Fade to Black - Proof Read Free Page B

round
institutional tables spread out around the room. Jack scanned the colorful
homemade posters scattered randomly on the walls, telling of upcoming club
meetings and a dance next Friday.
     
     
     
     
     
    “Doing my
part, Chad,” Jack replied easily. They grabbed trays and slid them down the
twin metal bars, past prepackaged salad and little bowls of Jell-O. Chad
stopped in front of the grill. A middle‐aged woman stared back at them with a
wry smile from under her blue, net-covered grey hair.
    “Two cheeseburgers,
Sheila, but you can put ‘em both on one bun,” Chad ordered.
    “You know I’m
not supposed to do that,” Sheila said with an insider’s smile.
    “Yeah, yeah.
Come on, sweetie. And extra fries with that, ok?”
    Sheila sighed
and turned to Jack.
    He smiled.
“Same,” he said.
    Jack followed
Chad out of the line with his tray, and the two wound their way through the
scattered tables to the exit. Several yards down the hallway, Chad led them
through a door marked Faculty Lounge. Inside several other teachers chatted at
one of the two tables and Chad set his tray on the other.
    “Soda?” Chad
asked, reaching into the large refrigerator.
    “Sure,” Jack
replied.  Chad tossed his friend a diet Coke underhand, which Jack caught
easily. On a TV in the corner the CNN headline news reporter, clearly chosen
for bouncy, blonde good looks and full lips—a decision highlighted by her low‐cut
blouse—droned on about stock market trends. Jack slid into a chair and took a
big bite of his double cheeseburger.
    “Mmmmm.” He
hadn’t realized how hungry he was until that first bite.
    Chad took a
huge bite of his own dietary sin and rolled his eyes in delight.
    “Yeah,” he
exclaimed with a full mouth. “Being bad tastes pretty damn good, eh, Jack?”
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Jack smiled
his reply and twisted the top off his Coke. Then something the TV blonde was
saying caught his attention—something about Fallujah—and he turned quickly
towards the screen. The picture was file footage of Marines advancing through
the streets of a war torn and dusty town.
    …for the town
of Al Fallujah. The fierce fighting continued yesterday, but not without
casualties on….
    “I think we
ought to talk to Anderson about…”
    “Quiet!” Jack
ordered sharply, his hand outstretched towards Chad. The curt command caused
Chad to stop in midsentence, his mouth open, and then he followed Jack’s gaze
towards the TV.
    …numbering
perhaps as high as 50 killed and hundreds wounded or captured according to
several military sources. Coalition forces suffered yesterday as well, with
three Marines reportedly killed and another seriously wounded during a brutal
firefight in the city’s war-ravaged streets. The names of the killed and
injured Marines were not released, pending notification of families here at
home. Although military authorities report that coalition forces now control
nearly half of the city, they caution that the violence there is far from over.
Elsewhere in Iraq, a car bomb has reportedly killed one soldier while four others
were wounded in an attack near the town…
    Jack’s face
paled and a cool sweat spread over his whole body. His throat tightened, and he
could hear his pulse pounding in his ears.
    “Kindrich from
Tennessee, Bennett from Texas…” he muttered. Their faces were vividly clear
from his dream. And who else? Who was the third? He knew who the wounded Marine
was—Sgt. Stillman…Casey.
    Jack felt the
room closing in on him, and thought he might suffocate if he didn’t get
somewhere with more air. His throat burned low down, but he didn’t have any
saliva to swallow. He rose and pushed his chair back from the table so abruptly
that it tipped over backwards and crashed to the floor. Then he bolted for the
door. His stomach churned as he stumbled into the hall.
     
     
     
    “Jack! What
the hell?”
    “Excuse me,”
Jack choked out over his shoulder as he went rapidly down the