Friday, September 6, 2013

Ghost Ops

Zed rolled off of the cot onto the hard-packed dirt floor of the tent; the Smith & Wesson .380 clutched in his hand unwavering as his eyes scanned the darkness. All vestiges of sleep gone, he allowed the adrenaline surge to subside before rolling up to his feet. With a disgusted sigh, he sat back down on the bunk, stowing the automatic back beneath the thin pillow.

The phantom threat dismissed, his hands did tremble as he fumbled two capsules out and washed them down with the dregs of a fifth of Jack Daniels.

No matter how many times he inserted…how many mission objectives he fulfilled…no matter how many times he successfully extracted, they wouldn’t leave him alone…wouldn’t stop following him. Zed hated being followed….being tracked like some hapless beast. He was a predator, dammit, most assuredly not prey! 

No matter how many pills he took…how much booze he swilled…the faceless ghosts of those he had been compelled to…neutralize seemed frozen in time in the dark corridors of his mind. With a grim smile, he laid back down, daring them to do their worst to him, for he was, after all, the scariest thing in the dark of them all.


This story was written for the weekly Facebook Flash Fiction Friday flash fiction phrase prompt: frozen in time.

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