if a thousand bees had nested in his lungs. Like a dip in a hot tub in the middle of winter. He could feel the heaviness of what he assumed was a thick winter coat.

A small vibration from the deepest part of his ears joined the buzzing in his chest. The vibration grew stronger and started pounding at his head. It pushed at his eyes and rattled his teeth. He could hear a distant ringing, rapidly approaching, and behind it came multiple, chest-rattling, thumps. The deep, bassy, vibrations were far off in the distance but their rhythm was steady. As was the ringing. It was deafening now, a force of nature, crushing in on him from all sides. The thumps shook under his feet and he thought to balance himself and then remembered that he was not in control. He felt his legs moving. His hands held something cold and smooth. The darkness in front of him split in two and an endless horizon of bright light appeared. It lifted like a curtain up and over his head as his vision returned. He broke the surface of the dark ocean of nothingness and came bursting, gasping, into the harsh light of reality.

The ringing pitched up into an ear splitting whistle. A sharp, forceful blast coming from his left. John’s head turned on it’s own and he saw a young man in an olive colored uniform running towards him blowing a small whistle as hard as he could. The man rushed by John and as his head turned to follow he noticed that Captain Walsh was still standing in front of him, staring at the whistle-blower with obvious concern. The man continued on down the trench and the sound of the whistle came to an immediate stop as a deep, mud drenched explosion removed his body from the Earth. A cascade of rotting meat, watered-down blood, and thick viscera showered down on John and Captain Walsh. The two men dropped to the ground, burying their faces in an inch of mud and disease. Several more shells exploded farther down the trench and then stopped. Everything stopped. John watched his face come up out of the mud and felt his hands wipe the filth from the action on his rifle. He noticed for the the first time that there were other men with him. Some he knew, some he only recognized in passing. Every one of them had the same look of fear and relief on their faces. The shelling was done, for now. His eyes looked to Captain Walsh and he felt his mouth moving.

“Should we prepare for a charge?”

Walsh pointed up to a small strip of fabric that had lodged itself on a section of razor-wire on the top of the trench. It was blowing in the breeze, away from the enemy. John felt his heart tighten in his chest as his body exploded with adrenaline. He frantically tugged at the mask on his pack as the sirens began to scream. Walsh turned and screamed down the length of the trench.

“Gas!”

“Gas!” 

“Gas!”

John felt his hands unclip the mask from it’s strap and a strange pressure slid across his finger followed by throbbing pain. His eyes looked down to see blood dripping from a small cut. He followed it to the source and stared in shock at the shattered, useless, eye holes of the mask. It’s jagged lenses stared back at him, taunting him. Several of the men around him had left their masks behind to scramble up the back of the trench. The thin cracking sound of a hail of bullets zipped overhead and their bodies came back down as fast as they had left. John stood for a second, considering his options. A pale green mist crept down from behind and as he took a frantic breath his lungs filled with fire. Molten hot needles of pain eroded his eyes. His body shook violently and he fell to the ground. He could feel the vomit rising to the surface, mixing with the gas and burning as it went. The skin on his hands blistered and popped. He rolled onto his back and through a flood of tears he saw the silhouettes rising over the trench. Their spikes helmets glinting in the sun.

A hard snap of pain impacted with John’s cheek and he was thrust back into his body. He grabbed at his face instinctively and noticed that his hands responded appropriately. He looked up from his chair to see Captain Walsh standing over him.

“That’s your five minutes John.” Walsh said. “We can’t have our best mind get jelly-brains right out the gate.”

John leapt to his feet and looked down at his gas mask. The broken lenses were still there. He frantically pushed past Walsh and poked his head over the trench. A bullet whizzed by but he stayed steady, looking out across No Man’s Land at the slow, creeping mass of pale green gas that was just starting to rise from the German trenches. He dropped back down, face to face with a very confused Captain Walsh. The whistle started coming closer. He could see the young man coming around the corner.

“What’s happening soldier?” Walsh looked at him with concern.

John looked into Walsh’s eyes. “Gas.”

The young man with the whistle sprinted by and John lunged towards him. He ripped the mask from the man’s chest and pushed him away. The man was still looking back at him with confusion as the explosion turned his body to mist. John grabbed Walsh and threw him away from the blast. They both stood up and Walsh screamed down the line at the rest of the men.

“Gas!”

“Gas!”

“Gas!”

The sound of Walshes voice echoed through the trench as the familiar silence washed over them. The men snapped to attention and scrambled for their masks. John strapped his own mask on and aimed his rifle up at the top of the trench. A large crack ran through his vision. His heart sank as he pulled the mask off and looked at the broken left eyehole. He dropped it to the ground and pulled out his pistol. Just my luck. He thought to himself. An inevitability on my first assignment. He looked over at Walsh and the others as the small group was gunned down above him. Walsh looked over and John could see the fear and confusion in his eyes. He gave a half-hearted salute, raised the pistol to his head, and pulled the trigger.