Oshun Mayes's Arc

Chapter 1 of 3

Oshun Mayes was the youngest commander the city had ever trusted, and tonight he wanted to be nothing but a husband. He sat on the edge of the bed, boots off, his wife's head against his shoulder. Two weeks of leave. They had a plan now. They wanted a child, and for once the schedule let them try. He ran his thumb across her knuckles and let the quiet hold him. The television flickered across the room, sound low. His wife had left the news on. He glanced up and froze. The screen showed their own city. Smoke rolled over broken rooftops. A reporter shouted over sirens. A building had collapsed near the harbor district, and emergency crews could not reach the survivors. His phone buzzed before he could stand. He knew the ring. He answered. "Commander." Marcus Drake's voice came fast and clipped. Marcus was his major and his oldest friend, the man he trusted to hold the line when he could not. In twenty years Marcus had never once called him by rank off-duty. He did now. "It's bad. The whole eastern block is down. We need you at Fort Meridian. Cars are already moving." Oshun closed his eyes. His wife had lifted her head. She was watching him, already knowing. "How many?" Oshun asked. "Dozens trapped. Maybe more. You're the only one who can run the response." A pause. "I'm sorry, brother. I wouldn't call if it wasn't you." "I'm coming," Oshun said. He ended the call. The room felt smaller now. He reached for his boots and laced them with hands that moved on their own. His wife did not cry. She did not argue. She stood and crossed to the dresser, and he hated himself for watching her instead of helping. The job always won. He had promised her it would not always win. "I'll make it up to you," he said. The words sounded thin. She turned around. She held something small and white in her hand. She pressed it into his palm and folded his fingers over it. He looked down. A test strip. Two clear lines in the little window. One meaning. "I was going to tell you tonight," she said. "Over dinner. I had it all planned." Oshun stared at the two lines. The thing he had wanted most. Here, now, in his hand, on the one night he had to leave. "You're sure?" he asked. "I'm sure." He pulled her in and held her hard. The sirens still screamed from the television. People were trapped under concrete across the city, and they were calling for him. He could not stay. He could not refuse. He slid the test strip into his chest pocket, over his heart, where he would feel it all night. "Go," she said. "Bring them home. Then come home to us." Oshun walked out the door a father, into a city on fire.