"The Zone" (closed)

[TerribleTonyTwo]

"The Zone"

(closed to CarlyConners)​

Chris Barnes awoke to the immediate realization of pain. He blinked his eyes, attempting to focus in the near darkness. He was flat on his back, perhaps in a bed. The surface below him was soft like a mattress but not luxuriously so. And it was obvious that he'd been stripped of his pack and other field gear.

He attempted to sit up but stopped quickly at even more pain. His entire body hurt. But the most noticeable pain radiated up through his body from his leg. It was hurt, obviously, perhaps broken.

A woman spoke to him from the darkness. Her words were soft and reassuring, but Chris didn't understand them. There had been more than three dozen languages and unique dialects spoken in the capital before the war begun. No one could have been expected to understand them all.

The woman neared Chris and knelt close. His eyes focused enough to find her offering him a cup. She spoke again, this time finishing in heavily accented English, "Water. You drink."

Chris hesitated. He was entirely unsure of his situation, so he was obviously entirely uncomfortable with it. He liked knowing what was what and who was who at all times. It was the reason he'd hated being here in The Zone. Civil unrest had mutated into civil war. That civil war had then spilled over the borders to affect American interests. And, as always happened in such cases, the US military was brought in. Chris hated that from day to day, week to week, no one really knew who the enemy was. There were so many to chose from: the government was broken into three elements, each internationally recognized by this country or that. The rebel groups numbered in the dozens: some were location based while others were ethnically or religiously inspired. One day Group A was helping the US fight Group B, and the next day it was the other way around.

Over the next several minutes to come, Chris's last memories would begin coming back to him: the Chinook helicopter; his squad of eight men; the rescue mission; the downed pilot they'd been after; the rocket that hit their ride; the spinning fall and crash. It would come back to him slowly.

It was good to remember, of course. But those memories also left him with the realization of his situation: he was alone and injured behind enemy lines ... in The Zone.

 

[CarlyConners]

(OOC: I don't have a pic yet. Next post. Imagine 18-24, pretty, petite.)

“Drink,” the young woman repeated as she lifted the cup of water up towards the soldier's mouth. “Water.”

She didn't take the cup all the way to his face, seeing in his expression that he was uncomfortable with his situation, perhaps even frightened or angry. She wouldn’t blame him for any or all of these emotions, of course. It wasn't just that he was in obvious pain from his injuries, but he was so out of place as well. So out of place. The insignia on his uniform identified him as an American soldier, fighting in a warzone where Americans were considered enemy invaders by many and valuable hostages by others.

She told him her name in her own language and dialect, then smiled, then chuckled. Again speaking in her tongue she made a comment about how long her full name was -- 18 syllables in all -- then tapped a hand to her chest.

“You call Car-ly,” she said in her best English, giving him one of her many nicknames. “My name … Carly.”

She again urged him to drink the water.