"Air Force Five" Part 1

“A trickle of strangers were all that were left alive.” - David Bowie

“Is it bad, Nanny?” the wounded soldier asked as I bandaged his wounds. “They’re bad, huh? How bad?” With every heartbeat blood changed the color of his shirt. “You can tell me--” I covered his mouth with his shirt as I rolled it up to investigate his wounds further. And to shut him up.

I’m what is known as someone who is “easy to talk to.”

I hate that term.

Everyone who earns that title hates it. “Easy to talk to” means that you will have to hear everyone’s problems. All of their aches, pains, and tribulations. I got the name “Nanny” from the only person I consider a close friend, Goat’s Blood. He called me “the gay friend for every straight man.” A caretaker. Someone that can be trusted. He got his name after losing a bet in college. You’ll have to ask him about that one day.

We’re aboard Air Force Five. Everyone knows of course that Air Force One is for The President. Air Force Two is for The Vice President. Air Force Three is classified and I don’t even believe that Air Force Four exists. Air Force Five was created in 2003 because, fuck it, there was some extra money laying around. Its large enough to accommodate fifty passengers though it never will. The most that have ever been aboard was twenty five and my God that was a terrible night.

“Listen to me, soldier” I tell bloody boy here. He cant be over 20. “You’ve lost a lot of blood. And by a lot I mean I’m surprised you are conscious enough to be speaking to me.” He looks at me and gasps. “I’m sorry, but you’re not going to survive.”

“Poor kid” Goat’s Blood says and a moment later gets down on one knee, raises his arm high, and brings his elbow down on the young man’s throat shattering his neck. I watch as the life leaves him and then at Goat’s Blood. “What? You just said he wasn’t going to survive!”

“I didn’t say break his fucking neck!” I scream. “Jesus Christ, let the kid have some dignity!” I shove Goat’s Blood down on his ass and wipe the blood from my hands onto my jeans. “How are we going to explain this?”

“Oh, he’s a fucking L.C” he tells me. L.C’s are Lost Causes. Soldiers who are bred to die. “No one gives a fuck.” Goat’s Blood is not known fro his bedside manner.

“Really?” I ask. Goat nods. “Take him to the incinerator then. Goat laughs and punches me in a cluster of nerves in my back. I don’t fall. I just pause. I cant talk or move. Just breathe. It’s a move his father invented years ago and is taught in the highest levels of the military. About nine people know how to do it properly. And by properly I mean it doesn’t kill you and they have the ability to reverse the damage done. Thankfully Goat is one of those people.

“That was for shoving me” Goat says and walks towards the cabin. “I’ll be back in a few minutes to get you moving.”