Arabic, actually Arabic
The man obviously couldn't understand it. He rummaged around, but he didn't have any clue at all. He could only start making calls, but he couldn't remember the phone number. Looking through the pocket, the wallet has been emptied, and there is nothing left; other than a pile of peanut shells, a medicine bottle and a small jug.
After taking a deep breath for a moment, the man dialed "911" in an international way, "Hello, 911." The call was connected, and there was the voice of a female operator.
"Hello, I was buried alive." The man was panting and breathless, he didn't even have time to stop, and started to cry for help urgently, "Please, save me, I'm going to be out of breath. ."
"Sir?" The operator seemed confused.
"I was buried alive in a coffin, come and save me! Send someone to find me!" The man held the phone tightly in his right hand and the lighter in his left, placed it on his chest, looking at the In the faint firelight, the fingers began to tighten, as if they were holding on to their own lifeline.
"Sir, slow down. What's your name?"
"Paul, Paul Conroy."
"Okay, Mr. Conroy, can you tell me where you are now?"
Paul closed his eyes in pain, "I don't know." His voice was terribly hoarse, his eyes wandered around in a panic, but he couldn't find a focal point, "I'm in the coffin! I don't know where. Please. Please, save me, I'm so scared."
"Are you in the coffin?"
"Yes." Paul felt that he was about to lose his breath, as if an invisible hand was grabbing his throat. The suffocation made his face start to swell, and he didn't even have much confidence to speak. "A kind of Old-fashioned wooden coffins."
"Are you at the funeral home?"
"No no no." Paul repeatedly denied, but he couldn't help but feel a little confused, because he was not sure where he was at all, "I don't know, no."
"How did you call me now?" The operator didn't seem to understand the situation, and was still asking casually.
Paul was almost suffocating, his brain was completely in chaos, "What?"
"If you were buried alive in the coffin, how did you call me?" the operator repeated his question.
"Uh... cell phone, here's an old cell phone." Paul involuntarily stuck it up, trying to find a gap so that he could breathe some fresh air.
"Are you calling on your own cell phone?"
"Yes. No, no, not my phone. But yes, I'm calling on my phone." Paul's brain has become a mess, and all responses are just instinct/energy. He didn't even know what he was doing, his eyes were blank and anxious.
small book booth
"When you climbed into the coffin, was there a cell phone?"
"Yes." Paul nodded, but then frowned. "What? I didn't climb in." Paul was already gnashing his teeth because he still couldn't get fresh air and the operator was wasting his time.
"Then how did you get into the coffin?"
"I was put in by someone." Paul clenched his hands into fists, closed his eyes tightly, and squeezed word by word from between his teeth.
"In the coffin?" The operator thought this was absurd.
"Yes, please, save me!" Paul was unable to speak a complete sentence, and jumped out word by word.
"You said the coffin was buried alive?" The questions were still endless.
Paul raised his left hand and tried to rub his aching temple, but was burned by a lighter, and the whole person grinned, "Yes! I'm a truck driver, and I'm an American citizen." Paul gasped heavily. It seemed that there was no way to continue speaking, "This... it's so hot in here, I can't breathe."
"Do you know your location?" The operator's voice seemed a little helpless.
"I... I told you, somewhere in Iraq. Please, save me!" Paul was completely incoherent, his mind went blank except for "Please, save me."
"Iraq?"
"Yes, I'm a truck driver, I'm a U.S. citizen, and I work for the CRT." Paul's brain finally started working again, and he said quickly.
"Are you a soldier?" Paul's exasperated rage exclaimed at the operator's question, "No! Please, didn't you listen to me? I'm a truck driver, I'm a U.S. citizen, I It was contractors working in Iraq who were attacked in Bakuba and they… they were all killed.” The coherent discourse was suddenly cut off, and Paul was breathing heavily, as if a rapid heartbeat led to the brief asphyxia.
At this moment, he suddenly realized that he was the only survivor, and all his colleagues were shot dead. The sudden loss and loss made him fall into silence.
"Who was killed?"
The operator's question brought Paul back to reality again, "All the other drivers." Paul couldn't help laughing, the unreal sense of absurdity invaded, and the corner of his mouth couldn't help but bring a hint of mockery.
"You're saying all this happened in Iraq? That country?"
Paul laughed out loud, the sadness was too real and too urgent, and it became a huge irony, "Yes, please listen to me, okay? Listen to me!" Paul restrained his smile, "The military gave me a security number and put it in my wallet, but I can't find it now," said earnestly.
The operator interrupted Paul reluctantly, "Mr. Conroy, this is the police station in Youngstown, Ohio."
The rapidly heaving chest suddenly slowed down, as if time and space condensed, "Ohio?" Paul was immediately stunned, and the movements of his muscles stopped in place.
"Yes, sir." The operator finally recovered. "You said you were in another country. I don't know how you got here. If you want, I can transfer you to the sheriff's office. ."
"You don't understand, forget it." Paul shook his head, hung up immediately, and looked at the battery—it was only three bars left, which wasn't good news.
Gavin had an absurd sense of hilarity, as if Paul's calling 911 was simply the wrong choice because the operator wasn't helping, the endless questions never got to the point, the broken conversations never To really figure out the problem, this not only wastes the battery of the mobile phone, but also the oxygen in the coffin. What is even more ridiculous is that in the end, Paul found that "911" could not solve the problem at all.
Gavin knew that it wasn't the operator's fault, but he couldn't help but start to worry. After wasting the opportunity, how should Paul save himself? On Iraqi soil, how should others come to rescue Paul. That sense of suspense suddenly jumped up, Gavin could feel the adrenaline bursting out, and he adjusted his sitting position involuntarily, and then he realized that his muscles had been tense for so long that his body began to tingle, but the urgent horror and Fear still stuck in his throat, preventing him from looking away.
Paul turned off the lighter again, this time instead of panicking, he calmed down and rearranged his thoughts, then lit the lighter again and started dialing the phone number.
He first called his wife, Linda, home and mobile phone. Unfortunately, Linda didn't answer the phone. He could only leave a message in the voicemail box, explaining his crisis situation. He hoped that after hearing the message, Linda, Can quickly call for help; then dialed the "411" number desk, hoping to find the FBI's phone number, but the operator insisted on asking Paul to specify a specific state and city, in a rage, he casually said "Chicago" ”; after that, the call was forwarded to the FBI in Chicago, who explained the situation.
"Me and a convoy of other drivers, were transporting kitchen supplies to a community centre and then some kids threw rocks at our truck and then a bomb went off in front and blew up one of the trucks and then a group of people from the house next to it went off. It rushed out and shot us in the street... I was in the back of the convoy and I guess a rock hit me in the head and passed out and I don't remember what happened after that, when I woke up, I was lying in a coffin with my hands tied."
Paul did his best to explain the situation, but the detective who answered the phone was always struggling with the details, why the children were throwing stones, who was shooting the gun, why did those who shoot the gun shoot, and why did Paul not get shot? ... the aggressive tone as if Paul was one of the terrorists, calling just to mess around, and even started investigating Paul's personal identity and background information.
Angry, calm, angry, calm.
Paul's mood is always in agony, and what's worse, the phone has no signal! The phone has lost the connection! Paul held his breath and began to press against the wall of the coffin, looking around for the signal, searching the past little by little, and finally found the signal, he thought about it, and then dialed his company's phone, the operator was again. After some entanglement, self-introduction, explanation of the situation, crisis management explanation, inquiries for details, and entanglement to the end, the other party was transferred to the personnel director Alan Davenport - she didn't care about Paul's protest, what he needs now is not personnel Supervisor, but crisis management!
But the call was still forwarded, and then there was a wait... a long wait... an endless wait, and finally the call was recorded. The cycle repeated again, Paul explained everything again, but before the situation was finished, the recording was full and was cut off.
Looking at the phone with the busy tone, Paul was angry, completely angry, "Grass! Grass! Grass!" He punched and kicked frantically, venting his anger with all his strength. , indignantly vented all his emotions until he was exhausted, and then lay there in a daze, calm, calm... Even the sound of breathing seemed to be small.
Helplessness, in addition to being helpless or helpless, the deep sense of powerlessness spread through the endless darkness of the screen, which is even more terrifying than despair, because I have grasped the rope of hope, full of thinking Follow this rope to get out of the predicament, but the same situation repeats over and over again, from 911 to the FBI to the company, and even his family, every agency, every object shut him out, Going around in circles or spinning in place, the shock of hope that it was quenched just after it rose was really too grand.
Gavin felt that this was too cruel and too ironic. The heaviness in his heart slowly penetrated through the horror and fear.