Short Story: Quicksand

By Tobi Akanni

"Theta Two, what's your status? Theta Two, are you there?" The radio continued to emit a shrill static voice as I struggled to breathe, trying not to gulp my own blood. It was a losing battle, and I felt myself rapidly descending into the abyss of death.

The seconds of struggling felt futile, and I wished my body didn't have its natural response to fight for life; the agony of this descent into lifelessness seemed to stretch on forever.

"Theta Two, report your status!"

My senses were on high alert, working at an alarming rate, trying to absorb every detail around me, possibly for the last time.

Gunshots echoed like the hit of a thousand sledgehammers in my ears. The blue sky filled my vision and glowed golden like a paradise. The sand in my camo bit like ants, and the air was filled with muted screams and the anguish of fallen comrades.

The suddenness of death still shocks me, even in this moment, no matter how much I've encountered it. Now, I'm experiencing it firsthand. We may be soldiers, aware that death can come for us at any minute, but it would be a relief to have some warning. Not enough to run away from the inevitable, but enough to prepare oneself mentally.

Or perhaps nature knows best. If the unknowability of dying wields this much influence, I don't want to imagine how dreadful it would be to know you're going to die.

Thirty minutes ago felt like a decade away...

I groggily sat up on my bunk bed, awakening to a receding row of laughter and rubbed my eyes. Another fit of laughter followed, and I squinted, stifling a yawn, trying to get my bearings. That must have woken me up.

A third round of laughing snapped me back to reality. The guys to my left huddled around Python Six's bed, slapping each other's backs. There goes Six, always a jolly fellow who can tell a good story.

Unlike me - the loner and late learner. I sat upright and bent over, feeling inept that it took me so long to reorient myself. It might have lasted only a few seconds for any normal person, but in the words of General Musa, "you no be civilian anymore, so stop to du like one!"

"Guy, will you stop shaking the bed?"

I turned and leaned sideways to see my bunkmate below peering up at me, his eyes like balls of lava.

"S—"

"Mtcheewwww."

"Boys, quiet! We have a message from the Control Base," General Al-Deen, the Special Ops commander, called out.

The dorm fell silent as we listened through a loudspeaker to the broadcast message from Abuja Control Base (ACB). Two minutes later, we were still in a contemplative mood after the call message had ended. It was another face-off with death that is certain to leave a number of us dead.

Who this time?

It didn't matter that the intel said in six hours; no amount of time for preparation or strategy would be enough to plot a double-crossing of religious insurgents. We may be trained, highly skilled, intelligent, and whatnot, but at our cores lie a primal fear. An aversion of the body to danger that we have to willfully keep subjecting to our common sense and commitments.

And pledges to the nation.

A mortal scream pierced the air, and boots like the hooves of a million horses beat the ground. What- why- are the men fleeing? What's wrong—

The screaming became fiercer now and simultaneous, and the atmosphere was overrun with the tar smell of gunpowder. I lost my judgment in an instant and sprang into survival mode. I was light as a flash on my feet and barely had time to grab my gun before I was being pulled by the arm.

"Come on, man. C'mon!"

All I needed to see was the face of Python Six through the blinding confusion and haze of adrenaline before I allowed myself to be dragged away, narrowly missing colliding into someone.

Through the ringing overhead shots, frantic commands, and impromptu covers, I could make out the words "under attack."

F... my life!

We've been ambushed.

It took a moment for me to realize what was in my throat wasn't a bulge to be swallowed or a chunk of food I'd brought back up from my stomach.

I looked at the deserted barracks to assess my situation but fell back with a crushing force.

I have been shot.

In my throat.