“Sir!” The soldiers barked in response, and the two closest pulled Mile from the ground.
“On your feet, Domarc.”
Fuck that. Mile ragdolled, collapsing at the feet of
The soldiers.
The two men looked at each other and in a seemingly unspoken understanding, hoisted Mile up, one of them grasping him under his arms, and the other by his feet. They proceeded to carry him out of the madness, stopping only when they reached a fleet of vehicles belonging to the Royal Army. A third soldier opened the back of a large, white cargo van, and the men proceeded to hoist Mile into the vehicle. They tossed him unceremoniously onto the floor of the van and sat in seats along the side, One of them pausing first to pull the doors shut behind them.
Mile groaned, his forehead pressed against the cool floor of the van. Just a dream. A nightmare. He clenched his eyes shut as they waited what seemed like forever in the back of the van, but was probably really only a few minutes. As the adrenaline began to wear off, Mile began to feel the horrific pain in his shoulder. It was surely broken. He groaned again into the ground as the pain flooded through him.
The door to the cargo van burst open suddenly and the general appeared. He climbed into the back of the van, taking a seat nearest to the doors and to Mile’s head.
“Let’s move,” the general called into the cab of the van, and they set off, a few vehicles following suit while the majority remained behind to finish dealing with what remained of the rebel army.
Mile was sweating profusely, every bump in the road causing excruciating pain to course through his shoulder. He whimpered into the ground of the van. This was all too much. The pain was unreal.
He thought he felt a gentle hand stroke his hair. It reminded him of how his mother used to do the same when he was a child. Was he hallucinating? Felt like he might be. The stroking continued, and Mile found it soothing and did his best to relax. The pain came in waves and seemed to be getting worse with each one. Eventually, he passed out.