Yunis followed Adam into the dimly lit house, the air thick with dust and the faint, acrid smell of burnt metal—a lingering remnant of the war. His boots scuffed against the wooden floor, creaking with each hurried step as they chased after the fleeing woman.
“Ma’am, wait!” Adam called out, his voice echoing down the narrow hallway.
Yunis grumbled under his breath. “We’re supposed to be EMTs, not goddamn action heroes.” He adjusted his vest, which felt heavier than usual, and quickened his pace to keep up.
The house was eerily quiet except for the woman’s shuffling and Adam’s heavy breathing. They passed by a toppled bookshelf and a shattered picture frame, fragments of glass crunching beneath their boots. Yunis couldn’t help but notice the cracks in the walls and the sagging ceiling, signs of the house barely holding together.
“Adam, this place is a death trap,” he muttered.
Adam glanced back, a glint of determination in his eyes. “Better a death trap than a direct hit from artillery. Let’s just get her out of here.”
At the end of the hallway, they found the woman standing in a small living room, her hands wringing a filthy dishrag. She was muttering something under her breath, too low for Yunis to catch. Her wild eyes darted between them and the doorway to another room.
“Ma’am,” Adam said gently, holding up his hands in a calming gesture, “we’re here to help. But we need you to come with us—now. It’s not safe here.”
The woman shook her head violently, stepping back toward the doorway. “My boys... my boys are still here. I can’t leave without them.”
Yunis felt his stomach drop. “How many are there? Where are they?”
“Two,” she whispered, pointing a trembling finger toward the closed door behind her. “Hiding in the basement. They’re just kids—they can’t go out there.”
Adam exchanged a glance with Yunis, his expression grim. “Alright,” Adam said, his tone firm but reassuring. “We’ll get them. But we need you to stay calm and stay close to us.”
The woman nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line as tears welled in her eyes. Adam carefully approached the door, his large frame blocking most of the view as he cracked it open. A steep staircase descended into darkness, the faint smell of mildew wafting up.
“Yunis,” Adam said, pulling a flashlight from his vest and clicking it on, “I’ll head down. Cover me.”
“Yeah, because I’m great at covering things with no gun and zero training,” Yunis quipped, but his nerves were shot. He positioned himself at the top of the stairs, flashlight in one hand and radio in the other.
“Dispatch, Medic 3,” Yunis said into the mic, keeping his voice steady. “We’ve located two minors and one adult. Preparing to evacuate.”
“Medic 3, copy,” the dispatcher replied. “You have ten minutes until ceasefire ends.”
“Ten minutes?!” Yunis hissed, looking at Adam. “You hear that? Clock’s ticking, buddy!”
Adam grunted in acknowledgment, his broad shoulders disappearing into the shadows. Yunis strained to hear any sound beyond the muffled sobs of the woman behind him and the creak of Adam’s boots on the stairs.
Seconds felt like hours. Then, Adam’s voice boomed from below. “Got ‘em! Two kids, scared but alive. Bring the mom down—it’s easier to get them all out together.”
Yunis turned to the woman, who was clutching her rag so tightly her knuckles had gone white. “Ma’am, come with me. Your boys are down here.”
She hesitated, her body trembling, but Yunis placed a steady hand on her arm. “They need you,” he said softly. That seemed to snap her out of it. She nodded and followed him down the stairs.
The basement was a cramped, damp space with flickering light from Adam’s flashlight. Two young boys, no older than seven or eight, clung to him, their faces streaked with dirt and fear. Yunis’s chest tightened at the sight of them—small and fragile in the face of a war they couldn’t understand.
“Mommy!” one of the boys cried out, his voice cracking.
The woman rushed forward, pulling them into her arms. Tears streamed down her face as she whispered soothing words, rocking them back and forth.
“Heartwarming,” Yunis said, glancing at his watch. “But we’ve got about eight minutes before we’re all in the middle of a live warzone. Let’s move!”
Adam nodded, scooping up one of the boys while Yunis took the other. The child clung to him tightly, his small hands gripping Yunis’s vest with surprising strength.
They made their way back up the stairs, every creak of the old wood making Yunis’s heart race. Once outside, the afternoon sunlight felt blinding, and the distant rumble of artillery fire reminded them of their precarious timeline.
“Dispatch, Medic 3,” Yunis said into his radio as they loaded the family into the ambulance. “Evacuation complete. En route to safe zone.”
“Copy, Medic 3. Be advised: ceasefire will lift in five minutes.”
“Great,” Yunis muttered, climbing into the passenger seat as Adam started the engine. “Let’s hope they don’t shoot at us for fun.”
As the ambulance sped through the desolate streets, its siren wailing, Yunis felt the oppressive tension building in his chest. The family huddled in the back, silent except for the occasional sniffle from the boys. Adam’s hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white. The engine hummed as they approached what should have been the last checkpoint before the safe zone.
Then, abruptly, a barricade of sandbags and barbed wire came into view, manned by a group of Free State soldiers. The sight made Yunis’s stomach churn.
“Shit,” Adam muttered under his breath, slowing the ambulance and flipping off the siren. “What are they doing here? This wasn’t on the map.”
“Looks like they set up an impromptu checkpoint,” Yunis said grimly, leaning forward to get a better look. The soldiers were armed to the teeth, their rifles slung lazily but their eyes sharp. A ragged Free State flag hung limply from a pole near the barricade.
As they rolled to a stop, one of the soldiers stepped forward, signaling them to cut the engine. Adam sighed heavily and did as instructed.
A wiry man in his mid-thirties, his face shadowed by a helmet and dirt-smudged goggles, approached the driver’s side window. His rifle rested casually against his shoulder, but the way his fingers hovered near the trigger made it clear he wasn’t feeling friendly.
“Ambulance or not, you stop here,” the soldier barked, his Southern drawl laced with disdain. His eyes scanned the vehicle with barely concealed suspicion. “Everyone out. Now.”
Adam raised his hands in mock surrender, his tone tight with forced politeness. “We’re first responders, brother. Got civilians in the back—evacuating them to the safe zone.”
The soldier’s lip curled. “First responders? Ain’t you fancy. Get out. All of you. We’re checkin’ for anything suspicious.”
“Suspicious?” Yunis cut in, incredulous. “We’re an ambulance, not a troop carrier.”
The soldier’s glare darkened, and he slapped the side of the vehicle. “Did I stutter? I said, out!”
Adam shot Yunis a warning glance, then unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the door. “Alright, alright. No need to get your panties in a twist.” He stepped out, hands raised.
Yunis followed suit, his stomach knotting as the soldier’s gaze landed on him. He could feel the other soldiers’ eyes boring into them from behind the barricade. Their disdain was palpable, a mixture of jealousy and contempt for those who weren’t on the front lines.
The rear doors of the ambulance were yanked open by another soldier, a burly man with a scar running down his cheek. He gestured sharply at the family inside. “Out. Now.”
The mother clutched her boys protectively, her face pale. Adam stepped forward. “Hey, easy! They’re just kids!”
Scarface sneered. “Kids or not, everyone gets checked.”
The family reluctantly climbed out, the boys clinging to their mother’s legs as the soldiers lined them up beside the vehicle. Yunis clenched his fists, fighting the urge to say something that would only make things worse.
“You know,” Yunis muttered under his breath to Adam, “we’re supposed to be on their side.”
Adam gave him a sidelong glance. “Doesn’t matter. We’re still cowards to them.”
The wiry soldier circled Yunis, sizing him up. “Where you from, boy? Don’t sound local.”
Yunis stiffened. “Kentucky. Same as you.”
The soldier’s eyebrows rose in mock surprise. “Kentucky, huh? Funny, you don’t look it.”
Adam stepped between them, forcing a grin. “Hey, we’re just here to save lives, alright? Can we skip the small talk and get these folks to safety?”
The soldier ignored him, leaning closer to Yunis. “Brown boy like you... should be fightin’ on the front lines, not playin’ paramedic. What’s the matter? Scared of gettin’ your hands dirty?”
Yunis’s jaw tightened, but he held his tongue. He knew better than to rise to the bait.
Scarface snorted. “What do you expect? First responders ain’t nothing but glorified cowards. Too afraid to pick up a gun.”
Adam bristled, his normally easygoing demeanor hardening. “You think it’s cowardly to run into a combat zone to pull kids like these out? To work twelve-hour shifts patching up the people you and the Feds leave broken on the field?”
Scarface’s smirk faltered, but the wiry soldier stepped in, his tone cold. “You’re only alive because we let you be. Don’t forget that.”
Yunis took a slow breath, trying to steady his nerves. He could feel the tension building, the line between compliance and confrontation growing dangerously thin.
After what felt like an eternity, the soldiers finally backed off. The wiry man waved a dismissive hand. “Get back in your fancy truck and get outta here. But remember—we’re watchin’.”
“Trust me,” Adam said with a tight smile, “I won’t lose any sleep over that.”
They climbed back into the ambulance, the family huddling in the back once more. As Adam started the engine, Yunis cast one last glance at the soldiers, their figures silhouetted against the makeshift barricade.
“Why the hell are we risking our lives for these people?” Yunis muttered as they drove away, his voice low and bitter.
Adam’s grip on the wheel tightened. “Because someone has to,” he said quietly. “And it sure as hell ain’t gonna be them.”
As Adam started the ambulance’s engine, a sharp whistle cut through the air. Yunis turned to see the wiry soldier stalking back toward the vehicle, a self-satisfied smirk plastered across his face.
“Hold up,” the soldier barked, motioning for Adam to kill the engine. Adam let out an audible groan but complied, muttering a curse under his breath.
“What now?” Adam asked, his voice edged with irritation.
The soldier ignored him, his focus zeroing in on Yunis. “You,” he said, pointing with his rifle. “Out.”
Yunis frowned, his heart sinking. “What? Why?”
“You heard me,” the soldier said, his tone brimming with false authority. “We got orders to enforce provision six-dash-two. Non-combatant medics can be conscripted to assist active units when needed. Congratulations, you’ve been drafted.”
Adam’s jaw tightened. “That’s bullshit! Provision six-dash-two is for combat medics, not first responders.”
The soldier turned to Adam with a slow, deliberate smile. “You a lawyer now? ‘Cause last I checked, we’re the ones with the guns.”
Yunis climbed out of the ambulance, his mind racing. “You can’t just pull me off a civilian evac like this. We’ve got a family in the back—kids.”
The wiry soldier chuckled, his voice dripping with condescension. “Plenty of kids need help on the front too, brown boy. You’re coming with us.”
Adam stepped out, his face flushed with anger. “This is insane. He’s not even trained for combat zones. You’re sending him to his death.”
The soldier’s smirk widened. “Then maybe he should’ve thought about that before putting on that shiny reflective vest. Now back off, driver. Or maybe we’ll decide we need you too.”
Scarface ambled over, his rifle slung casually across his chest. “Quit yappin’ and get in the damn truck before we decide to confiscate that too.”
Adam’s fists clenched, but he swallowed his rage. He turned to Yunis, his expression torn between fury and helplessness. “This isn’t right,” he said, his voice tight.
“I know,” Yunis replied, keeping his tone steady despite the unease crawling up his spine. “But it’s not worth fighting over. Get the family to safety.”
Adam hesitated, his hands flexing at his sides. “I’ll be back,” he said firmly, locking eyes with Yunis. “I don’t care what it takes. I’ll come find you.”
Yunis nodded, forcing a weak smile. “You better. I’m holding you to that.”
The wiry soldier tapped his rifle against the ambulance door. “Move it, driver. Your shift’s over.”
Adam climbed back into the ambulance, his jaw clenched so tightly Yunis thought he might crack a tooth. With a final glare at the soldiers, he started the engine and pulled away, the family’s frightened faces barely visible through the rear windows.
As the ambulance disappeared into the distance, Yunis turned to the soldiers. “What now?” he asked, keeping his voice steady despite the knot of dread in his stomach.
The wiry man grinned. “Now you’re ours. Hope you’re ready to get your hands dirty, ‘medic.’”
Yunis stood there for a moment, sizing up the wiry soldier and the smug grin plastered on his face. His mind raced, not with fear but with resignation. If these guys wanted to make his life miserable or even end it, he figured he might as well go out on his own terms. Taking a deep breath, he decided to try something unexpected.
“Well,” Yunis said, raising his hands dramatically, “if you’re going to conscript me, at least tell me—do I get a shiny new badge or a hat? Maybe a ‘Free State Hero’ sash to complete the look?”
The wiry soldier blinked, clearly not expecting that. “What?”
Yunis shrugged, a lopsided grin tugging at his lips. “I mean, if you’re drafting me into this fine institution, the least you can do is make me look the part. Or does the uniform come after I heroically dodge bullets while patching you up?”
Scarface let out a surprised snort, and the wiry man frowned, caught between annoyance and confusion. “You trying to be funny, medic?”
“Trying?” Yunis raised an eyebrow. “Oh no, this is the best material I’ve got. I’m killing it right now.” He paused, feigning a thoughtful look. “Well, maybe not killing it. That’s more your thing, right? I’m just here to apply bandages and win hearts.”
The wiry soldier’s lips twitched, almost betraying a grin, but he quickly masked it with a scowl. “Keep talking, and you’ll be digging your own grave.”
“Oh, I’d make an excellent grave digger,” Yunis quipped. “Strong back, decent sense of symmetry. But I gotta warn you—I might line the graves with flowers. You know, brighten the place up a bit. Wouldn’t want morale to dip.”
Scarface burst into laughter, clapping a hand on the wiry soldier’s shoulder. “This guy’s got balls, I’ll give him that.”
Yunis turned to Scarface, his grin widening. “Well, I try to make a good first impression. Nothing says ‘team player’ like cracking jokes while under duress.”
The wiry man groaned, rubbing his temple. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
Yunis tilted his head, pretending to ponder the question. “How much time do you have? It’s a long list.”
Scarface shook his head, still chuckling. “Alright, alright. I like this one. Maybe we won’t shoot him after all.”
“That’s comforting,” Yunis deadpanned. “I was worried my comedy set was bombing.”
The wiry soldier sighed, but some of the tension had left his posture. “Fine, wiseass. Let’s see if your mouth gets you through a live firefight. Get your gear and follow us.”
Yunis gave a mock salute. “Yes, sir! Do I call you ‘Captain Grumpy,’ or do you have an official title?”
Scarface laughed harder, nearly doubling over. Even the wiry man couldn’t suppress a faint smirk as he muttered, “Just move, medic.”
As Yunis followed the group, he could feel the atmosphere shifting. His humor hadn’t completely won them over, but it had defused the hostility—at least for now. And if he was going to survive this madness, he figured he’d keep leaning into what worked: sarcasm, wit, and the sheer audacity to laugh in the face of danger.
As Yunis trudged along with the group of Free State soldiers, he couldn’t shake the tension crackling in the air. The soldiers moved with an air of exhaustion tempered by vigilance, their eyes darting to the horizon and their hands hovering near their weapons. It was the kind of tension Yunis recognized from disaster zones—the brittle edge that came when people were so close to breaking they didn’t realize they’d already cracked.
The group stopped at a shallow dugout carved into the earth near the edge of a tree line. Sandbags, haphazardly stacked, created a makeshift barricade, and the faint smell of old sweat and gunpowder hung heavy in the air. The soldiers dropped their gear, but their movements were anything but relaxed. Some began scanning their surroundings, others murmured in low tones about the next move. Yunis stood awkwardly, still clutching his medic bag, until Scarface shoved him forward like an auctioneer presenting goods.
“Alright, everyone,” Scarface called out, his voice louder than it needed to be. “Meet our new medic. He’s fresh off the ambulance and comes with a free side of sass.”
Heads turned. The soldiers froze mid-task, their gazes landing on Yunis like he was some alien artifact they didn’t quite trust. A woman with a jagged scar running down her jaw leaned against the sandbags, her eyes narrowing.
“A medic?” she asked, her voice low and razor-sharp. “Didn’t know we were running a charity.”
Yunis smirked, though he felt the heat rising to his face. “Glad to know I’m welcome,” he said, letting the sarcasm drip. “Nothing says home sweet home like being introduced by someone named after a knife wound.”
A flicker of amusement passed over her face, but it was gone as quickly as it came. “And nothing says ‘dead weight’ like a first responder playing soldier,” she shot back.
Another soldier, wiry and jittery, barked a laugh. “Yeah, where’d you even dig this guy up, Scar? Should’ve left him in the truck.”
Yunis turned to Scarface, raising a brow. “Wow, you guys really roll out the red carpet. I can feel the love.”
Scarface snorted. “You’ll live.” He leaned in closer, dropping his voice. “If you want to make it past today, lose the attitude.”
Yunis straightened, but his grin stayed in place. He wasn’t about to back down, not when his pulse was already hammering with anxiety. If they were going to hate him anyway, he might as well make it entertaining. “Got it, boss,” he said, giving a mock salute. “What’s next? An initiation? Or do I just sit in the corner until I’m useful?”
The scarred woman stepped forward, her boots crunching on the dry dirt. “Cut the crap,” she said, her voice steely. “Why aren’t you on the frontlines like the rest of us?”
Yunis’ grin faltered, but he held her gaze. The question wasn’t unexpected, but it still hit hard. He glanced around, noting the other soldiers watching him, waiting for his response. Their expressions ranged from suspicion to disdain.
“I tried,” he said, keeping his voice steady. “When this all started, I wanted to enlist. Figured I could do my part, same as anyone else. But they said no.”
“Why?” the wiry soldier asked, his tone sharp and accusatory. “What’s so special about you that they didn’t want you?”
Yunis clenched his jaw, then exhaled slowly. “I’m an immigrant,” he replied. “First generation. My parents came here from Morocco. Raised me in Kentucky, but apparently that wasn’t enough for the brass. They said I was a security risk—too foreign, too suspicious. So, they stuck me in EMS and told me to stay out of the way.”
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
The dugout went quiet, the weight of his words settling over the group like a heavy fog. Some of the soldiers exchanged glances, while others simply stared at him, their expressions inscrutable. Finally, the scarred woman uncrossed her arms, her eyes narrowing further.
“So, what?” she said. “You just accepted that? Rolled over and let them shove you in a truck?”
Yunis’ gaze hardened. “I didn’t have much of a choice,” he said evenly. “But I figured if they didn’t want me fighting, I could at least do something. Saving lives seemed like a good way to spend the war.”
The young soldier, barely more than a kid, spoke up from the edge of the group. “That’s messed up,” he said, his voice soft but sincere. “They should’ve let you fight.”
Yunis barked a laugh, though there was no humor in it. “Yeah, well, tell that to the suits in the capital. They didn’t seem to care.”
Scarface clapped a hand on Yunis’ shoulder, squeezing harder than necessary. “Well, guess what? You’re with us now. And out here, we don’t give a damn where you’re from—only whether you can pull your weight.”
Yunis smirked, though his heart was still pounding. “Glad to hear it. You want sarcasm or sutures first?”
The scarred woman sighed, the faintest trace of a grin pulling at her lips. “Great. Another joker. Welcome to the circus”
As the group began to disperse, Yunis felt a strange mix of emotions—relief that they hadn’t torn him apart, and unease at how quickly the situation had escalated. He caught Scarface’s eye as he settled into a corner of the dugout.
“Don’t get too comfortable,” Scarface said, his tone half-warning, half-amused. “We’re moving out soon. Hope you’re faster with that med kit than you are with your mouth.”
Yunis leaned back against the sandbags, letting out a long breath. “Guess we’ll find out,” he muttered.
The tension in the air didn’t ease entirely, but for now, he’d managed to carve out a fragile space in this group of misfits. He wasn’t sure how long it would last, but he’d learned one thing during the war: survival was about more than just patching wounds—it was about finding a way to fit, even when everything felt broken.
As the soldiers began to settle into their routines, a few of them kept stealing glances at Yunis, still sizing him up. The scarred woman leaned against the sandbags, her sharp eyes watching him with quiet intensity. Yunis could feel the unspoken challenge hanging in the air, the weight of their doubts pressing down like the humidity before a storm.
“So,” she finally said, breaking the silence, “you said you got stuck in EMS when the war started. But you didn’t exactly sound like you fought it.”
Yunis tilted his head, meeting her gaze. “Didn’t really have much to fight,” he admitted, shrugging. “I was already an EMT before the war.”
That got their attention. A few soldiers paused in their tasks, turning their heads. Scarface raised an eyebrow, leaning back on a crate. “So you were already a medic? What, you just figured war wouldn’t change much for you?”
Yunis let out a dry chuckle. “Honestly? At first, I thought it might. I mean, everything else sure as hell changed—people picking sides, towns getting torn apart, families split right down the middle. But me? I was already patching people up, hauling them out of car wrecks, overdoses, and God knows what else. When they drafted me into the state task force, it just felt like… more of the same, you know? Same mess, different stakes.”
The scarred woman narrowed her eyes. “You’re telling me you didn’t mind getting sidelined while everyone else went to the front?”
Yunis shook his head, his tone turning more reflective. “I didn’t say that. Of course, I wanted to help—wanted to do more. But being an EMT was something I was already good at. It made sense to stick with what I knew, especially when the alternative was picking up a gun and shooting people I might’ve treated yesterday. Figured I’d save more lives with a med kit than I’d ever take with a rifle.”
That earned a snort from one of the younger soldiers. “Guess that makes you a saint or a coward, huh?”
Yunis raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Why not both? Keeps people guessing.”
The scarred woman shook her head, though a ghost of a smile flickered across her face. “You’re either the dumbest guy I’ve ever met, or the smartest. Can’t tell which yet.”
Scarface chuckled, folding his arms. “Well, seems like you’ve got an interesting way of looking at things. But out here, you’re not patching up junkies or accident victims. You’re dealing with soldiers—people who’ll bleed out if you screw up.”
Yunis nodded, his smirk fading as his expression turned serious. “I get that. Trust me, I’ve seen plenty of people bleed out before I could do a damn thing about it. I’ve lost patients, same as you’ve probably lost comrades. But if you’re worried I’ll freeze up, don’t. I know what I’m doing.”
The scarred woman studied him for a moment longer before nodding slowly. “We’ll see.”
One of the younger soldiers, a wiry guy with a nervous energy about him, piped up. “So what’s the craziest thing you’ve seen as an EMT?”
Yunis chuckled softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Where do I even start? There was this one time I pulled a guy out of a car wreck—he was fine, just a few cuts and bruises—but he wouldn’t stop screaming about the family of raccoons that ran out of the car after him. Turns out, he’d been keeping them as pets in his backseat. Freaked him out more than the crash.”
That got a few laughs, the tension in the air easing slightly. Even the scarred woman cracked a faint smile.
“You’re a strange one” Scarface said, shaking his head. “But if you can keep us alive, I don’t care if you’re a stand-up comedian.”
Yunis leaned back against the sandbags, letting the momentary camaraderie wash over him. For now, it seemed like he’d managed to earn himself a tentative place among them. Whether it would last was another matter entirely.
++++++++++++++++++++
“It was… strange, those first few weeks,” he said, his tone distant, as though the memory was playing in his mind like an old film. “I’d spent so much time in the chaos of ambulances and sirens, where everything was fast and frantic, but this was different. It was slower. Quieter. But the tension was constant—like waiting for a storm to break.”
He paused, glancing at Khaz’ara across the fire. She was leaning forward, amber eyes fixed on him, the flickering flames painting her features in soft light. She didn’t interrupt, though her expression spoke volumes: she was listening intently, more so than Traveler had expected.
“After the soldiers drafted me,” he continued, “I stayed with them. It wasn’t like I had much of a choice. They needed a medic, and I…” He trailed off, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Well, I wasn’t exactly in a position to say no.”
“What about the others?” Khaz’ara asked, her voice low but curious. “Those soldiers—did they ever accept you?”
Traveler chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Not right away. They didn’t trust me. Hell, I didn’t trust them either. But war has a way of forcing people to rely on each other, even if they don’t want to.”
He shifted his weight, settling more comfortably by the fire. “At first, I was just the ‘coward in the reflective vest.’ They made jokes, tried to get under my skin. But sarcasm has always been my armor, and for some reason, they liked that. It wasn’t long before they started calling me ‘Doc,’ even though I wasn’t a doctor.”
“They respected your skills,” Khaz’ara guessed, her tone neutral but edged with interest.
“Eventually,” Traveler admitted. “I proved myself in little ways. Fixing a broken leg here, stitching up a nasty gash there. They saw I knew what I was doing, and that I wasn’t afraid to get my hands dirty when it mattered. Over time, I became… part of the unit.”
He fell quiet for a moment, his gaze dropping to the fire. The crackling flames filled the silence, the weight of his words hanging in the air.
“And the fighting?” Khaz’ara prompted gently.
Traveler’s smile faded. “It was brutal. Every day, we’d move from one skirmish to another, never knowing if we’d make it through the next. I saw things I’ll never forget—good people cut down in seconds, moments where all I could do was hold someone’s hand as they slipped away. But somehow, I kept going. I had to. They were counting on me.”
Khaz’ara’s expression softened, a flicker of understanding passing through her gaze. “You fought in your own way,” she said quietly.
He nodded, his eyes meeting hers. “I did what I could. It wasn’t much, but it mattered to them. And in a strange way, it mattered to me too.”
The fire crackled between them, the warmth of its glow a stark contrast to the memories Traveler was reliving. Khaz’ara didn’t press him further, sensing that the story was far from over. Instead, she leaned back, her gaze shifting to the stars overhead, giving him the space he needed to continue when he was ready.
And Traveler, for his part, found himself grateful for the quiet understanding in her presence. For the first time in a long while, recounting his past didn’t feel like a burden. It felt like a step forward.
+++++++++++++++++++++
The memories returned unbidden, sharp as the cold bite of winter air. Yunis crouched behind the half-collapsed wall of a farmhouse, his pulse pounding in his ears as artillery fire rumbled in the distance. The once-verdant hills of Kentucky were scarred, pockmarked with craters, and the remnants of smoke from recent battles hung in the air like a toxic haze. The unit was quiet, tense—every breath felt like it might shatter the fragile stillness.
Frankfort had fallen.
The Federal army’s relentless push, bolstered by the resources of corporate backers, had broken the Kentucky State Free Army’s lines. Yunis didn’t need the scattered reports from runners or the bleak faces of his comrades to know the truth: the Free Army was losing. Worse, the feds were hunting down anyone connected to the state’s infrastructure, systematically dismantling not just their resistance but their identity. The First Responder Corps, a lifeline for so many civilians, was being wiped out.
Yunis’s hands trembled as he checked the straps on his medic pack, the repetitive motion grounding him against the tide of uncertainty. Adam.
He hadn’t heard from his partner since they were separated. Adam had promised to return, swearing on his life he’d come back for Yunis. But that had been weeks ago, and silence had filled the void where Yunis had hoped for news. Now, every passing hour felt heavier with the likelihood that Adam hadn’t made it.
Yunis gritted his teeth, forcing the thought away. Adam was a survivor—loud, stubborn, and too smart to go down easily. He had to be out there somewhere. He had to be.
The ache in Yunis’s chest deepened, though, as his thoughts drifted to another loss. The one he could never hope to recover.
“Lisa,” he whispered, the name slipping from his lips like a prayer. His eyes burned as he stared at the ground, memories flooding his mind.
Her smile. The way her laugh could brighten even the darkest days. The scent of her favorite perfume, subtle and sweet, clinging to the air like a promise of better times. They’d been married for 10 years—before the world unraveled.
Yunis clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms as the images resurfaced. He’d been at work when it happened, doing routine inventory at the ambulance station. The first bombs had fallen before he even realized what was happening. By the time he made it home, his neighborhood was gone—a smoldering ruin of ash and rubble.
He’d never found her.
A sharp breath escaped him, and he scrubbed at his face with a rough hand, trying to shove the memory back where it belonged. The war had taken so much from him—his home, his wife, his sense of safety. And now, it threatened to take what little he had left: the unit that had begrudgingly become his family, the hope that he might see Adam again, the flicker of purpose that kept him moving forward.
“Yunis.” The sharp voice snapped him out of his thoughts. He turned to see sergeant Mason, the unit’s NCO, crouching a few feet away. The man’s face was lined with exhaustion, his green eyes hard but not unkind. “You good?”
Yunis nodded, though the motion felt hollow. “Yeah. Just thinking.”
Mason studied him for a moment, then gestured toward the makeshift barricade they’d set up. “We’re pulling out at dawn. Fed recon drones spotted in the area. Can’t risk staying here.”
Yunis nodded again, his fingers tightening around the straps of his pack. “Got it.”
Mason hesitated, then clapped a hand on Yunis’s shoulder. “Keep your head up, Doc. We’ve got a long fight ahead of us.”
As Mason moved away, Yunis exhaled slowly, his gaze drifting back to the horizon. The rumble of distant explosions was a grim reminder of the war’s ceaseless march.
The journey to the Ohio River was grueling. The unit moved cautiously, every footstep measured, every breath taken with the weight of vigilance. Tension hung in the air, broken only by the occasional barked order or muffled grumble from a soldier shifting their gear. The Federal forces were relentless, and the Free Army remnants had been reduced to scattered bands, constantly hunted and barely surviving.
The only bright spot came in the form of the Ohio State Air Force. As the unit neared the river, the skies roared to life with the thunder of jet engines. Two sleek fighters swept overhead, their wings gleaming in the fading sunlight.
"This is Buckeye One," a voice crackled over the comms. "We see you down there, Kentucky. Thought you might need some wings to keep the chickens off your back."
A chorus of chuckles rippled through the unit. The lead sergeant keyed his mic, his tone dry but appreciative. "Appreciate the assist, Buckeye One. Just keep those fancy toys flying. We’ll handle the ground.”
"Roger that," came the response, followed by another voice chiming in. "Try not to drown in the river, yeah? Wouldn’t want to lose our best source of fried chicken. The colonel would lose it”
Even Yunis managed a small smile, though his grip tightened around the medical pack slung over his shoulder. He wasn’t sure if it was the adrenaline or sheer exhaustion that made the jokes land, but any levity was welcome in the midst of their grim march.
As the sun dipped lower, the Ohio River finally came into view, its wide expanse shimmering like liquid silver. Relief rippled through the unit as the soldiers caught sight of the bridge—a narrow but intact span stretching across the water. It wasn’t much, but it represented a lifeline, a chance to regroup and fight back.
The sergeant called for a halt, raising a hand to steady the formation. "Alright, listen up!" he barked. "We cross in pairs. Keep your eyes open and your heads down. I don’t want any surprises out here."
The soldiers nodded, their weariness momentarily overshadowed by grim determination. Yunis found himself paired with Corporal Harris, a wiry man with a perpetually nervous energy. As they approached the bridge, the comms crackled again.
"Good news for once," the sergeant announced, his voice tinged with rare optimism. "The remnants of the Kentucky Free Army have regrouped on the Ohio side. They’re preparing a counter-offensive. We’re not alone anymore."
A murmur of hope swept through the ranks. Yunis felt a flicker of relief, though it was tempered by the memory of the endless casualties he’d tended to over the weeks. The prospect of reinforcements was heartening, but he knew better than to let his guard down.
The first pairs began crossing the bridge, their movements swift but careful. Yunis and Harris waited for their turn, scanning the surrounding area for any signs of movement. The river’s gentle current lapped against the supports below, a soothing sound that belied the danger lurking in the shadows.
As the last rays of sunlight painted the sky in hues of gold and crimson, Yunis couldn’t help but glance toward the horizon. Somewhere out there, Adam might still be alive—or he might not. The uncertainty gnawed at him, a constant companion alongside the ghost of his late wife. He squeezed his eyes shut for a brief moment, letting the memory of her smile ground him before forcing himself back to the present.
"Yunis, let’s move!" Harris hissed, snapping him out of his reverie.
With a nod, Yunis stepped onto the bridge, his boots clanging softly against the metal grating. Each step brought them closer to the other side, to safety—or at least a temporary reprieve. But as they reached the midpoint, a sharp crack echoed through the air.
Harris’s head snapped back, and he crumpled to the ground in a lifeless heap. Yunis froze, his heart hammering in his chest. The shot had come from the far bank, a sniper lying in wait.
"Sniper!" someone shouted, and chaos erupted. Soldiers dove for cover, the comms exploding with frantic voices.
Yunis dropped to his knees, instinct taking over as he scrambled to drag Harris’s body behind a rusted support beam. Blood pooled beneath the corporal, staining the grating a dark crimson.
"Medic!" a voice called, but Yunis could do nothing for Harris. The shot had been precise, a clean kill. He clenched his jaw, anger and frustration welling up inside him.
The sergeant’s voice cut through the chaos. "Lay down suppressing fire! Get to the other side, now!"
Bullets whizzed through the air, the unit returning fire in the direction of the sniper. Yunis stayed low, gripping Harris’s dog tags before leaving the body behind and crawling toward the far end of the bridge. Each inch felt like an eternity, the crack of gunfire ringing in his ears.
Finally, he reached the relative safety of the riverbank, his chest heaving as he collapsed behind a stack of sandbags. The remaining soldiers trickled in, their faces grim but resolute. The loss of Harris and the sniper’s ambush served as a stark reminder that the fight was far from over.
But as Yunis looked across the river, he saw the distant lights of the Kentucky Free Army’s regrouped forces. Hope glimmered faintly in the darkness, a fragile thread to cling to as they prepared for the next chapter of their struggle.
The bridge that had been a perilous crossing now lay behind them, marked by scars of gunfire and the faint smell of smoke. The sniper’s shot, still fresh in everyone’s memory, cast a heavy pall over the group as they trudged toward the temporary Free Army headquarters nestled in the shadows of a sprawling refugee camp.
Yunis stuck close to the rear, his steps measured and deliberate. The weight of the past few weeks bore down on him—the tension of constant danger, the strange camaraderie he’d found in the unit, and the haunting uncertainty about Adam’s fate. His mind replayed the sniper’s shot again and again, the sound as sharp and merciless,Yunis had done everything he could in the chaos, but even his best hadn’t been enough to save them.
As they approached the HQ, an officer strode out to meet the weary soldiers. His uniform was immaculate despite the grim surroundings, a sharp contrast to the muddied and bloodstained troops. He glanced over the group with a practiced eye, his expression softening slightly when his gaze landed on Yunis.
“You must be the EMT they roped in,” the officer said, his voice steady but edged with weariness.
Yunis gave a tired nod. “Yunis,” he replied, dropping his pack to the ground. “Just doing what I could.”
“You did more than most,” the officer said, a note of genuine respect in his tone. “But your job with the unit is done. You’re being honorably relieved of duty, effective immediately.”
Relief washed over Yunis, but it was quickly tempered by a lingering sense of responsibility. “And what now?” he asked, his voice even.
The officer gestured toward the sprawling camp. “The civilian medical response is overwhelmed. We need every set of hands we can get. They could use someone with your skills to help stabilize the injured and treat the refugees pouring in.”
Yunis glanced at the camp. Rows of hastily erected tents sprawled across the muddy ground, the air heavy with the sounds of coughing and distant cries. Makeshift triage stations bustled with frantic activity as medics rushed between patients, their faces etched with exhaustion.
He let out a slow breath and nodded. “Guess I’m still stuck with my reflective shirt,” he said, managing a faint smile.
The officer gave him a small, appreciative nod. “Your work here matters. More than you might realize.”
Yunis watched as the unit began to disperse, soldiers heading toward debriefings or collapsing onto whatever flat surfaces they could find. A few gave him nods or quick pats on the back as they passed, their gratitude unspoken but palpable. Despite the relief of being relieved from the front lines, a pang of guilt tugged at him. He’d bonded with these soldiers, shared their burdens, and now he was being sent back while they carried on.
He turned toward the camp, slinging his pack over his shoulder. As he walked, the memories of the past weeks—of firefights, close calls, and moments of levity amidst the chaos—flickered through his mind. He thought of his late wife, her laughter a distant echo in a life that felt worlds away. The thought of her gave him strength now, reminding him why he’d chosen this path.
Yunis stepped into the medical camp, the chaos swallowing him whole. It was a far cry from the battlefield, but in its own way, it was just as vital. And though he’d been relieved of duty with the soldiers, he knew his fight was far from over.
+++++++++++++++++++++
Traveler’s voice grew softer as he stared into the fire, its flickering light reflecting in his eyes. Khaz’ara sat across from him, listening in silence. For a moment, the stillness of the night wrapped around them like a heavy cloak, broken only by the crackle of the fire and the occasional rustle of the plains grass.
“Years passed,” Traveler continued, his tone heavy with the weight of memory. “The war dragged on, but the tide turned against the Feds. Their corporate sponsors unwilling to continue supporting them. One by one, they pulled out.”
He leaned back, rubbing the back of his neck as he exhaled slowly. “With more states seceding, defections became common. Entire units crossed over to the Free States, bringing weapons, vehicles, even intel. Some didn’t switch sides but just walked away, tired of fighting, the government started to crumble under its own weight.”
Khaz’ara’s amber eyes flicked up to meet his. “And you? You were still at the medical camp?”
Traveler shook his head, a faint, bittersweet smile tugging at his lips. “No. By then, I’d left. After… everything, I couldn’t keep going like that. But I couldn’t sit around and do nothing either.”
“I started an orphanage,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Named it after my late wife—lisa’s Haven.”
Khaz’ara’s gaze softened, though she didn’t speak.
“She died in the first hours of the war,” he said, his words steady but heavy with emotion. “They bombed entire neighborhoods. Collateral damage, they called it. But it wasn’t just her. It was hundreds of people—families, children.”
“Starting that orphanage—it felt like a way to honor her, we had always wanted to adopt.”
Traveler’s lips quirked into a small smile. “I Named the bus, a carriage like thing we used to transport people,“The Adam Express”,” he said, chuckling softly. “I don’t know if he made it out alive, but… it felt right. He always said we’d do one last run together, even if it meant going to the ends of the earth.
“You vaguely mentioned you’ve experienced dying before. I'm assuming you died back in your world? and how did you come here?” Khaz’ara asked gently
Traveler smiles fondly” I remember as though it was yesterday”
++++++++++++++++++++
The air was warm, thick with the earthy scent of spring flowers blooming just outside the open window. Yunis lay propped up in his bed, his body frail but his mind still sharp. The room hummed with quiet activity—the shuffle of small feet on the wooden floor, the murmur of hushed voices. He could hear the laughter of children playing outside, their joy spilling through the open window like sunlight.
He glanced around the room, his gaze falling on the familiar faces of the kids he had raised—children who had once been orphans, displaced by the war, now grown into young adults. Each one bore their own scars, their own stories, but in their eyes, he saw hope. It was a hope he had fought to keep alive in the years after the war, even when the weight of loss threatened to crush him.
One of them, a young man named Tariq, sat by his bedside, a notebook clutched in his hands. Tariq was always the thoughtful one, jotting down notes from the stories Yunis shared. Yunis gave him a tired smile. “Still trying to turn me into a legend, kid?” he teased, his voice rasping but warm.
Tariq chuckled softly, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Someone has to, Yunis. You deserve it.”
“Legends are for heroes,” Yunis murmured. “I was just... a stubborn old fool trying to do some good.”
Another figure appeared in the doorway—Nina, one of the first children Yunis had taken in. She was now a teacher at the orphanage, her kind face lined with worry. “They’re all here,” she said gently. “Everyone wanted to see you.”
Yunis nodded weakly, his chest tightening—not from pain, but from the overwhelming wave of emotion that surged through him. “Bring them in,” he said, his voice steadier than he felt.
The room filled with faces, each one bearing traces of the life Yunis had worked to rebuild for them. They stood quietly at first, their gazes filled with gratitude and love. Yunis scanned the crowd, his heart swelling despite his failing body. He had fought in his own way, not with guns or politics, but with every ounce of compassion he could muster. And here was his victory—this room full of life and promise.
“Don’t look so sad,” he croaked, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “I’m not leaving. I’ll be here in every lesson you teach, in every kindness you show. That’s the deal, yeah?”
A ripple of soft laughter moved through the group, though many wiped at their eyes. Nina stepped forward, taking his hand in hers. “You’ll never be forgotten, Yunis,” she said, her voice trembling but firm.
Yunis’s gaze softened as he squeezed her hand weakly. “That’s all I could ask for.”
The sunlight streaming through the window warmed his face as his breaths grew slower. He let his eyes drift closed, the voices of the children mingling with the sound of the wind rustling through the trees outside. His mind wandered to distant memories—his wife’s laughter, the chaos of the war, Adam’s grin as they rolled out in the ambulance, the relentless march across Kentucky.
In his final moments, Yunis felt no fear, no regret. Only a deep, abiding sense of peace. He had given all he could, and it had been enough.
Yunis awoke to silence.
Not the kind of silence he had known in life, filled with the anticipation of noise, but a deep, profound stillness that seemed to stretch infinitely in all directions. He stood—or floated?—in a vast, dark space that felt neither cold nor warm, neither oppressive nor comforting. It simply was.
And in the center of that infinite void, a figure stood before him.
The person—or being, or whatever it was—was the most beautiful human Yunis had ever seen. Not in a way that inspired desire, but in a way that demanded reverence. Their features were flawless, but somehow familiar, as if reflecting every face Yunis had ever cared for. Their eyes shimmered with the light of a thousand stars, and their presence radiated an indescribable tranquility.
“Welcome,” the figure said, their voice resonating like music on the edge of Yunis’s hearing.
Yunis blinked, glancing around at the nothingness surrounding them. “Well, this isn’t the Orphanage,” he quipped, his tone dry.
The figure smiled—a soft, knowing smile. “You’ve left the lowest plane, Yunis. This is the space between.”
Yunis exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Figures. So, uh... who are you?”
The being shook their head, a faint chuckle escaping them. “I am your deeds, Yunis—your actions, your intentions, your choices given form. I stand here because you do.”
Yunis raised an eyebrow. “You’re my deeds? Damn, you’re better-looking than I thought I’d manage.”
The being’s laugh was warm, unoffended. “Your humor has served you well in life, and it will serve you still.”
Yunis’s expression softened, a flicker of memory crossing his face. “So... this is it, huh? The end?”
“Not the end,” the figure replied gently. “A new beginning.”
They gestured to the void, and suddenly, moments from Yunis’s life flared into being like scattered stars. He saw himself in the ambulance bay with Adam, joking about paychecks. He saw the soldiers he had served with, the tense camaraderie forged in war. He saw the orphanage, the children laughing and growing under his care. He saw his wife—her bright smile, her hand in his, her life cut short in the chaos of the war’s early hours.
Yunis’s throat tightened as he looked at her image, but he managed a small, bittersweet smile. “I still miss her, you know.”
“You will see her again, when the time comes,” the figure said. “But your story is not finished. The Creator has seen your deeds, your unwavering determination to bring good even in the face of despair. And now, He offers you a choice.”
“A choice?” Yunis asked, his tone cautious but intrigued.
“To explore new worlds,” the being explained. “To learn, to grow, and to bring change where it is needed. You will become an agent of the Creator, a traveler of the multiverse. You will see wonders beyond imagination, face challenges that test the core of who you are, and leave behind traces of goodness in places that may never know it otherwise. When the Day of Judgment arrives, you will return to Him.”
Yunis rubbed his chin, his brow furrowed. “New worlds, huh? Sounds like a lot of work. Any vacation days in that deal?”
The being’s smile widened. “Your humor is why you were chosen. Even in the darkest times, you found ways to lift others, to bring light into the shadows. That is why you were seen.”
Yunis let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “Not gonna lie, I wasn’t expecting a cosmic job offer today. I figured I’d just... wait for judgement like everyone else, y’know?”
“You could,” the figure said softly. “The choice is yours. You have earned your rest, should you wish it.”
Yunis looked at the stars of his life, his gaze lingering on the children at the orphanage, the soldiers he had stitched back together, the patients he had carried to safety before and during the war. He saw his wife again, her memory a balm and a pang all at once.
“No regrets,” he murmured, his voice steady. “I did everything I could with the time I had.”
“And yet,” the figure prompted gently, “you could do more.”
Yunis smiled faintly. “Yeah... I guess I could. If it means seeing more, learning more, and maybe helping a few folks along the way, then... why not?”
The figure extended their hand, the void around them shimmering with golden light. “Then it is decided. Walk the path before you, Yunis. The Creator’s design will guide you.”
Yunis took the hand, the warmth of it filling him with a strange, exhilarating energy. As the light enveloped him, he cast one last glance at the stars of his past life.
the light surged, and Yunis felt himself pulled into something vast and infinite, a new chapter of his existence beginning.