The Survivor of the 27

Chapter Five

As I enter the pub there's a bunch of biker men. They all had on leather jackets and some kind of biker pants. The bar is a little wooden shack. There's an old wooden bar with red seats. It was a classic Texas bar.

I walk over to the bar and take a seat on one of the toad-like stools. I pull out a cigarette and light it. I look down to the wooden bar. There are engravings in the wood. I trace my fingers along them. Feeling the bumps and engravings. There were names, dates, and drawings. Feeling the texture of the wood and the indentations.

I remember back to the conversation with John. I bring my hand to the back of my neck and trace the branding that he had given me. It was the bird with a sword through the wings. It was on my lower neck, almost in the middle of my shoulders.

Eventually a younger man walks up to me. He has a glass in his hand and a towel in the other.

"What can I gettcha lill' lady?" He asks. He's about 5'10 and probably about my age.

"Benchmark, full proof," I order. The bartender leaves and I can sense a man take a seat next to me.

"Don't you think you should leave the drinking to the men sweetheart?" I look over and see an older man. He smells of alcohol and urine. He's in his late fifties, gray hair, about 250 lb, and brown eyes. He's bigger, definitely a beer belly. I ignore him and wait for my drink.

"You know, it's not nice to ignore people," He slurs. Again I don't pay attention, I don't feel like getting into this. He goes to put his hand on my leg. I grab it and twist it. He falls off the chair and lets out a grunt. He tries to fight back, but I now have his arm behind his back.

"I wouldn't," I say in a low menacing voice. I let go of his hand and push him to the side. The bartender hands me my drink, which I take and drink in one go.

I slam the glass on the bar and place the cigarette in the ashtray, then leave. As I go outside I see the same old man standing by my bike. But this time he has two other occupants. Probably in their mid forties. Both six feet, and around 300 pounds.

"Hey there sweetheart. You're going to pay for what you did," He says, still slurring his words. The two men on each side of him run at me. I use the momentum of the one man and flip him onto his back. Knocking the wind out of him. I take a quick jab to his face, knocking him out.

The other one swings a baseball bat at me. I dodge it and kick him on the side of his leg, breaking it inwards. He yells out in pain. I pull out my knife and tilt his head back. As I bring it to him I remember what my Father had said. As much as I wanted to kill this bastard, I didn't.

So instead, I punch him in the face, knocking him out as well. I look over to the old man. Looking him dead in the eyes.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I didn't mean too!" He pleads. I walk up to him and throw my knife into his foot. He lets out a scream and drops.

I walk up to him and throw my knee into his face, breaking his nose.

"If I see you again I will kill you," I growl. I grab my knife from his foot and walk toward my bike and take off.

I don't get home till 10:27. As I enter the house, I disable the alarms and go inside. As I enter the doors, again everyone is waiting there for me.

"What is it with you people?" I asked, annoyed.

"Mace, we think that it would be best to go to John's therapy. After today, we just want you back to yourself," explains Sharon.

"I'm not going to do his stupid thing," I growl.

"Mace, I know that we don't really know each other that well, but I think it could help you. I've dealt with soldiers that come home from war. I will understand and listen to what you have to say," John says.

I walk up to him, so close that I can feel his breath on my forehead. He was about an entire head taller than me.

"You think that getting soldiers to talk about their time will help them?" I ask in a vexed tone. "Well you're wrong. You're not a soldier and you're not my doctor. Meaning you don't get to tell me what I need," I say.

"I'm sorry. But if you talk about it it might help with the dreams, and seeing people that aren't actually there," He says. How did he know that?

"Why don't you two do a session now?" Sharon says.

"That sounds like a good idea!" John exclaims.

John and I sit in the living room across from each other. I hate this. It's awkward and uncomfortable.
"So tell me about your time in the army," He says.

"It's not the army. I'm a part of the Marine Corps," I tell him.

"Sorry, my apologies. So what was it like?" He asks again.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"The only way to get better is by opening up. What did Kalem mean to you?" He asks. I freeze, all except for my hands which are shaking violently.

"Was he your friend?" John asks again, only it sounds muffled and far away.

I keep seeing flashes of Kalem. His bright green eyes and his sandy blond hair. He always wore a smile. I see him bleeding out. I see him on the battlefield. I see him pleading to me. I see him crying out for my help. The man that took us. The man that took Kalem away from me. Away from his family. Away from his wife.

"Mace? Mace, are you ok?" I look up and see John.

"I'm fine. I'm going to bed," I say, standing up and walking away.

Who else had died? I should have aborted the mission. I should have fought harder. I should have been more careful. I should have gone alone. It should have been me.