Chapter 9:
Serge walked through the barren fields of the box canyon. Everything was black and white and frozen in time. He could hear an eerie whistling far off into the distance.
“Hello?” His voice echoed in the stillness of the canyon. “Hello?” Again it echoed, but no answer. “I said hello! Is anybody out here!?”
“Holy cow, would you stop yelling? I’m here!” Serge turned to see a man in white armour.
“What is this place?” Serge asked.
“Well, it’s kinda hard to explain,” the newcomer said. “Umm… You were shot in the head, buddy. So, here you are.”
“Am I dead?” Serge asked.
“Are you dead…? Well, yeah, that’s how I ended up here.”
“Wait, you look familiar,” Serge said. “Do I know you?”
“…Of course I look familiar. Everyone in this canyon wears the same stupid style of armour!”
“You sound familiar, too.”
“No I don’t. You’re dead, maybe that annoying ghost wind is distracting you. I know it does for me. Everyday with that stupid whistling, it’s driving me nuts! No wonder nobody wants to die!”
“If yer here, does that make you some kinda angel?” Serge asked.
The newcomer laughed. “Am I an angel? …Uh, yeah. Actually, I am an angel. Uh, do you wanna go to heaven? Cause it’s, like, ten bucks to get in.”
“Well, I… I didn’t really bring any money. My wallet’s back at the car-”
“Hey, you don’t have it there, huh? Well, uh, cause it’s too bad. Pretty crappy reason to be damned to Hell for an eternity.”
“I don’t remember die’n,” Serge said.
“Yeeeeeah… that’s my fault, too. See, I was possessing one of the guys from the other team so I could shoot that prisoner you were taking outside. The other guy startled me by sneezing and I slipped and shot you, instead. My bad.”
“Now hold on a second,” Serge said. “That ain’t fair!”
“Not fair?” the newcomer asked. “Yeah, join the f*cking club. I got shot by my own teammate with a tank!”
“Target locked.” They both turned to see the ghost of a tank pointing its barrel at them.
“Oh, ha ha. Very funny, Sheila. Shut up! You know, I still haven’t forgiven you, and I didn’t say you could talk to me yet. Go over to the base and leave me alone!” The newcomer made a shooing motion with his hand. “Go on, shoo! Get out of here!” The tank lowered its barrel and began to back up. It turned around and drove toward the base. The newcomer said, “Stupid tank,” when it was far enough away not to hear him.
“Serge! Don’t you give up on me, soldier! Do you hear me? That‘s an order!”
“Hey, that sound’s like Grif,” Serge said. Three figures materialized in front of them. Grif was kneeling over Serge’s body trying to wake him up while Simmons was standing to the side, watching.
“Looks like your guys are trying to save you,” the newcomer said.
Grif started pounding Serge in the chest with the butt of his rifle. “You’ve gotta breathe, man! You’ve gottan pull through! Come on, Serge!”
“That is not the way you were trained to do that, private!” Serge shouted.
“They can’t hear you,” said the newcomer.
“Grif, this isn’t working,” Simmons said. “We have to try something else.”
“If he gives you mouth-to-mouth, I’m leaving,” the newcomer said.
“Maybe you should give him mouth-to-mouth.”
“I’m leaving.”
“I can’t believe how hard they’re tryin’ to save me,” Serge said.
“Why wouldn’t they? I mean, no one helped me, but why wouldn’t your team help you?”
Serge started to sniffle. “I thought they didn’t like me.”
“Ah, don’t sell yourself short. I don’t even know you and I’m about to guide you to heaven for only five bucks!”
“Now hold on,” Serge said. “If yer an angel, how come you ain’t got no wings?”
“Because nobody rang a bell.” He laughed. “Seriously, do you have the money or don’t you?”
“Oh, I feel the worst about Grif,” Serge said. “I always made fun of him. I never even told him… he was my son.”
“No way! The orange guy is your son?”
“Nah,” Serge said, “I just wanted to screw with him on last time, but now I’ll never get that chance…”
“He’s breathing!” Grif shouted, “We saved Serge!”
“I’m what!?”
“He’s what!?”
“Well I’ll be a monkey’s… they saved me.” Serge’s body began to fade away.
“What? No, come back! Don‘t leave me here!” the newcomer yelled.
“Thanks for yer help, wingless angel fella. Will I remember any of this?” Serge asked. His voice began to fade with his body.
“Yes, but only if you give me two dollars!”
Serge’s eyes opened to the bright glare of the sun. Everything was blurred. He coughed a few times to clear his throat. As his vision began to adjust he saw Grif and Simmons standing over him. They each grabbed one of his arms and pulled him to his feet. “What happened here?” Serge asked.
“Sir, you got shot in the head so we gave you CPR and saved you!” Simmons said.
“I always believed in you, Simmons,” Serge said.
“Uh… actually, it’s Grif you should thank, sir. He did all the work.”
“Grif?” He turned to the soldier in orange armour.
“Yes, sir,” Simmons said.
“Grif… Why in Hell would you give somebody CPR for a bullet wound in the head? That doesn’t make a lick of sense!”
Grif sighed and said, “Your welcome, sir.”
“I mean, it’s all so damn inconsistent!” Serge continued, “What would you do if they stabbed me in the toe, rub my neck with scented oil?” He began to rub his head. “Hey Grif, I think I feel an aneurism comin’ on, could you help me out with one of them therapeutic massages?”
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