"Fall back! It's gonna blow!"
"We're clear, don't try to be a freakin' hero, Paul!"
Then the world went black.
Paul beheld a scene from his childhood, as if he were watching a home movie. Except that the colors and scents made him feel as if he were actually there.
"Paul Roberts. What are you doing out of bed? Santa's going to be flying over soon, and he expects nice children to be in bed when he arrives."
Paul yawned. "Sorry, Mom. I had a dream, and it seemed so real. I wanted to see if it was."
Mom smiled, and scooped up the little boy. "Tell me all about it."
He was silent, until she turned him to face her. "I can't."
She frowned. "Why ever not? You know full well that you can tell me anything."
He scrunched up his face. "I can tell you that there was an angel. Not like the pretty lady on the tree, though. It was a man, and he had a sword. A big sharp one. I was scared, but he was really nice."
Mom smiled, and began walking. "Well he's not here, so it was just a dream. Let's get you back to bed before Santa comes."
After he was tucked in, he started to drift off again. Then something soft brushed his bare toes. Paul reached under the covers, and pulled out a single bright gold feather.
"It really happened," he whispered, eyes wide.
Paul got up, and placed the feather in his favorite comic book. "I promise when the time comes, I'll do exactly what you said, Michael."
Twenty years later, Paul laid face down on the sand, motionless. Familiar voices came to him. Voices from a different life than the one he'd been immersed in only seconds earlier.
"He's still in one piece, Sir. And I think he might be breathing."
"Impossible. Nobody survives that. He saved our lives though. I can't leave him."
"We should be able to safely retrace our steps, Sir. Now that it's been discharged..."
"I'll go. I'm in charge - and I should be the one out there, not him..."
"I'll prepare the vehicle, Sir. And Sir? It was his choice. You couldn't stop him, you tried."
Paul's world began to spin. Then he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
When he awoke, he was lying on a cot. Rough new sheets covered his bare skin, causing some discomfort.
He looked around the tidy little room. His eyes widened when he came to the small chair in the corner. "Sir?"
Wordlessly the grizzled veteran rose, and walked over to Paul's cot.
He stood there in silence for a few more seconds. "Impossible... how did you do it?"
Paul looked at his superior for a second. "Sir?"
"You survived that explosion at point blank range. You don't have anything except a few scratches - in fact a lot fewer scratches than anyone else on the team. You know that's impossible, you helped me recover those victims just last week..."
Paul took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. "I can't tell you what happened, Sir. You were there with me, what happened?"
The older man clasped his hands in back of him. "I don't know. It almost looked like you had an invisible barrier shielding you, but it had to be some sort of heat mirage."
Paul sat up, and adjusted his pillow. "What do you think happened, Sir?"
The experienced officer snorted. "If I knew that, I'd never lose another man to those infernal things. That's why I'm here asking you!"
Paul sighed. "I really wish I could make that a reality, Sir. But I just don't know how..."
The other man sighed as well. "We need to bottle whatever that was. I've never seen anything like it, in all of my twenty-three years of duty. If you think of anything that you might have done, let me know."
"Yes Sir, of course."
After his superior left, Paul sighed, and laid back down. As he did, something soft brushed his leg. He pulled a bright gold feather out from under the stiff sheets.
"Michael, why can't I just tell them about you? It's not like anyone would believe me anyway. Oh well, thank you for protecting me. I'll follow your instructions for the other one too, but I have no idea how I'm going to explain it."
Cover image made in Canva Pro using their gallery
