Damiynn
Fantasy Author
Chapter 8
A sharp gust of wind tore into Micah’s face, cutting like a razor cold knife across his skin and he realized suddenly he was flying again. Flying, the thought turned his insides frozen like a block of ice. Hands tightening on the shield, knuckles turning white hot, he tried regulating his breathing, tried to stop what was coming. It was too late, everything around him swirled, then went black.
Vision blurring, head swimming, the flashback seized him in a cruel grip and suddenly it was as if he was there again, back in his living nightmare, back in the desert amidst the blowing sand, years away from where he was now.
A flash of flame filled his mind and he shifted his gaze sideways following the streaks of gunfire across the sky. The r.p.g crashed into the side of his helicopter with a hollow boom, ripping a jagged a hole through the helicopter’s metal skin. The explosion shredded the armor like paper. The concussion sent it careening out of the sky, spinning like a whirling dervish, plummeting towards the earth. Micah felt the controls pulling violently in his hands, jerking as he tried to stop the dive. Watching the spinning earth grow closer and closer through the windshield then…
Although now he didn’t feel the impact of the crash, his mind relived what had happened. It placed images there as if they were occurring now. He saw the blood covering his face in a veil. Saw again through the red haze all of his fellow crewmembers burning in a cauldron of fire, the men who had counted on him to keep them alive dying.
An unknown entity cut into the edge of the vision, like something hiding in the darkness, hovering where you just couldn’t see, something he didn’t recognize from the waking nightmare that had followed him for years.
A growling snarl filled his mind, a sound that wasn’t the dying screams of his men. Was it the engine? The sound baffled him as he stared at his co pilot’s chest, watching it slow. His own heart pounded, beating against his breastbone as if it was trying to escape. He knew what was coming, he had seen it a hundred times before. The slow rattle of the dying breath at the end came to fast. James Mckinney stopped breathing, he would never be able to take his kids to Cedar Point after this deployment. He had been planning it all year.
Staring into the lifeless eyes, Micah heard the scream of frustration tear out of his lips as he fought to free himself from the belts holding him in his chair. Over the sounds of the dying men in the helicopter came the snarling noise again, this time louder, more insistent.
“Are you all right rider?”
The question shook him. What the hell was a rider? He was the pilot, a pilot who had disobeyed orders and killed all his crew. Reeling, finally free he threw himself out of the pilot seat and fell… Fell?
Hard ground crashed into him, knocking all of the air out of his body in a whooshing rush. The sounds of the screaming faded as he heard the word again in his mind, Rider…
The thought seemed to take an eternity to form but when it did, it caused him to snap back to reality. Suddenly he realized he was lying in a field, surrounded by grass and trees.
Sucking in deep breaths, his muscles twitching with the force of the flashback, Micah shakily shook his head, “I. . I’m all right Noraxxis.” It had been years since he had been thrown that far back into the past. “It’s ok, I’m all right now.”
“I couldn’t find you,” stated Noraxxis, spinning his horned head around, scanning the sky, a half-worried expression on his scaly face. “It was like you were completely gone, somewhere else and was not here. Where were you?”
Micah sighed, softly, not liking to bring up the demons of his past but knew he had to tell the dragon something. Finally, he stated in a low voice, “It’s called post traumatic stress disorder. It’s a problem with the mind that causes hallucinogenic flashbacks, or panic attacks and sometimes jumpiness. Usually it’s related to traumatic events from one’s past. Something severely bad.” Micah’s voice faded off… Gazing up at the saddle, knowing why he hated flying. He used to love it, had begged to be in charge of every mission, to lead from the front as was expected of him as a commander in his aviation battalion.
Noraxxis stopped scanning the skyline and spun, facing Micah, large yellow eyes demanding more.
“Aftereffects sometimes follow traumatic events. I suffer from flashbacks of what happened to me and usually they occur while flying, since that’s when the original incident happened.”
Noraxxis’ eyes grew wide and he growled in an anxious tone, “How often does this occur? We will be doing a lot of flying and you will be on my back a lot of that time.”
Micah raised his hands, palms up, plaintively. “I don’t know, they come and go. It hasn’t happened in so long that I had thought it would never happen again.” At least not the flashback’s of flying, the others… Again he crushed that thought. He couldn’t allow those thoughts back into his mind, he had been told to banish all thoughts of … To change the subject. It was those that had cost him his job on the police force.
“It must have been the sight of all the blood and fire that triggered the visions.” What he said caused another thought to flash in his mind. “Sort of how like freeing you from your captivity caused you to react so violently, so explosively, and made you lost to me, I was the same when we started to fly.”
Noraxxis regarded him thoughtfully, then sighed loudly, smoke streaming out of his nostrils. “Do you think it has passed like it did with me? We can’t stay here. Al’sonar will send dragons in pursuit as soon as he can reorganize his forces or contact other Griegan dragons and their riders. He can’t allow us to live. He will send orgs as well. He will do whatever necessary to capture or stop us. We can generate hope in the people he has defeated, we can cause them to resist when he is so close to completing what he wants to do. He will pursue us!”
A sharp gust of wind tore into Micah’s face, cutting like a razor cold knife across his skin and he realized suddenly he was flying again. Flying, the thought turned his insides frozen like a block of ice. Hands tightening on the shield, knuckles turning white hot, he tried regulating his breathing, tried to stop what was coming. It was too late, everything around him swirled, then went black.
Vision blurring, head swimming, the flashback seized him in a cruel grip and suddenly it was as if he was there again, back in his living nightmare, back in the desert amidst the blowing sand, years away from where he was now.
A flash of flame filled his mind and he shifted his gaze sideways following the streaks of gunfire across the sky. The r.p.g crashed into the side of his helicopter with a hollow boom, ripping a jagged a hole through the helicopter’s metal skin. The explosion shredded the armor like paper. The concussion sent it careening out of the sky, spinning like a whirling dervish, plummeting towards the earth. Micah felt the controls pulling violently in his hands, jerking as he tried to stop the dive. Watching the spinning earth grow closer and closer through the windshield then…
Although now he didn’t feel the impact of the crash, his mind relived what had happened. It placed images there as if they were occurring now. He saw the blood covering his face in a veil. Saw again through the red haze all of his fellow crewmembers burning in a cauldron of fire, the men who had counted on him to keep them alive dying.
An unknown entity cut into the edge of the vision, like something hiding in the darkness, hovering where you just couldn’t see, something he didn’t recognize from the waking nightmare that had followed him for years.
A growling snarl filled his mind, a sound that wasn’t the dying screams of his men. Was it the engine? The sound baffled him as he stared at his co pilot’s chest, watching it slow. His own heart pounded, beating against his breastbone as if it was trying to escape. He knew what was coming, he had seen it a hundred times before. The slow rattle of the dying breath at the end came to fast. James Mckinney stopped breathing, he would never be able to take his kids to Cedar Point after this deployment. He had been planning it all year.
Staring into the lifeless eyes, Micah heard the scream of frustration tear out of his lips as he fought to free himself from the belts holding him in his chair. Over the sounds of the dying men in the helicopter came the snarling noise again, this time louder, more insistent.
“Are you all right rider?”
The question shook him. What the hell was a rider? He was the pilot, a pilot who had disobeyed orders and killed all his crew. Reeling, finally free he threw himself out of the pilot seat and fell… Fell?
Hard ground crashed into him, knocking all of the air out of his body in a whooshing rush. The sounds of the screaming faded as he heard the word again in his mind, Rider…
The thought seemed to take an eternity to form but when it did, it caused him to snap back to reality. Suddenly he realized he was lying in a field, surrounded by grass and trees.
Sucking in deep breaths, his muscles twitching with the force of the flashback, Micah shakily shook his head, “I. . I’m all right Noraxxis.” It had been years since he had been thrown that far back into the past. “It’s ok, I’m all right now.”
“I couldn’t find you,” stated Noraxxis, spinning his horned head around, scanning the sky, a half-worried expression on his scaly face. “It was like you were completely gone, somewhere else and was not here. Where were you?”
Micah sighed, softly, not liking to bring up the demons of his past but knew he had to tell the dragon something. Finally, he stated in a low voice, “It’s called post traumatic stress disorder. It’s a problem with the mind that causes hallucinogenic flashbacks, or panic attacks and sometimes jumpiness. Usually it’s related to traumatic events from one’s past. Something severely bad.” Micah’s voice faded off… Gazing up at the saddle, knowing why he hated flying. He used to love it, had begged to be in charge of every mission, to lead from the front as was expected of him as a commander in his aviation battalion.
Noraxxis stopped scanning the skyline and spun, facing Micah, large yellow eyes demanding more.
“Aftereffects sometimes follow traumatic events. I suffer from flashbacks of what happened to me and usually they occur while flying, since that’s when the original incident happened.”
Noraxxis’ eyes grew wide and he growled in an anxious tone, “How often does this occur? We will be doing a lot of flying and you will be on my back a lot of that time.”
Micah raised his hands, palms up, plaintively. “I don’t know, they come and go. It hasn’t happened in so long that I had thought it would never happen again.” At least not the flashback’s of flying, the others… Again he crushed that thought. He couldn’t allow those thoughts back into his mind, he had been told to banish all thoughts of … To change the subject. It was those that had cost him his job on the police force.
“It must have been the sight of all the blood and fire that triggered the visions.” What he said caused another thought to flash in his mind. “Sort of how like freeing you from your captivity caused you to react so violently, so explosively, and made you lost to me, I was the same when we started to fly.”
Noraxxis regarded him thoughtfully, then sighed loudly, smoke streaming out of his nostrils. “Do you think it has passed like it did with me? We can’t stay here. Al’sonar will send dragons in pursuit as soon as he can reorganize his forces or contact other Griegan dragons and their riders. He can’t allow us to live. He will send orgs as well. He will do whatever necessary to capture or stop us. We can generate hope in the people he has defeated, we can cause them to resist when he is so close to completing what he wants to do. He will pursue us!”
. Now I just have to see what this dragon-riding world of yours has to offer, let's see what you can put forth!