recall

He was in a marshy area. Mud squished beneath his boots. He was moving through water, slowly, sluggishly, weighed down by equipment and a gun. He was talking with someone.

Suddenly he was cut off. Noise, chaos and...blood. Then nothing.

He woke with a hard jerk, as if slapped into consciousness, blinking against the blinding lights above him.

He raised a tired arm to shield his eyes, surprised to see sterile bandages covering the skin. Frowning, he raised his other arm, only to see similar bandages that started at his wrists and continued up to his elbows.

Turning his head slightly, he saw white walls and white floors. He was either in heaven or a hospital. He hoped it was a hospital.

He felt the stiffness of the sheets that covered his body, and the image of starched military fatigues flashed through his cobweb cluttered mind. He took a breath, felt a scratchy sensation deep within his chest and coughed. His entire body ached, and judging by the pain and tenderness in his legs and abdomen, he guessed he’d been in some sort of accident. Had his dream actually happened?

His heartbeat quickened with the realization that he couldn’t even remember his own name, or where he was from, or what he was doing in this hospital. He nearly choked with fear. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and he ran a hand over his face, felt a bandage on his temple.

He needed to get up, find answers. He needed to know who he was.

As quickly as he could, which wasn’t very fast at all, he pushed back the sheets and leaned over the bed. He saw he was in a hospital nightgown, and that his legs were also wrapped in thick gauze.

With a grunt he tried to stand, but a wave of dizziness overwhelmed him. His body wouldn’t respond and he went toppling over the edge, landing hard on the tiled floor. He smelled fresh floor wax and stared at the wheels of the bed, trying to focus.

“Mr. Fordman!”

A female doctor in a white lab coat rushed over, followed by two nurses. They helped him back into bed, checked his pulse and rearranged the sheets and fluffed his pillows.

“Sir, you need to lay back and rest,” the doctor said softly. She was young, not much older than he was. She had long dark hair and soft brown eyes that searched his. Her voice was kind, slightly accented.

“Are you all right, sir?” she asked.

“Where am I?” he croaked, his throat dry.

The doctor asked one of the nurses to get some water. Then she turned her attention back to him.

“I’m Dr. Madhavi, and you’re in Medistra Hospital.”

“Where’s that?”

“Jakarta. You’re in Indonesia, sir.”

He blinked. “How did I get here?”

Dr. Madhavi glanced at the remaining nurse and frowned. “You don’t know?”

He shook his head.

“Your name is Whitney Fordman. You’re a member of the United States Marine Corps. Your unit was attacked ten days ago by a guerilla group while you were on a mission. It’s taken that long to get you here, and you’ve been drifting in and out of consciousness the entire time. You’ve suffered some burns to your arms, legs and abdomen, a minor head injury, and right now we’re getting a private room ready for you.”

A plastic cup with a straw was placed near his lips, and he drank a little, feeling the lukewarm liquid leave a path down his parched throat. He leaned back and nodded his thanks.

“I...did anyone else...” He swallowed hard. “Where’s the rest of my unit?”

The doctor lowered her gaze and shook her head. “I’m sorry. You were the only survivor.”

Whitney closed his eyes. He couldn’t remember anything, but he couldn’t help but feel a profound sense of loss for his fellow Marines.

“Your commanding officer will be in later to see you,” the doctor said, patting his hand.

“But I don’t know anything.”

“Temporary, I’m sure, possibly from the head trauma.” She flashed a small penlight in his eyes and nodded. “I believe you’ll make a full recovery. In a few days, you’ll be transferred home.”

“Home?”

“Back to the United States.”

Whitney pondered this. “Where am I from?”

The doctor moved to the end of the bed. A hospital clipboard was hooked there, and she flipped through a few pages.

“Smallville, Kansas,” she said after a moment.

“Lemme guess, it’s small?” he asked, smiling a little.

She shrugged. “I have no idea, sir. I’m not familiar with Kansas.”

“What about my family? Do they know I’m okay?”

“Your commanding officer will tell you all about that, sir. I really don’t have much information.”

Whitney nodded and stared up at the ceiling.

“You should rest. You’ll be moved into your room soon.”

“Thank you.”

He studied the light fixtures for a few minutes until Dr. Madhavi returned. He was moved to a small room and helped into bed.

“Good to see you’re still with us,” a deep voice said from the door.

He looked up to see his commanding officer standing there, pressed, polished and straight as a board.

Whitney immediately sat up and saluted the man.

“No need for that,” he said. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine, sir.”

The older man raised a brow. Whitney slumped.

“Like hell,” he admitted.

“To be expected.”

“What happened, sir?”

Captain Bryan Walters told Whitney as best he could, and when he finished, Whitney brushed a tear from his eye.

“You’ll be discharged and sent home, soldier,” the Captain said. “Do you remember where home is?”

“Some place in Kansas called Smallville.”

“Sounds lively,” the Captain said with a grin. “Nothing springs to mind?”

Whitney closed his eyes for a moment, trying to remember. He smelled corn. He pictured farm houses, cows, a football field.

And then another image appeared before him.

A wide smile. Crinkly eyes and flippy blond hair.

He nodded slowly and whispered one word.

“Chloe.”

~end