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Vol. 17, No. 1

Lost Dog
by Patrick Dacey

There are times when absolutely nothing is happening. That's when you know something's about to happen. You hear F-17s flying overhead, the sound like tearing paper. Then the missiles and the crushing force of wind and all of us grabbing our gear and jumping into the Humvees, barreling toward the smoke in the distance. No one looks scared. Sure, guys are puking out the windows, but that's on account of the heat. Some of it splashes on the windshield. Our squad leader issues the coordinates. Everything looks the same. We pass the same palm tree over and over, as if we're going through a time warp that takes us five minutes back every five minutes. Then we're in a village, what used to be a village. You've never heard women cry like these women here. It comes gushing out of their bodies. We have to keep them at a distance even though they look like they want to be held. I've seen them explode.
To read the rest of this story, and others from the Spring 2013 issue, please purchase a copy from our online store.

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