straight into a brutal twelve-hour shift, Beau lies awake. His tired
body tosses and turns, but his mind refuses to surrender, refuses to
give in. The memories . . . the nightmares.
Suddenly, a blaring alarm pierces through the night.
“Hey, wake up!” Beau shakes his three bunkmates awake.
“What’s going on?”
“Is that the gas alarm?”
Before they could answer the question, the unseen gas
leaking above them ignites.
BOOM!
Clutching his ringing ears, Beau hears distant voices calling
out.
“Are you okay?”
“Where are you?”
“The emergency light’s out! Phones too!”
“We gotta get up to the helideck! The lifeboats!”
“Shit! Close that door! You’re letting smoke in!”
In the frantic haze of smoke and screams, Beau resolutely
exhales and puts his training into use.
“Follow me,” he shouts, intending to lead the crew out
of the living quarters and down to the lifeboats. He slams his
powerful body against the door, and it swings open. Dense black
seconds of persistence, the men retreat.
Time stands still. With each passing second, hope
dissipates.
His crewmates continue to scramble and shout for rescue,
but Beau does not. The smoke burns his eyes, and he squeezes
them shut. Tears stream down his earnest face and into his lips, no
longer curled in a smirk.
but for his loving mother, his two brothers, his high school friends,
peace and happiness he lost years ago.
He thinks about the Marine Corps, and he thinks about the
war. He thinks about Afghanistan, and he thinks about the IEDs
[51]
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