“ . . .not a whole lot. I ain’t perfect, the wife reminds me every day.”
“You still believe she’s thinking about ya? . . .You’d be over that by now.”
“Yeah, you know me, I don’t fuck around, neither.”
“Other than those four months in Thailand. And Iran. And down in Point Mogu, you dirty son of a bitch.”
“Roger that, I ain’t see you complaining ‘bout that kiddo.”
“I do the best I can, bro.”
“Copy that. And how do you think your little boy is doing?”
“Fuck you too, Carter.”
“C’mon guys, finish your circle jerk so we can get focused. We got a job to do.”
[End Transmission]
My eyes bolted open. Instinctively, I reached for the .40-caliber pistol I'd slept with since the war, but instead I grabbed a fist full of cotton blankets. Disorientation and pain burst exploded through me and the cot I slept on let out a hideous shriek when I jerked upright. I was having those dreams again. The unfamiliar cracked ceiling above fell a fine powder over my face causing me to cough, and again pain ripped through my skull. Fractured pale moonlight, a broken skull in inky skies, shined through the dark windows adorned of cobwebs that even the spiders had abandoned. Dreams of the village that would burn gave heat inside my head, the roar of fiery huts in my ears and the odor of burning bodies like charcoal and sulfur and the musky sweet perfume cerebral fluids filled my nose. The smell of burnt hair had lingered on me for days, and even long after, on nights like tonight when the nightmares came strong.
I turned over to shield my ears from the radio on the bed stand next to my cot. Was it even on, or was it just a memory? Dried bandages caked with coagulated blood fell loosely around my head, and great pain coursed through me each time I inhaled. I observed no critical open wounds, although the sensation of my organs being bruised down to the bone persisted. Feeling the intense jungle heat, I hugged the blanket against my shaking body for comfort. The fever had gotten to me. But I wasn't the only one. I couldn’t see beyond the diaphanous curtain that separated me from the other soldiers, intensifying my sense of isolation. Sometimes I heard the nurses move in stride and watched their silhouettes deliver fresh linens, bandages, medicines, return as and one in particular—a vase of purple flowers ubiquitous to this region.
I preferred not to face the impending morning at St. Christopher until my headache had subsided. Just as I had dozed off to the memory of gunshots and frightened screams, I heard a voice again.
“He should be well enough to travel home soon. He’ll return a hero. We’ll have to make the necessary precautions.”
----
“Domigo! Where the fuck is Domigo?”
“Need cover! Carter! Get your ass into position now!”
“He’s been hit! Man down! Man down!”
The palms shook and split as I watched another body tumble into the muck. One of them dove to cover him just before an explosion sounded from somewhere nearby, followed by a closer one that sent a tidal wave of muck and blood across my face. We were surrounded. Concealed by the alien territory, the strange foliage, the unpredictable weather, and the natural predators of the jungle, I could hardly believe we were on the same planet. They moved practically invisible around us, like they were fucking human-chameleon hybrids. The people here weren't like us. I couldn't say exactly how, but none of us out here saw them as humans. I took a split second to signal my comrades before my foot stuck to the mud, and I toppled over like a game of Guess Who? and even above the ringing in my ear, I heard someone scream for us to fall back.
Deeper into the jungle. Some stayed behind to search for the fallen, but others moved deeper, staying low in the bamboo and swatting at the nightmarish insects, and tarantulas as big as a dinner plate. An inhuman snarl followed by a violent shriek from somewhere behind a massive broad-leafed fern reminded us all that nature’s predators were unbiased, and that in war, neither side was safe.
There were only six of us remaining when we backed into the prehistoric-like jungle with giant orange and white-spotted flowers as big as tractor tires and beetles that clicked with such an indistinguishable similarity to an enemy's gun. Our enemies spoke a language none of us knew in some unseen location under the cover of large fronds and bamboo, and through the entanglement of thick, woody vines and long, feathery palms, we saw their shapes stalking through the trees. They raced around our circumference, our guns swiveling to find our targets. Just as I spotted one, he dipped into the shadows.
We stood in the clearing where the canopy had thinned just enough to let down enough light to illuminate the thick, bladed grass the color of fresh key limes. Our enemies from there had a clear shot at any one of us as they continued to surround us, leaving no escape. They could've closed the distance, gunning us down right where we stood. Outnumbered and surrounded, I shot a terrified look at my team and was confused by the expressions on each of their faces. They did not appear to be as terrified as me, but they were worried and even perplexed. Then I saw why. Our enemies remained outside the clearing for only a moment and would not come any closer, almost terrified to step into the sunlight. Instead, they shirked back into the woods leaving me to wonder: What was so superstitious about this clearing?
-----------
“Don’t be so hard on him, guys. He’s doing just what any of us would do.”
“Always the diplomatic one, aren’t you, Domigo?”
“Your problem's that you don’t got balls. No wonder your wife left you. She cheated on you and hoped you'd be a man about it, but you ain't got no passion. She needed a real man, one that's got nice big set of giant man balls.”
“Alpha, are you set?”
“Waypoint Bravo set.”
“And what do you know about being a man, Linda?”
“I know that even I got bigger balls than both of you two bitches. Get your GPS ready, this foo' ‘bout to split.”
“Omega set.”
“Roger that.”
------------
I awoke slowly, rolled up in a heap, and clutched the blankets as if I were still holding the gun, a habit that I would live with for the rest of my life. The pain had dulled since I last woke, or at least I last remembered. I'd been lying on this cot long enough to know that my injuries, once critical, had begun to heal. The nurse who handed me a paper cup of water and a plethora of multi-colored pills was a dark woman with black hair meticulously braided beneath a crisp white nurse's cap. She was domestic, for sure, one of the locals, which terrified me. I was in an enemy hospital.
No doubt after that strange encounter in the jungle that I had been brought here, a prisoner of war to be healed and then tortured until I spoke of everything I knew before they placed a gun to my forehead and blew my brains out all over the fucking wall. Maybe they'd eat my organs too, who knows what kind of shit these fucking little beaters are into. This one was young, probably only fifteen.
“Please, drink lots of water,” my nurse said with a light French accent. She cautiously handed me the paper cup as if I were a scorpion ready to strike. I would have too, if I had the strength. I took the paper cup of water and her handful of pills. Or at least I pretended to swallow the pills—I may have ingested one or two accidentally—while concealing the rest under my tongue and in my cheek until she left. No doubt she had come to poison me, or was using sedatives to keep me imprisoned and loopy enough to expose my country's war plans. I handed the cup back to her with an icy glare that could outlast a glacier.
“People are searching for me.” I warned her. The childish nurse appeared startled by what I'd said. "Where are the nurses I heard last night? The ones I said I'd go home soon.”
My outburst had frightened her, and she tried to turn away, but I yanked her back as she let out a frightened squeal. She didn't know what it was to be frightened. Fear was being hunted in the jungle like an animal. “Where’s the rest of my team?”
For a moment, she looked at me like an owl, unmoving and wide-eyed. I let go of her hand. “They are waiting for you, Lieutenant Williams.”
“Please send them in,” I said.
“Not here, Lieutenant. I mean . . .”
“What do you mean?”
“They aren’t here at the moment. But they will come for you soon.”
“They were here last night, so they couldn’t have gone too far.” I was beginning to grow impatient with the incompetent nurse, and I made it apparent in my tone as I remembered Linda's voice from last night: "Your problem's that you don’t got balls. No wonder your wife left you."
The nurse's hand shook, and her expression changed. I had seen that look before from the enemy troop as they retreated from us in the clearing. She was frightened. “No one was here last night,” she said meekly.
“Don’t be stupid, I heard them. They were right here in my room.”
“Sorry, Lieutenant. No one has been in to visit you. At least not yet, but they will come eventually. They always do.”
She jerked her arm from my grasp, and though I screamed for her to return and to demand to tell me what she meant, she ignored me and disappeared behind the curtain. Helplessly defeated, I watched her silhouette shrink into nothingness and I was left once again alone with my thoughts. Who would come for me? My squad? Or an enemy who would come to imprison me?
An unearthly moonless night fell over St. Christopher’s that night as I pretended to sleep while the nurses moved around the room, bringing in more fresh bouquets of those little purple jungle flowers and taking the dried ones away. More linens were brought in, as were trays of food for the soldiers who could still eat. I had not yet seen anyone; only their shadows were behind the curtain divider, always closed. As the routine continued, the same nurse appeared with
the same array of pills, and again I pretended to take them. I did not argue or demand truths from her, and she appeared pleased by the fact, and as she would turn to leave, I'd pretend to fall asleep. I'd been off the pills for what I could only estimate was these three days, and I couldn't decide what was worse: the haze of medication or the haze of agonizing pain. I hid the pills in a hollow support rod of the cot's frame and waited until the final evening nurse exited the room.
I let a few minutes pass just to be certain I wouldn't be caught and listened for the usual howls and chirps associated with nightly jungle ambience. When all was peaceful, I made my escape.
A dull ache shot up my left side as I pushed myself into a sitting position. I braced my hands on the back of the cot, and when I sat up, I felt a second pain, much sharper this time, rip through my side. The clean white bandages were seeped with dark crimson. I'd seen enough blood for a thousand lifetimes, but seeing my own right now and feeling the rip of stitches that shook my organs, I felt as if I might faint. But too stubborn to fall back to the cot and call for help, I forced myself upright. I couldn't wait another day when, at any moment, I could be executed and my head lopped off and staked to the ground like heathens do. For God's sake, I had a twelve year old son at home that I hadn't seen in months. I needed to be on my feet.
Vertigo held me in place while I held tight to the wall, the gritty plaster flaking against the palm of my hand. After I endeavored for strength, I managed to take my first step toward the curtain that isolated me from each of the other war victims. The pain in my side prevented me from standing completely upright, so I lumbered with a slight hunch until my steps grew more confident and the blood regulated through my body. A sharp whine, like tinnitus, rang in my ears, no doubt from the continuous gunshots and heavy explosions I endured. I forced myself to move again, preparing myself to bolt for the door in case I was spotted. But when I pulled back the curtain, slowly at first, I was horrified to discover the impossible. The room was empty.
There were no other prisoners, no war victims. Not even any beds. The austere interior, large enough to hold at least forty cots, appeared to have been abandoned decades ago, with deep-green tendrils snaking up between floorboards and busted out windows. My pulse raced. Chunks of plaster and support beams had collapsed into the center of the room from the moldy ceiling, and somewhere came the echo of dripping water. I could feel the incipient danger, and I knew I had to get out now. I saw the only door in the room on my right and shuffled towards it as quickly as I could manage, despite the rising pain now being overshadowed by my fear and panic. Just then, the sound of footsteps outside the door froze me in place. There was no time to return to my cot. The door was open, and two nurses stepped in. One was the very same who had cared for her; the other I saw the only door in the room on my right and shuffled towards it as quickly as I could manage, despite the rising pain now being overshadowed by my fear and panic. was mostly bones with wrinkled skin as deep as canyons and skin the color of wet jungle mud and dark, scowling eyes that glowed like a panther's in the night.
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“You’ve been off your medications,” the older nurse scolded. They came towards me until I was backed against my cot. The back of my leg struck the bar, and I went down. There was no strength left in me to fight, and, helpless again, I lay there as they replaced my soiled bandages with fresh ones. “You can’t leave just yet. Not until you are well. It will still be quite some time.”
“You can’t keep me here!” I screamed. I raised my arms to shove them aside, but instead they flailed rubbery and weak at my sides. The weight of my eyelids caused them to collapse, and through blurred vision, I saw my arms damp and sticky with my own blood.
“It’s not safe out there for you,” the withered nurse said. “There is evil in this world, and there is evil in war. It’s difficult for evil to enter one’s soul, but it’s easier to let it escape from us. You are not ready to face the jungle.”
I saw their sly, victorious expressions fade as blackness engulfed me.
-----------------
I dreamed of my boy. His young, round face. He has a sharp, upturned nose like mine and dark, curly hair like his mother's. He had her smile, too. I dreamed of him catching grasshoppers in the backyard and riding bikes with his cousins, whom he’d been staying with since my deployment. I’d make it through this for him.
An explosion rocked my dreams, and suddenly I was torn from him, ripped away from his innocent smile, and surrounded by lush, green foliage again, palm fronds the size of boats, and the strong smell of dead organic jungle floor. Hardly a ray of sun broke through the canopy above, and even in the bright daylight, the forest floor remained a dark shadow. Ashy debris, like snow, floated around us. A landmine? A grenade? The sound of gunfire followed. I glanced in that direction. Silence followed. “Carter?” I called. “Linda!”
Then a sibilant whisper came from the jungle, close enough to feel the breath in my ear. “We’re coming . . .”
--------------
My tattered shirt clung to my body. The unusually hot and humid evening caused the blankets to feel itchy against my skin, but I resisted the need to shed my clothing to protect myself from whatever insect eyed me as its next meal. Everything in the jungle was dangerous; even the plants had their own defense: toxic scents, sticky fluids, poisonous spikes, and God knows what else, but despite the dangers, I needed to be freed.
I forced myself to stand, and I felt stronger and more rested than during my previous escape. I was healing, and soon they would come for me, take me to my execution, or place me in a prison to live out the rest of my days in torture and confinement. I could even stretch my sore arms and legs once I stood and eased myself across the room. As expected, my cot remained the only one, and I believed even more that this was an omen of my intended condemnation if I didn’t leave now.
I half expected the door to be locked and was surprised and a little nervous that it swung open with such ease. There came a light crunch beneath my shoes, and I looked down to spot more purple jungle flowers lining the bottom of the doorframe. Curiously, I stared at them and noted the precision with which each was placed, layered upon layer, flower to stem, in a line. Someone had taken the trouble to place them in such a way. I stepped over the threshold and put my first foot into the jungle. The growl of an unseen beast shook the night, and birds took to the sky. I hesitated. Behind me, St. Christopher's towered menacingly, and the broken windows peered down like eyes.
-------------
“Hello, can anyone read me?”
The radio crackled in response. I dropped my backpack on the ground. I had made my own path through the jungle, guided by the streams below and the stars above, until my legs grew weary. Here is a good place to camp. I was certain I had traveled far enough away that even if the enemies came searching, they’d never reach me by morning. The arduous trail I left would fade in a morning's rain.
I took a few minutes to build a small fire concealed by a one foot high wall of rocks. Fronds provided even more coverage. I rationed a portion of grain that I’d swiped from my private room and collected the rainwater from a nearby palm. I had just lowered my head to rest when the radio disrupted the jungle ambiance. I bolted upright, reaching for my pistol. This war would haunt me forever. I grabbed the radio from my side.
“Lieutenant Williams—” I began to introduce myself, but loud static interrupted. “Hello?” I asked reluctantly.
“Good to hear you’re still alive.” Heavy white noise blotched the male voice, I could hardly make out the words. “Wondered what happened to you. What’s your location—”
I gave roughly estimated coordinates. I waited.
-------
The two nurses stared from the safety of the open doorway into the jungle. The young nurse, with a worrisome frown on her tired face, clutched a small bouquet of dried purple flowers.
“He has no chance of surviving now,” said the older one. She shook her head and closed the door.
-------
The driver proceeded along the path without hesitation, making no attempt to transport them silently. What was the point? The enemy had already known they were there. Palms and bamboo stalks bent like grass blades as the dark vehicle crunched over broken trees and crumbling logs. Dim, smoky light broke the canopy. In twelve minutes, they would reach the village. In thirteen, they would burn it to the ground while I watched in stunned horror.
My eyes stung with tears, or possibly the thick black smoke. I barely saw Carter with a rifle aimed at a man and woman on their knees with their hands behind their heads, as if they were dangerous fugitives rather than innocent villagers. Their muddy, tear-stained faces went from the barrel of Carter's gun to their nine year old son, prone on the gravel; a pool formed from the wound in his forehead.
Everywhere is a blurry inferno. The shapes moving through the black and blue smoke appeared indistinguishable from comrade and villager; the silhouettes were the same, and screams faded as the fires burned. A gunshot. Linda, with a flaming board in hand, sneered when she tossed it onto another hut, like an exterminator eradicating a nest. The insects are two daughters and their father. They screamed, and their bodies hissed as they burned. Another shot. Carter's gun this time. A second shot, and I jolted into action.
Whipping around, I saw a teenage girl wet with blood dart into the road to comfort her father, who'd met the blunt edge of a soldier's gun. She dropped to his father, unaware of Domingo's sight locked on her. I raced to her aid, tackling her, just as Domingo fired. The bullet zipped into the dirt, and a cloud of dust engulfed us. She screamed as she fought I took a blow from her knee to my cheek. I had saved her life, but I was still the enemy. Pain exploded in my face, and my right eye went temporarily white. The metallic flavor of blood touched my mouth. I rolled to the side, freeing us both, and climbed to my feet in time to watch her and her father escape to a farm truck with burning straw in the bed. Just as she reached for the door, the truck ignited into a massive fireball with such intense heat that I thought my eyes would burst from my head. I was blown to the ground. A middle-aged man with leathery dark skin charged at me with a brick while screaming like a lunatic. I raised my hands to protect myself, fearing that one powerful blow would crush me. "I didn't do it; I didn't do it!"
Carter fired, and a bloody hole formed in my assailant's head.
“Are you still with us?” Carter asked. His voice warbled and cracked like a warped record on a gramophone. The sounds of shells and crackling fires faded. I had fallen asleep again. The war had ended, but my memories plagued my dreams.
“Are you still with us?” Carter repeated.
I sat upright, matted with sweat. The radio crackled beside me.
“I’m still here, over.” I spoke on the radio. When I didn’t hear an immediate response, I thought maybe I had actually dreamed of Carter's voice, until the radio crackled again.
“Good, we thought we lost you.”
The feeling of relief quickly dissipated. I was right about the voice. I did know it well.
“Don’t move. We’re coming for you.”
Even in the heat of the jungle and the warmth of the fire, my blood coursed thick and my skin went to ice. I stared at the radio, unsure of my next move. My senses heightened, and I felt aware of every cicada and every rustle of leaves. Instincts took over—fight or flight. I didn't know who or what I expected, but that tone was not something of this world.
I kicked dirt over the fire and sprinted away, unsure and uncaring of the direction I was headed. Was it too late to return to St. Christopher's?
Four or five villagers had been rounded up—other than a few that escaped into the jungle—their odd expressions rousing dread within me. They showed no fear or vengeance, nor pity or sadness. Expressionless eyes that looked out at nothing. I walked behind them as they trotted, their feet and hands linked by rope through the dense jungle beneath a blaze of golden sunset where the Ceiba trees seemed to grow taller than other parts, the ferns a little greener, and the butterflies practically phosphorescent. We were caught by the enchantment of the unexpected scene.
I remember how peculiarly the villagers acted as we drew nearer to the valley with reluctance. Carter butted the girl at the front of the line in the face with his rifle, and she fell to the earth, choking and spitting blood and two front teeth, and still she tried to free herself. Terror replaced their stoic expressions.
I don’t believe in magic, but if I did, that clearing is where it exists. My comrades actions attacked my conscience, and I knew I'd burn in hell for allowing them to lose control. I could save the few villagers who remained, but only at the cost of luring my team to the place where even the locals feared to go.
A bullet exploded through Andy's neck. The villagers screamed and dove. In the chaos, they had managed to free themselves as the rest of our team searched in the direction of fire. We were surrounded.
"Alpha, are you set?”
“Waypoint Bravo Set.”
“We’ve been set for a very long time.”
“What’s your status, Williams?”
I froze at the voices coming through the radio.
“I repeat. I need a status update.”
“We’re going to find you eventually. There’s no reason for you to run.” Linda's voice. “There are more dangerous things than us in the jungle. Are you sure you want to be alone?”
I screamed into the radio. “Stop this! You are unfit for the army. You are all monsters. You deserved what you got, and so much worse.”
“Sticks and stones, buddy.”
“How can you say that after everything we went through together? All those people we murdered? All those houses we burned? We'll share those memories forever. They burned like paper.”
“Sizzle, sizzle.”
“I didn’t kill innocent people!” I screamed into the night.
"You’re right. You didn’t do anything. You just stood back and watched. You didn’t even attempt to stop us. And that makes you just as guilty.”
“You missed out, bro.”
“It was fun. And now we’re going to have fun with you.”
As long as I was moving, they couldn’t find me. I sprinted through the jungle, the vines ripping at my skin and the prickly tendrils shredding my clothes. I felt a sharp stab of pain in my left arm and saw blood flowing from a long, thin wound where it had caught on brambles. As I ran, my side wounds burned with searing heat as the stitches stretched and yanked at my skin.
“You murdered us, and now we'll return the gesture.” Linda’s voice was raspy, and I could practically feel her ripe, foul breath on my neck.
I barely remembered what happened to us that afternoon in the clearing, where the intoxicating purple flowers released a euphoric scent into the air. I don't know what happened next, only that some time later I stood alone at the edge of a crystalline river, like sparkling champagne in the setting sun, washing the blood off my hands, and an empty gun in my holster.
“I had a family to go home to.”
“I wanted to go to college.”
“We all had dreams.”
“And so did the families you murdered!" I screamed.
I burst through a wall of palms and found myself bounding toward St. Christopher’s. It loomed just up ahead. I sprang to the front door and pounded ferociously. Behind me, the ghoulish silhouettes of my team shambled closer. The door swung open, and I faced the young nurse, whom I'd been so cruel to. And then I remembered why she seemed so familiar. The young woman was bound in rope at the front of the line.
She wasn’t there to turn me in. She was there to protect me from them.
“They're coming! You have to let me in!” I took a step forward to enter, but a force pushed me back. I didn’t understand. I couldn't enter. At my feet, I saw the line of purple flowers placed so delicately across the stoop.
“No visitors,” she said sternly.
I tried to push past her again, but a force prevented me from entering.
“It’s difficult for evil to enter one’s soul, but it’s easier to let it escape from us, no matter how hard we try to contain it.” The nurse shut the door, and I stood bewildered, sweat pouring down my face.
“Alpha team, positions set?” I said this into my radio transmitter.
“Right behind you.”
“Roger that. End transmission, you assholes.”
I shut my eyes and waited for them to come.