Cadet Carter's lungs were burning from a build up of carbon dioxide. He was being carried along by the current at an inclined angle with his head leading the way and his heavy weighted boots dragging the bottom of the creek. He struggled to propel his head above water but his clothes were unimaginably bulky. His feet finally found purchase on the ground slightly ahead of him and he used the chance to push off from the ground and breach the water's surface. He drew in a deep breath before sinking back beneath the water. He had no idea how long it would take to clear the property line, or if the fence would have been extended below the water line. He giggled stupidly at the lines he didn't know about, then realized he wasn't thinking straight and needed oxygen badly... He forced himself back out of the water long enough to inhale a new gasp of air and decided to focus on only looking for the next opportunity to push off from the ground.
After a while he became better at finding places to push off from and fell into a sustainable rhythm that would keep him breathing so long as he kept getting lucky. Suddenly his upper half struck a hard surface, a chain link fence. He had reached the property line. The fence was submerged to a degree. He felt around with his legs and found that they were able to pass beyond the fence so he rose up, took a deep breath, and clawed his way under the fence. Immediately upon clearing the fence he was swept helplessly along with the current again. He was flipped upside down, his left side hitting a the bottom edge of the second fence briefly before he continued to tumble down the river.
That was it. He was clear of the boot camp, but he was newly disoriented. He needed to get back to establishing a respiratory rhythm. He found the ground again and began the process of opportunistic breathing once again. Eventually he had enough air in him to start planning for a way to get out of the water. He decided on his next breach he would look to see which bank he was closest to and then always push himself slightly in that direction every time he came up for air. After seeing that he was closer to the left side than the right, he began trending to the left on every breach, eventually coming close enough to grab at some of the overgrowth beside him. His left arm hooked into an exposed root and the water began flowing over his head so he pulled himself above it and struggled to pull himself out of the water. He found that if he pulled himself back into the current he could brace himself against the roots and encourage the water to flow under him to help push him up to safety. With a huge effort expending all of his strength he managed to claw his way onto the grassy bank. He lay back exhausted but keenly aware that he was not safe yet.
While he rested, he tried to make sense of his surroundings. He realized he had ended up in the commercial district, in the older part of town. He propped himself up and raised himself back to his feet. He was deep in a ditch below a row of old buildings. He climbed up the side of the ditch to the back alleyway and looked around, fearful he would be found. He tried to recognize the buildings around him but it was hard to place them from the back alley vantage point. The nearest building had a pile of discarded mannequin wearing various kinds of painted on camouflage uniforms. Another just had a couple of dumpsters, one was labeled as spent cooking grease. "I think this is that paintball store... the one with the bar food place behind it..." He said pulling his surroundings together...
"That means I need to go back that way to get to the road and cross the creek so I can head back to my house... Back toward the boot camp... I'd better hurry, they'll be looking for me." He thought to himself
As he pressed forward his internal schedule informed him that it was 13:00 hours. Time to report for his hair cut. He began to walk dutifully back toward the boot camp to allow the Officer to escort him to his destination. He had wanted to go that way a moment ago, but now he had to resist. He fought the impulse to follow orders. He needed to at least stop walking. He couldn't allow himself to go back. As he lurched forward uncontrollably he began to tug and pry at his infernal uniform. He needed it off NOW, but with all his strength depleted it was no use. He couldn't even remove the cheap gaudy dress cap from his head, it was stuck tight. As he stumbled past a pile of old boxes his eye caught what looked like a box cutter. He grabbed it and brought its cutting edge to his neck. As carefully as he could he sliced through the necktie and pulled the remaining fabric out from around his neck and under his collar, throwing the article to the ground beside him. The uniform seemed to writhe and contort over his body in some sort of panicked response to pain as though it were a living thing. Next he pried off each button of his blazer one by one, until he got to the belt. He then cut about halfway through the belt before he felt he was able to stop walking. Feeling more in control, he carefully continued slicing through the belt allowing it to fall to the ground, then kicking it away as it seemed to try to clasp itself around his legs.
He made quick work of the remaining blazer buttons and triumphantly flung the blazer onto the pile of wretched clothing with a wet slapping sound. The rest of the clothing items were fighting more aggressively now. His arms were not able to bring the box cutter to his shirt. The shirt was fighting for its own existence and it was not going to go quietly. He quickly pivoted his goal and swiped his arms up along the sides of his head successfully knocking the dress cap from his scalp allowing him to feel the rain on his head for the first time that day. The trousers became his next logical target; a single clasp. He gingerly sliced the small corner of material that fastened the waist of the trousers and with great effort pulled the front of the trousers apart expanding the zipper forcefully. He tried pulling the pants off completely but could not get them out or over the boots so he turned his attention back to the shirt.
The shirt was still fighting but didn't have the same strength anymore. He carved out each button with the box cutter and peeled the thick wet shirt from his body once and for all. At this point he turned his attention to the satanic boots. He brought the blade to the shoelaces of his left boot when suddenly the trousers launched themselves back up his legs and tried to reassert themselves over his crotch. He felt himself moving forward again as the bottom vestiges of the uniform found themselves working together to compel the Cadet back into service. He pulled at his waste and inserted the box cutter at the side of his trousers cutting down the entire left side of his leg. He found he was able to pull the pants out of the boots and with some effort and further delicate slicing, he got his left leg completely free of the pants. The pants were flapping wildly in frustration and pain but Cadet Carter continued his surgical removal of his vestments. He pulled, and cut, and freed his right leg as well. He now stood in control again in nothing but his boxers and boots.
Suddenly his soaking wet boots started to feel strange inside. A rhythmic pumping, slurping sensation was encompassing each of his feet. His toes felt like they were being licked or massaged by a sea anemone. He frantically tried to undo the laces and pry the shoes off. The boots were trying to mount some sort of final defense, his feet were under attack. He grabbed the box cutter and swiped down the entire length of the laces on each of the boots and pulled the tongues away from his legs exposing his socks. It took all his strength to pull his right shoe away from his foot but he couldn't take time to inspect it, the other foot was still being violated. He sat on the ground and pulled as hard as he could, he stabbed the boots repeatedly with the box cutter and eventually wrestled the offending boot from his remaining foot.
He was pleased to find his socks were lifeless and gave no resistance when he peeled them from his legs. As he pulled them off he was able to see that his feet seemed fine. They actually looked a little nicer than usual... Oddly healthy and rejuvenated in a way...
The Cadet sat there exhausted in the pouring rain for at least ten minutes. He no longer felt the urge to return to the Officer's custody. He no longer felt the need to follow orders. He was free. He looked at himself, questioning whether his underwear would cause him problems, but deciding to keep them in place. He'd have enough trouble explaining his nakedness already.
Having rested long enough the Cadet decided he was ready to move. He didn't know where he would go now, but he was ready to start. He tried rising to his feet-
"YOOWOW" he bellowed, feeling an intense sensation in his foot like he'd never felt before. He could literally feel every crevice of the pavement beneath his foot and it HURT. His feet had become ultra sensitive. He couldn't stand to walk! The pain was too severe. He'd be better off shuffling along on his bare knees! What had those shoes done to him?
He pulled his foot up to his face for closer inspection. It looked fine, but it was visibly unusual. Any trace of calluses were gone, the toenails were immaculately manicured, the skin was ultra soft, thin, and supple. It was like angel baby skin. The shoes had tenderized his feet beyond reason! There was no way he could walk himself out of here on this pavement. He threw the box cutter at the cursed boots in disgust.
"Damn IT!" he shouted
Looking around he saw the most inviting surface to walk on was back past the paintball shop. The grassy ledge of the hill that lead down to the creek. He'd have to make his way back there. Perhaps the grass would be soft enough to walk on. He rolled over onto his belly and tried to spread his weight out over his various naked extremities as he painfully inch-wormed his way back toward the grassy landing. After experimenting with different ways of moving he settled on using his arms to swing his butt forward bit by bit. It was slow work but it spared his sensitive feet.
Eventually he arrived at the grass and planted his feet tenderly on the wet turf. The feeling was amazing. He could feel every blade of grass and every fiber in each blade, and their every little hairlike projection. He gently shifted his weight to his feet pressing the grass into his tender soles, cringing at the overwhelming sensation but finding himself able to bear it. He took a few experimental steps and decided he would be able to proceed on this path only. The grassy path seemed to extend ahead of him for miles but he couldn't stay by the creek any longer than necessary. The platoon would surly be searching for him along it's path, though he had to admit he didn't know how many times it had forked.
He gently began following the grassy ledge, cold and miserable in the rain... He hadn't gotten far when a few minutes later he caught the sight of a tiny, dim amber glow ahead of him moving in the haze of the storm. He could smell the heavy mellow scent of tobacco on the breeze. It was a man behind his place of business taking a smoking break. The Cadet suddenly felt tremendous embarrassment at being naked outside. He knew he needed help, and he wanted to be rescued, but he hated anyone to see his body. He bent over trying to minimize his exposed form, realizing his old tendencies and insecurities were returning.
"Hey there." Came a friendly masculine voice from behind the haze. "You need any help?"
The Cadet forced himself to go faster and close the distance between him and his possible benefactor, not ready to respond at such a great distance and still very embarrassed about his lack of clothes.
"I say, are you alright?" Came the voice again.
The Cadet had gotten near enough to see the man, a well built muscular man wearing dress pants and a blue polo shirt with some sort of insignia on it. The man extinguished the rest of his cigar and took in the sight of the naked teen.
"Yes. I. I need help... Sir." Cadet Carter said, the addition of the 'Sir' was well out of character for the old Cadet Carter.
"Well come inside, you look like you've been through the ringer son!" The man said in a welcoming way.
"I... I... I... I can can't... I can't get off the grass... I'm.. I... It's... It's my feet. I... I'm... I need help..." The Cadet Started to break down in tears unable to explain his situation and overwhelmed by his entire ordeal to this point.
The man ran out to meet the cadet in the rain without taking care to cover himself. He could see the situation was serious and he wasn't doing right by this boy shouting to him from dry cover.
"What is it son? What kind of trouble are you in? How can I help?" the man inquired, crouching low and placing a hand on the boy's shoulder reassuringly.
"I... I... I.. My... My..." Cadet Carter said gesturing to his feet, overcome by traumatic shock.
Thinking he understood the man dashed back into the house and returned with a pair of well worn leather work boots a few sizes too large but that looked very smooth, soft and inviting regardless.
The man gently conducted the boys feet into the shoes and lovingly tied the laces. Cadet carter could feel the much larger foot impression within the shoes and the soft texture of the insole. He could feel every texture, every loose thread and stitch contacting feet in exquisite detail.
"Is that any better for you?" The man asked hopefully
Cadet Carter nodded, trying to put a lid on his tears.
"Lets get you inside, tender foot" The man said situating himself under the boy's arm and lifting him slightly to help elevate the pressure on his feet.
Cadet Carter was overwhelmed by the man's helpful, generous, understanding nature. He couldn't help feeling uncomfortable bracing his naked body against the man, but he was so grateful for the assistance that he couldn't let himself dwell on the discomfort. This was his rescuer, and he felt so secure with him and comforted by the mild tobacco scent he carried.
He finally felt safe, and as they entered the man's business establishment together Cadet Carter knew he was going to be alright.