Brooks was a pawn in their chess game. The Green Weenie would always win. Around every corner and winding turn no matter how hard he pushed his stride Brooks could still feel the ominous threat of the monster getting closer. If he looked back he would be giving up the fight. He wasn't ready to do that yet.

Brooks, was shaking with fear, fumbling as he maneuvered his seemingly lead-weighted body. Brooks could never admit it out loud, but the monster looming in the distance, creeping up from behind, scared him every time, with every glimpse Brooks could envision the jagged pain shooting through his body. The agony as it struck him; the ache when it whipped him; the terror as it beat him. The Green Weenie came as suddenly as it left, leaving only wreckage and the knowledge that it would be back. The Green Weenie, never stopped looming over his shoulder—he was never safe. Brooks inhaled and the stench almost suffocated him, the monster must be getting closer. Shaking with fear, it was all Brooks could do to move his heavy limbs. The thought of the monster lurked heavily on his mind. Brooks kept running, he was at the point of exhaustion when the air around him went from hot and humid to chillingly cold; he was no farther from his fate than before.

For a moment the air turned warm, the stench retreated; Brooks could only hear the melodious sounds of the jungle. Had he escaped? He slowed his run, and looked back—he couldn’t see the monster behind him. Brooks knew his only chance was to escape the monster once and for all. He ran from death in the silent jungle, he heard a grunt behind him suddenly he could smell the stench of rotting corpses, the jungle was alive with screeches—it was close. He heard a crunch, and the sound a whip makes when it’s going through the air, Brooks ducked just in time. The monster pounced, clutching him in its claw. Brooks could feel himself being raised off the ground, and as he was violently slammed down, he was barely conscious—everything went black. In the darkness he could feel hot breath close to his face, and excruciating pain in his limbs. The monster shifted its weight, and Brooks felt the sharp pop in his neck--it was breaking. His shoulders were being shaken "Wake up. Dammit Brooks wake the f*** up".

"Wait, what?" he shot up in bed and began to pull on his cami's. It was 0357 he had formation in three minutes. That was close, he thought to himself, it just a little nightmare, nothing to worry about. Brooks laced up his boots as fast as he could, putting on his cap as they exited the barracks.

The sergeant stood, and the formation began. When he was finished barking the name of each marine his voice dropped softer and he looked at them with what almost appeared as sympathy. "Look men, you have orders. Ship out in 9 days. Get your s*** together, God forbid something happens to you princesses. The orders read Anbar Iraq.”

The marines went quietly back to the barracks. With the military, it was all just one big waiting game. He had taken on the job to pay for college, but it had turned into much more than that. Now, this chase was his livelihood.

Seven and a half months later, Sarah heard a loud sharp knock at the door. Setting down the dishes she didn't think twice when she opened the door, only to see the folded flag and marines in their dress blues, escorting her husband home. How could her Zane have died in the war? He was the strongest, most fearless man she knew, he was Zane Brooks. They told her he died of a severe neck injury. The Green Weenie had won, to the military Brooks was nothing.