Imagination

Chapter 1

Text message:
Eve,
I’ll love you until the day I die.
~Christopher

The world exploded.
“Incoming RPG’s!” someone shouted.
Smoke engulfed the sleeping quarters. It took a few seconds for Christopher to wake up and fully realize what was happening. Confusion erupted as men scrambled for safety. Coughing, Christopher yanked on his army boots and stumbled outside wearing only his government issued boxer shorts and t-shirt. Bullets whistled through the air.
He dove into a foxhole where several of his bunkmates had taken cover. He looked out to assess the situation. In the distance, muzzle flashes looked like cameras popping at the Academy Awards as they strafed their position. Green and red tracers lit the night sky.
“What’s happening?” he asked.
“Bastard’s snuck in through the perimeter!” a sergeant stated. The sergeant pulled a pair of night vision goggles to his eyes and scanned the ridgeline. “Chatter indicates insurgents are getting reinforcements from a neighboring province! We’re trying to scramble choppers!”
“Where are the crews?”
“They’re being located! It’s chaos on the north side!”
Soldiers yelled and screamed and emptied their M-16’s unleashing drones of automatic gunfire. Return sniper bullets pinged and chipped away at the concrete bunkers. He could hear the thumping echo of large shells exploding in the upper valley. A rocket propelled grenade screamed overhead and hit the supply dump with a virulent purple flash. Explosion shook the earth blasting debris. Shrapnel nicked the American flag tattooed on Christopher’s right forearm.
Another RPG impact rumbled the ground. Christopher pulled his t-shirt over his mouth and nose to shield his lungs against the choking fallout. Phosphorous shells landed in the center of the encampment releasing bouncing white orbs of smoke. Thundering echoes of F-16 Fighting Falcons roared a few miles away.
“Get me a damage assessment!” a panicked voice screamed from a nearby radio. “We’re getting nailed over here! We need more guns in this fight!”
Christopher’s training automatically kicked in. Without thought to his own safety, he scrambled up and raced across the air strip toward one of the waiting Apache attack helicopters. Spinning rotors stirred clouds of sand that nearly blinded him as he hopped through the open door. Noise of the heavy engine was deafening.
The pilot turned his head.
“Who the Hell are you?” he barked.
“Sergeant first class Christopher Parker, sir! I’m a gunner specialist! What can I do?”
“Where’s your uniform, sergeant?”
“My tent’s been mortared, sir!”
The pilot turned around and flipped switches on the consol.
“Man your position!” he said. “No sense sitting here like ducks.”
Christopher dropped down into the gunner seat and pulled the safety harness across his chest. A few moments later, they got grid reports and received clearance for liftoff. Powerful thrust rattled the Apache and the imposing war machine rose into the air. Christopher’s adrenaline skyrocketed. This was what he was taught to do. What he’d spent months readying for. All the classroom work and preparation was now being put into practice.
Tracers arched across the sky. Machine gun fire popped rapidly from the dunes and Christopher tensed over his controls. Insurgent forces were shooting from beneath blankets that masked their heat signatures. He couldn’t get a lock.
“Over there!” the pilot stated, and steered the craft toward dozens of muzzle flashes.
Plinking sound of bullet impacts reverberated through the Apache’s interior but Christopher wasn’t overly concerned. The Apache’s reinforced, double thick steel hull was well protected against small arms fire.
“Approaching target,” the pilot said. “Maneuvering low overhead.”
The Apache turned sharply and then dropped altitude. Christopher switched on the main gun turret.
“Enemy confirmed!” the pilot stated. “Just beyond the—”
A warning siren blared. Christopher’s stomach jumped.
“They got a lock!” the pilot stated. “Evading!”
The Apache veered hard left and swooped up so quickly Christopher’s stomach felt like it slipped to his feet. The interior alarm wailed.
“Evading!” the pilot repeated.
The Apache turned so sharply Christopher thought it would roll, but the craft came out of it and then dove low.
“Can’t shake it!” the pilot hollered. “Evading!”
The Apache careened high setting off the stall warning. Fear coursed through Christopher. Sweat dripped down his spine. His heartbeat throbbed in his neck. Visions of his family, friends, and Eve raced through his mind.
“Brace!” the pilot screamed. “Oh shit! Brace! Brace! Bra—”
Explosion ripped through the craft jarring it violently sideways. The interior lit up like fireworks on Fourth of July. Exhaust turned crimson. Christopher’s body strained against the harness as the craft freefell toward the earth. The Apache seemed to momentarily regain control and then twirled recklessly bouncing Christopher against the restraints. Smoke filled the interior. Warning lights flashed and buzzed in a maelstrom of chaos. He heard the pilot scream and then felt the hard smack of the Apache hitting the sand and spin wildly as the rotors tore apart. Christopher slammed against the controls and cracked his ribs. Sunburst of pain swept across his body. He grabbed for consciousness but it winked away.

Chapter 2

“Christopher!” Janet screamed.
She ran a hand through her shoulder-length, grapefruit-colored hair feeling frustrated at her young son’s unexplained absence. If she didn’t find him soon they were going to miss his dental appointment. And the office charges if you miss.
“Christopher!”
She roamed through the living, across the den, down the hallway, and then headed up the steps, all the while her strained voice shouting, “Christopher! Christopher!”
She poked her head into her daughter’s bedroom. “Stephanie have you seen your brother?”
Stephanie was watching a movie on her ipad and texting on her phone. She looked up with distracted eyes and a questioning teenage expression.
“Who?” she asked.
“Christopher!”
Stephanie gave no sign of understanding and looked back down at her devices. “Who?”
“Real funny. He must be out back.”
Janet’s sight roamed the room: clothes everywhere, books and papers strewn about the floor, a small mountain of old Cosmo girl and Seventeen magazines stacked haphazardly in the corner. She’d been nagging Stephanie for a week to pick up, but as usual, she’d been ignored.
Why can’t Stephanie be more like Christopher? Janet thought.
Although he was only eight-years-old, Christopher was already neat and organized well beyond his years. His bed was always made and his closet was always tidy. He got that from his father who had served in Operation Desert Storm and was always arranging and tidying the house as if they were about to undergo a spot inspection.
“I want this room clean by tonight, young lady!” Janet stated, taking her frustration at Christopher’s absence out on Stephanie. “I’m tired of asking you!”
“Sure, mom,” Stephanie replied, in a leave-me-alone kind of way.
Janet’s irritation at Christopher’s disappearance was turning to anger. The sixty bucks she’d have to pay for the missed appointment gnawed at her. Christopher was going to be in big trouble if she didn’t find him in the next five minutes. She’d have Dan dole out the punishment when he came home from work. The army had made Dan good at handing out discipline.
She descended the stairs and hurried out the back door. Air was chilly and leaves on the large oak tree in the center of the freshly mowed lawn were dressed in pastel colors of early fall.
“Christopher!” she called, peering around for any indication of the boy.
He wasn’t in the yard.
She walked around the side of the quaint single home.
“Christopher!”
He wasn’t there, either.
A moment of fear seized her as she worried this may be more than him hiding from her because he didn’t want to go to the dentist. He might be hurt or kidnapped. Images of flyers with the picture of an abducted child invaded Janet’s mind. On the flyers were pictures of Christopher.
She fought the panic threatening to overwhelm her as she hurried around to the front of the house. There was no sign of him.
“Christopher!” she hollered. “Christopher, where are you?”
Stephanie’s bedroom window slid up.
“Mom, who are you yelling at?” she asked. “The whole neighborhood can hear you!”
“Where is your brother?” Janet replied, hysteria building in her tone. “We’re going to miss his appointment!”
Stephanie’s eyebrows drew together. “What are you talking about?”
“Don’t play with me, Stephanie! Help me find him!”
“Who?”
“Christopher!”
Her voice fractured.
“Mom,” Stephanie said. “I don’t know who Christopher is.”
“Your brother!”
Stephanie cocked her head. “I don’t have a brother!”
“Where is he? Where is he hiding?”
“I don’t know, mom! I don’t know who you’re talking about! You’re not making sense!”
Janet felt a flare of fear. Real mother’s fear. It shot through her like an exploding arrow. She ran back inside and searched frantically through the living room; throwing open closet doors and drawers and looking under the furniture, even though Christopher was too big to fit.
Stephanie had come out of her bedroom and stood at the top of the stairs. Her eyes were wide and her face pale.
“Mom, you’re scaring me.”
Janet looked at the walls. Pictures showed her and Dan, Stephanie as a baby, Stephanie taking guitar lessons, she and Dan at the beach, Stephanie’s elementary school graduation. There wasn’t a single picture of Christopher with his brown hair and bright smile. Not a single one!
“Where are they?” Janet huffed, barely able to keep it together. “Where are they?”
“What?” Stephanie asked meekly, looking like she was about to cry.
“Pictures of Christopher!” Janet screamed at the top of her lungs.
She rushed up the stairs with a heavy concussion of footsteps, passed Stephanie, who recoiled against the top railing, and swung open the door to Christopher’s bedroom. Hysteria blasted over her. She stood petrified, unable to move.
Short of breath, she took a step backward and then another and then stood a moment, heart pounding, head swimming in hallucinogenic disbelief. Shock formed a lump in her throat and would not let her speak or swallow. In a rush of terror, she flew forward to the bureau and rummaged through the drawer for Christopher’s things, throwing papers and file folders to the floor.
“Mom, are you okay?” Stephanie asked, as she slowly entered the room and stepped toward her. “Mom?” She paused. “What are you looking for in dad’s office?”
“Where are Christopher’s things?” Janet seethed, her voice manic high. “His clothes, his Star Trek bed sheets, his collection of army figures, his toy muscle cars? Where are they?”
“I… I don’t know,” Stephanie peeped.
Janet’s instinctual emotions exploded with the force of dynamite.
“Where’s my phone?” she shrieked, her eyes alive, her breath hitching. “Find my phone!”
“It’s beside the couch,” Stephanie replied, fearfully.
Janet raced down the stairs her feet barely hitting the wood. Her fingers snatched the device like a magnet to steel, but she fumbled getting Dan’s contact info on the screen. Finally, she hit it.
His phone rang once.
Twice.
A third time.
“Pick up!” she screamed, exacerbated. “Pick up! Pick up! Pick—”
“Hello?”
She drew a deep breath and shouted. “Where’s Christopher?”
“Janet, calm down,” Dan’s voice was even and rational, he was always even and rational, another trait evolved from his army training. “What’s wrong?”
Janet felt her legs buckle. She put a cautionary hand over her middle and took deep, steadying breaths to get the words out. Her eyes filled with tears and she suddenly smelled smoke.
“I… can’t… find… Christopher!”
Momentary silence ensued from the other end. Dan cleared his throat and then said very directly.
“Who’s Christopher?”
Smell of smoke intensified and she started coughing.

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