He had no idea how long he had been out cold, but the fresh smoke smell still lingered in the air, long after the flames had been extinguished. His eyes wide open, staring into emptiness, wild with adrenaline and fear.
"Help.... Help me!" The short length walls in the small room gave off no echo or compassion as he frantically tried to scramble out from the blockage, clawing at the ground, trying to break free.
"How long had it been? How long have I been down here for?" Countless hours, impossible to tell what time it is when you're three meters under ground, all the minutes count back to night time. His true gripe, once the issue that his legs would not stop hurting, was the fact that it hurt even more to lay on his stomach due to the gear he assumed he was carrying when the bomb dropped. He placed his forehead on the ground and laughed, closing his eyes at his situation, "Wonderful way to sign that paper, Jude... When you get home, what a story to tell aye?" He was from Oxford, granted the time being 1943, perfect for a young man his age to be stuck where he was at.
He reached down underneath his stomach, turning over slightly under the increased pain of the heavy burden on his legs, laughing at the moment that he hopes his shoes weren't claustrophobic. His fingers wrapped around a rugged steel frame, fingers flirting with the warm groves that his body kept company in the late hours of siege. Producing what he came to discover by the blinding light from his torch, operated by the flick of a button, gave him new means to be happy, hopeful, his beacon of trust in the military for giving him a false sense of security in case, of course, three tons of concrete and a Jeep collapse on top of your legs.
The light shone to the opposite end of the room, this room a mess hall by the evident tables and split chairs and trays scattered over the floor. The light was wonderful for company considering the quiet atmosphere gave him no solice, in a place where a handful of soldiers came to escape their other lives, the cafeteria for instance.
Upon further examination, he discovered, right in front of him, a light shining right back at him, causing him to shield his eyes for a moment, trying to materialize the object several feet away. The outline of an individually wrapped vanilla cream cake came into few, his stomach suddenly addressing his appetite. He coughed, screaming and smiling at the cake, his new bunk mate and best friend, as he outstretched his arms, fingers coming up nearly a foot short of enticement.
If giving credit to the Communists for finding Jude without his precious cake wasn't enough, his he had learned that his hunger now seemed indifferent to his legs, wanting that sweet, soft sugary taste to numb the pain of disability and retirement checks, sure he wanted to run from there, but not before taking his cake with him, the flashlight a premature victory feast to the eyes...
Hours later, he awoke, stomach growling.. The flashlight he had turned off, laying next to his arm, neatly ready to his next usage. His eyes attempted to focus to the darkness, before grabbing the torch next to him, and fumbling for the button to see if his cake was still there. His thumb shifted the button forward, springing the dead room to life, as he sighed with a smile on his face. In place of the wrapped cake sat a picture of his friends and family, with himself in the middle, his little brother sitting on his shoulders. "Good.. Thought you left for a moment.." he said in his raspy voice. "How long have we been down here now?" His eyes panned across the significant members of his family, his best friends popping in and out of the picture as he looked from spot to spot, a still portrait of his life waiting for him back at home.
He extended his weary, dry, dusty fingers reaching out again for the soft embrace of "comfort food", his mother in the picture with a bowl in her arms, stirring a bowl containing her delicious "Vanilla Cake Surprise" to whomever was lucky enough to try a piece. His girlfriend with her arms crossed only fueled his want and need to be home with the people who made him feel most alive, although this event in the war kept him on his toes, so to speak, fairly well.
The whole gang of thirteen had strangely been squeezed into tiny card of paper, strange as it was. The thought was enticing to be back with them, even as the flashlight rolled out of his fingers and stopped on the switch, preventing the torch from rolling any farther from arm's length. His eyes tired, chest beginning to hurt, he began to hate himself for being here, stuck in this hole while his family waited for him at home. The room made him angry, even as his breathing slowed, and he drifted off to sleep again.
"How long.. where am I...?" The light from the flashlight still on, it shown on the opposite wall from him, what was once soft, brown painted concrete, was now dark, prickly red. Black seemed to ooze from the red texture as the room gave off a frantic, dark hopeless vibe... He quickly reached for his flashlight, drips of dark crimson dripping onto the ground that the light portrayed in excellent relief.
He quickly dragged the flashlight back to him, bits of red dripping onto the lens itself, casting a red glow back onto his face and the entire red room around him. He quickly shook his head, looking around the room as it seemed to grow reddish and dim around him. The light darted around, before he stopped, the flashlight slowly turning back to a familiar object only a couple of feet beyond his grasp. A .38 Special revolver handgun lay on the ground, one single bullet resting beside the chamber.
His tired arm chose to not move for it anymore, the dripping of red around him made him crave and craze for the handgun. "I'm never getting out of here... I don't want to die down here!!!" He lifted his head, screaming as the bullet fell over, rolling around in a semi circle near his finger tips. He felt tempted by the quick end to the strife, even as his flashlight in his other hand started to flicker out, dimming slowly from the lack of battery power. The now red gun lay there, one bullet, one shot. His hopelessness to keep him company, he shut his eyes one last time, laying there, sprawled out onto the floor, legs no longer felt, he fell asleep.
"Son! Son can you hear me?!"
Jude's eyes popped open, lights distant down the hallways surrounding the only way into the room now flooded the bunker. "We've got one, he's alive! Call the medics! Medics!!" Jude looked up upon the soft glow of an older man's glasses, his face smiling down at the young, stuck man. "You'll be alright, son..." The older man's voice faded out as Jude closed his eyes again.
"I think if we move these.. Yeah, come on, we can still get his leg's loose." Jude opened his eyes once more to see the rushing of boots and men around, forming a small circle around him. "Do you have a good grip? Alright, here we go. One.. Two.. Three, lift!!" Arms underneath Jude's shoulders pulled him out, his body helpless. The loud crash of rubble behind him was still distant, tired, even the solider's laughter as he remained helpless. Fingers began to poke his legs as he heard a voice say, "With some surgery, he'll keep his legs.." Another bit of pressure as he felt his head go back, followed by some bright lights, moaning himself back to subconsciousness. "Let's get him out of here, keep looking for survivors!" His eyes barely cracked open to see a two way emergency radio, laying in perfect condition on the ground, just out of reach from where he lay.
Jude's eyes were stunned as he emerged outside through smoke and men, the sun shining down onto his face.. Men standing on the sides and nodding, smiling at the survivor as he heard a voice say, "We had no idea anyone was alive down there... If only he could of let us know earlier..." Jude was carried over to the infirmary tent, were he lay down, staring up at the sky, his face too dark to tell his expression, his hunger too deep to satisfy by rations, his emotions too hard to show to his family, his fear of war to great to know that war is suicide. He smiled to himself, closing his eyes, letting the breeze pat him slowly on the face.
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