Something was coming. An overwhelming feeling of dread was creeping its way through Camden Lahey's body, setting the young blonde on edge as he slowly made his way through the streets of Baghdad. Though his nerves were already threatening to incapacitate him, Cam kept moving on. One foot carefully stepping in front of the other, keeping him in the well-practiced formation he and his fellow soldiers had built for the optimum defines against attackers. Cam had no clue as to why he was so nervous about this patrol. It was the same as any of the others he had been on, all dust and civilians taking shelter wherever they could to escape the blinding heat of the sun, and the possibility of encountering trouble on the streets. He didn't blame them; safety was, after all, the most important thing when it came to such a violent conflict like this one.
His mind turned to his brother at that thought, wondering just how Isaac was coming back in the hell they called a home. He hoped that his father might have been less harsh on the boy now that it was just the pair of them in the house, but he was only trying to fool himself. He knew that wouldn't be the case. Now there was just more anger and suffering to be inflicted on the poor kid. Cam had thought about calling the police, tipping them off about just how abusive Mr Lahey was, but would they really take the word of some kid seriously when their father was such a respected man in the community? Coach Lahey had helped Beacon Hills High School to win more awards and trophies than any other before him. He was an inspiration, but his sons knew the truth. He was more of a monster than any other man in Beacon Hills.
Snapping himself out of his daze, Cam's sights fell back on the dusty street he was slowly trudging alone. This feeling, the nerves, it was eerie. Like the calm before a storm. It wasn't the sweltering heat that was making the blonde feel uneasy, it wasn't the heavy protective gear he had to haul around on his body, not even the assault rifle he was clutching tightly in his hands. It was the silence that roared in his ears.
Quickly glancing at his superior, Cam knew something was wrong. His eyes darted around the rooftops and windows of the buildings that towered over the exposed soldiers on the ground, every muscle in his body tensing, bracing himself for the storm he knew was coming. "2 o'clock!"One of the others in his patrol screamed, not even a second before bullets began ripping through the air towards them. Panicking, his heart thumping inside his chest like a drum, Cam's instincts thankfully kicked in. He dove behind an old, burnt out car, grimacing as he heard the rattle of bullets against the weakened framework.
People screamed, cried out in agony and fear as they rushed to take any kind of cover they could find. And there was Cam, cowering in a corner while his comrades shouted orders and commands at the top of their lungs.
This was it. It was just like training. Cam tried to pretend, to convince himself there were no bullets, only rounds of blanks in the enemy guns, and though he was doing a poor job of it, he somehow found the courage to push himself to his knees, his rifle pointing through the shattered window of the useless car. Surprisingly, he had some of the attackers in his sights, though from where he hid there was little chance of taking a bullet himself. It was perhaps the perfect spot. Slowly, he calmed himself, just as he was told in training. He slowed his breathing, blocking out every sound that could distract him, knowing that just one wrong move could result in his death. Exhaling slowly, with the unprotected chest of the enemy focused in the scope of his rifle, Cam applied just enough pressure to the trigger, the sound of the shot ringing almost painfully in his ears as he watched the body drop from the roof where the man was perched, hitting the streets below with an unpleasant thud.
There was no time to feel any guilt for what he had done, a lesson he had learned what seemed to be an age ago. He couldn't let anything distract him, not when bullets continued to rain over the patrol group in waves. Cam had to lose himself, become almost a machine in order take down the others. Never losing his focus, the blonde ignored the layer of sweat and grime steadily forming across his forehead lining his weapon up against another enemy, a third man, a fourth. All fell to the ground, some screaming in agony while the others simply lay still.
"Lahey!" a voice called from his left, pained and weak. Glancing over, his focus finally broken, Cam caught the eye of one of the men he had trained with. Fischer, his name was, though for how much longer, Cam wasn't sure. He had been hit, bad. Blood poured from the wound, mixing with the dirty where he lay, not showing any signs of stopping. What could he do? If he moved from his position, he was just asking to get shot, but if he didn't do a thing, his friend didn't stand a snowball's chance in hell.
"Dammit Fischer!" he punched the body of the car in frustration before throwing himself from the ground. There was only one chance here, one opportunity to get this right. Running swiftly into the line of fire, Cam wasn't more than two feet away from the protective cover of the car before metal collided with flesh, ripping and tearing without any mercy. Crying out in pain, hitting the dust like a ton of bricks, all he could do was drag himself back to the car. Agonizing pain seared through his leg, shooting through his body before he could drop himself to the floor. Cam couldn't even bring himself to look down, knowing it would just make the pain seem even more real than it already was.
But he couldn't give in, not just yet. Gritting his teeth, Cam grabbed the rifle he had dropped to the ground, repositioning himself in such a way that caused him the least pain as he opened fire once more. Ferociously, relentlessly he fired. Bullet after bullet rocketed from the rifle. He wasn't even on target, most of his shots barely grazing the arms of his enemies, or barely hitting them at all. This rage that had taken him over? That had been his mistake. He had been too angry to notice the attacker closing in on him, only noticing what was to be his downfall a second too late.
Hours seemed to pass in the time it took him to catch sight of the grenade as it clattered through the opposite window of the rusted car. Milliseconds were all it took to calculate his chances of survival. This close to a small bomb with a busted leg? Cam wasn't going to make it, but he sure as hell had to give it his best shot. He pushed himself back somehow, stumbling to the ground as he did nothing but watch the events before him unfold at an ungodly speed. Cam heard the explosion, watched the fragile body of the car shatter and spray in every direction, his arms instinctively protecting his face only to be pierced by the shrapnel. The pain was too much. Cam fell back, a deafening ringing blaring in his ears as his head hit the ground, the glare of the sunlight losing its battle against the darkness that spread over his vision, turning the entire world around him to nothing but black.