Ashes to Burn (Work In Progress)

Ashes to Burn - Chapter Eight

***This story is intended for mature audiences, as it contains graphic violence, gore, coarse language and some sexual content. Viewer discretion is strongly advised. 

December 13th, 2015

18:40 hours

Starker's Shaft, Russia

I woke up, drenched in sweat and breathing heavy. I opened my eyes and saw that I was back in the cabin. I felt my head whirling and my hands shaking. I felt my stomach do a flip and I knew that I was going to be sick. I practically crawled through the door and vomited on the snow. I laid there, coughing and hurling some more, until I heard a voice.

“Still feeling sick?” It was Derek. I turned my head slightly to face him. He was sitting on a wooden crate with his gun in his lap. I looked back down at all my vomit and sat up. I slumped against the side of the door, still trying to catch my breath.

“Is that a rhetorical question?” I joked in between breaths. Derek smirked and looked up at the evening sky. Today the sky was clear. Splashes of fire-red, tangerine-orange and deep pink blanketed the sky above us, casting a beautiful shadow on the ice cliffs.

“Bad dream?” He asked, avoiding my eye contact. My eyes flashed back to being in the burning battlefield, with Martin grasped tightly in my arms. I shuddered and slowly stood up, putting a hand to my head.

“More like a nightmare.” I grumbled. Derek scooted over on the crate so I could sit. I slowly sat down and looked at the cliffs of ice that surrounded us. We sat there in silence for a few minutes, feeling the cool winds bristle through our hair. Finally Derek turned to me.

“Andy told me she was in one of their camps.” He said, swallowing. I nodded, trying not to think about what Rachel and Martin went through.

“My great grandfather was held in one of those, during the Holocaust. He spent five years in there, before the British raided the camp and took him back home.” He said dryly. I looked over at him.

“When he came home, he stayed with my grandfather and my dad. When he came, it was as if the time he spent hostage scarred him for life.” Derek continued. I leaned against the back of the cabin and took a sharp breath.

“Just her story, Derek. Just hearing what she went through. I mean, she’s only fifteen.” I said, my voice cracking.

Derek’s eyes flashed and he looked at me. I felt the sweat on the back of my neck cooling into ice. His voice was firm as he spoke.

“Kids can adapt to this. It’s harder for adults. Kyle moved past it, but my father never could, not even when we were at home base, when they came back.” He said, looking away. I looked back at him, taken aback.

“Kyle was taken in?!” I asked, bewildered. Derek nodded shallowly.

“He and my father were taken in just as they started making the camps. He was only sixteen when it happened. My father was about forty seven. They were taken in for only three days. Then, the marines came in and blew the place to smithereens.” Derek’s voice grew darker. He turned to me.

“My father returned to the base with Kyle. Every night, he would sleep with a gun under his pillow. There was no pill for his sickness, no drug to ease his pain. Nothing to take away what he’d seen. He left his blood and sweat in a foreign land. He never talked to me about what he’d been through. He didn’t talk to anyone. The only thing he would say was, ‘I never thought I’d follow in his footsteps, not like that’. I never really knew what he was talking about then, but now I do.” Derek said empathetically. I looked down at the cold, icy ground.