Mary wasn't easily frightened; after all, a single, attractive woman running a bar had to be tough to survive. Over the years, she felt she had found the right combination of aloofness and empathy that allowed her to compete successfully in the male-dominated bar-world.
It had been an interesting journey, learning how to operate a bar. Over the years, she had learned the many 'whys' that made people drink and how to handle the needs of people. The ones that drank to forget; the ones to remember; to celebrate, to mourn; to punish others or to punish themselves. Exuberant, gloomy, ornery, part of her job was to keep peace and she felt she did a damn good job. She thought she had seen it all, but tonight, she had come to the realization that maybe she'd been mistaken.
Mary was genuinely disturbed by the brooding, dark intensity of the man drinking alone at the far side of her bar. She hadn't noticed him entering Baileys. It was almost like he magically appeared on the bar stool out of thin air.
When she had noted him, she'd picked up the coffee pot and made her way over. 'Coffee?' she had inquired cheerfully.
He curtly shook his bowed head no.
She replaced the coffee pot and instead set up a clean glass on the bar and filled it with her latest attempt at distillation. When the glass was full, she started to place the bottle back behind the bar.
'Leave it,' the two-word staccato command was issued.
Still on auto-pilot, she continued to put the liquor bottle away. His hand flashed out, harshly ceasing her wrist. Raising his head, their eyes met for the first time. 'Leave it,' the preciously annunciated words came again in a tone that brooked no tolerance.
An involuntary shiver ran up her spine as she met his gaze. His eyes were those of the dead. Not a single ray of luminescence escaped from their dark, murky depths. Her reading of the man said, here was a person who was past caring and was capable of performing any act with no regrets. This was not the man she knew, or at least thought she knew and it rattled her.
Trembling, she'd left the bottle as directed and had quickly moved across the bar, as far as possible from the black hole that was occupying her bar stool.
Over the course of the next couple of hours, glasses were rapidly drained and the man quickly refilled them. She went near him only to replace the empty bottle when required. In a moment of bravery, she had attempted to start a conversation; it had been swiftly repelled. A suggestion, during one of the bottle refill visits, that a threshold had been reached, was studiously ignored.
It was a cold night in Kansas and Baileys bar was not warm. By 9:00, the bar had emptied out; not even the rotgut she served was able to keep her patrons warm enough to stay. She wanted to close up and go home to Eric, but the brooding man on the stool still remained.
She was on her own in this apocalypse world of no communications. If she wanted to close her bar, and she did, she was the one that had to send this man on his way. Praying that somewhere in that dark well of emptiness a rationale spark still flickered, she mustered her courage and said, "Jake, it's time to go home."
Jake met her eyes for the second time that evening, and for a brief moment, Mary wondered if she just made the biggest mistake of her life. But after a few heartbeats, he simply pushed off the stool, walked around the end of the bar and exited out into the bitter night.
2
Jake wanted oblivion but trying to drink himself into a stupor had not worked. He now wandered aimlessly through the empty, wintry streets of Jericho trying to come up with a new plan to reach his objective. It was another cold, crisp night, the type that killed Jake noted cynically.
He realized his meandering walk was not as purposeless as he thought when he discovered he was standing in front of Joe Bentner's residence. The moonlight was glistening off the broken pane of glass that he and Jimmy had used to gain access to the house. Other than the broken glass, it seemed so peaceful. However, when he remembered what they had found in the house, he suddenly felt physically ill.
Swiftly, he turned away and drove his fist into the trunk of a nearby tree. The pain in his now throbbing hand did absolutely nothing to drive the ache from the core of his soul. Closing his eyes in pain, he rested his forehead against tree's rough bark. Memories kept crowding in persistently, and as fast as he drove them out, new ones entered. No peace. No oblivion.
He groaned as he opened his eyes and stumbled away from the house that was triggering such painful memories. Continuing to weave an indirect path down the deserted streets, he eventually arrived in front if his parent's house. Candle light flickered through the semi-closed shutters reminding Jake of a church sanctuary on a Christmas Eve. But he knew he would not find the solace he was so desperately seeking in there either. However, he had nowhere else to go, so he reluctantly trudged up the sidewalk.
The front door abruptly opened and Eric strode out onto the porch. "I don't need this," he replied angrily to someone inside the house, who was out of Jake's line of vision.
Eric was halfway down the porch stairs before he spotted Jake. "Jake? Is that you?" As he drew closer to his older brother, Eric grimaced. "Great. You're drunk," he accused. "When are you going to grow up?"
"When you stop screwing around with the local barkeep," Jake shot back callously.
The light from the doorway was temporarily blocked as April stepped into view. "Jake?" she called out tentatively.
"Go back in the house April," Eric commanded in a harsh tone.
"But…"
"April, please. Jake and I have things to discuss… in private."
April failed to see how the Green's front lawn could be considered private, but she obeyed and stepped back into the house drawing the door closed. It had been a bad night already. Eric had come over to talk and they had ended up in an ugly confrontation that had led to him storming from the house. She wasn't going to add to it.
With the door securely shut, Eric rounded on his brother. "Look, I have had a rough night. We're not doing this. Go inside and sleep it off Jake."
Jake stepped up to his brother and shoved him on hard enough in the chest to make him stumble backwards. "I'll say when we are done here."
"We're done," Eric retorted angrily as he regained his balance.
"No, we're not," Jake, replied, as he shoved his brother again.
Eric's temper flared. He was tired of people telling him what to do and he wasn't about to put with it tonight from his screwed-up brother. "I have to put up with Mom and Dad constantly on my back about April. I have to deal with April who can't decide what she wants in life. There is Grey Anderson trying me nuts. I don't need grief from an older brother who is nothing but a screw-up. You may have people convinced you have changed Jake, but deep down I think you are the same jerk that left here five years ago!"
The rationale part of Jake was taken back by his brother vehemence, but the drunken part won out and he cruelly retorted, "I may be a screw-up, but you're no saint either. You left your pregnant wife."
The shot hit home and a pained look crossed Eric's face. If Jake had been sober, he would have noticed how badly he had just wounded his brother, but he didn't and Jake kept right on pressing Eric's buttons.
"You're married to a smart, beautiful Doctor. But, do you want to stay with her? No, you'd rather shack up with the local barkeep. Who's the screw up here?"
Jake didn't even see the punch coming. One minute he was standing up mouthing off to his brother and the next he was sprawled on the cold, hard ground.
"Keep your ! #$ mouth shut," Eric shouted at Jake.
Jake shook his head to clear it, then launched himself sideways into Eric and causing them both to tumble on to the lawn. Blows were traded fast and furiously with no holds barred. As the fight raged on, clouds of steam rose from their warm breath in the arctic night.
April observed the altercation from the front window of the Green's house where she had been peeking out. Scared by the intensity of fight, she called out to the elder Greens.
Gail and Johnston had been lurking upstairs attempting to give April and Eric privacy to discuss their issues. When the front door had slammed shut, signaling a non-successful end to the conversation, Johnston had insisted that they still remain upstairs and give April a little time to compose herself. Gail had not been in favor of this course of action but had acquiesced, this once, to her husband's wishes. The couple was surprised to hear April calling for them in a panicked voice. They rushed from their bedroom and hurried downstairs.
"It's Eric and Jake. They are fighting on the front lawn. It looks intense," she reported as Gail and Johnston joined her.
Johnston watched for a few seconds from the window before saying, "Wait here." With that, he decisively opened the door and stepped out onto the porch.
Johnston decided to watch the clash for a few seconds from his new vantage point. Something was nagging at him but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. The brawl was not progressing in the fashion that Johnston thought it should. Yes, Eric had the height and weight advantage over his brother, but Jake had a quickness and cunning from experience, that Eric didn't possess. In a logical world, Jake should emerge virtuous, but he wasn't, and in fact, Eric was beating the crap out of him.
Johnston studied the fight harder. There, that was it. And there again. Johnston rubbed his eyes as if to clear his vision. Again and again, he saw it. Eric wasn't winning this battle on his own. Jake was helping by deliberately leaving himself open to his younger brother's punches and in some cases even stepping in to them.
'Why the hell was Jake doing that?' Johnston mused. Johnston decided this had gone on long enough and he was going to stop it. But before he could move forward, it ended of its own accord. Eric threw a right hook at Jake who stepped directly into the path of the blow. Eric's fist caught him squarely in the side of the temple and the lights went out in Kansas for Jake Green as he crumbled to a heap on the lawn.
The blind rage that Jake had provoked in Eric quickly dissipated when Eric realized he had just knocked his brother out cold. "Jake," he cried falling to his knees at his brother's side.
Johnston rushed down the steps to his son's sides. He rested his hand on Eric's forearm in a comforting gesture while at the same time reaching out to check Jake's pulse. "It's alright Son. It wasn't your fault," he murmured to Eric.
"How can you say that Dad? I punched … I knocked him out," Eric moaned. "Is he hurt?"
Johnston stood up taking Eric with him. He placed his hands on either side of Eric's face, a gesture his older son copied when he was trying to calm someone down. "Jake is going to be fine."
Johnston quickly glanced down at his prone son then back to Eric. "Eric, I know you're not going to believe me when I say this, but this fight was not your fault. Your brother orchestrated the whole thing and dragged you along for the ride. I don't know why, but I know I'm right."
Eric stared at his father in disbelief, trying to process what he said.
Johnston patted him on the arm and said, "Help me get him into the house."
With Johnston's help, Eric was able to get Jake slung over his shoulder and carry him to the house. The women, who were watching from the house, opened the door as the trio mounted the porch.
"Put him on the couch," April, the doctor in residence, directed.
Eric did as told, gently placing his brother on the brown sofa.
"Now, everyone give me some room so I can examine him," April demanded of the rest of the family who was hovering around the unconscious man.
April gave Jake a quick and efficient mini-exam. "He'll be fine in the morning," she said as she rose to her feet. "However, I do want to keep an eye on him until he regains consciousness."
"Oh no your not," Gail reprimanded. "You need to go to bed and get some rest. After all, you are carrying my grandchild." Gail smiled tenderly at April while somehow simultaneously throwing daggers with her eyes at her younger son. "I'll stay up with Jake."
"This is my fault," Eric jumped in. "I'll stay up with him."
Johnston stepped in and took control of the situation. "None of you is staying up with him. Eric, you need to go…" Johnston fumbled looking an appropriate word. Home did not seem right. "Eric, you need to go," he repeated. "Mary, Gail, upstairs and get some rest. I'll stay with him until he wakes up. Now git."
The troops complied with Johnston's orders and soon it was just him and Jake alone in the living room. Johnston stationed himself in the chair across from the couch. He puzzled over what he had seen tonight, trying to understand it. 'What's bothering you son,' he pondered as he settled in for the duration.
3
Oblivion hadn't been the panacea Jake was hoping for and the aftermath was extremely painful. He head felt like it was going to explode and the rest of him was not much better. He whimpered softly, as he clawed his way from the foggy depths of unconscious. It was mercifully dark in the room when he finally ventured to open his eyes. The light from the fireplace was enough to allow identification, but not bright enough to hurt. As his eyes adjusted and more of the room came into focus, he noticed his father sitting quietly in the chair across from him. As an experiment, Jake carefully lifted his hand and gently ran it across his face and down his neck. Yep, his head was still attached to his body though in a way, he was not so sure that was truly a good thing.
Johnston ascended from the chair and moved to the side of the couch. "This is gonna be unpleasant Son," he warned.
A white light, blinding bright, was shone briefly in his eyes. Jake yelped as the brightness caused a horrific new pain in his already throbbing head.
"Good," muttered Johnston. "Equal and reactive." He switched off the penlight and placed it on the nearby table. "April asked me to check when you woke up," Johnston said apologetically to Jake who now had his eyes screwed tightly shut.
"Are you done? Is there anymore 'tests' you're gonna torture me with," Jake asked plaintively as he experimentally cracked open an eye.
"You mean other than this rectal thermometer?" Johnston deadpanned.
"You gotta be joking," Jake replied incredulously as he risked opening his eyes fully. A quick scan showed his father's hands were devoid of all objects.
"Yep," Johnston said cheerfully, sitting back down.
Going for broke, Jake decided to leverage himself up on the couch. It turned out to be a less than stellar idea as the room spun, his head spun and his stomach spun, unfortunately not all in the same direction. He dropped his head between his knees to keep from passing out.
Johnston stoically watched his son struggle.
When the tilt-a-whirl ride slowed down, Jake cautiously raised his head.
"You need to go upstairs and sleep this off. Do you want my help getting to bed?" Johnston queried.
Stupidly, Jake nodded which brought on another tidal wave of pain and nauseous. "In a minute though," he gasped as he assumed the head between the knees position again.
Johnston leaned back in his chair. "When you're ready Son." This time Jake kept enough wits about him not to nod his in agreement.
Eventually, Jake made it upstairs to his bed with his father's assistance. Jake lay on the bed panting from the exertion of climbing the stairs and waiting for the world to stop spinning. Johnston left the room and shortly returned with a bottle of aspirin and a glass of water. "When your stomach allows, I recommended taking a few of these," Johnston said shaking the bottle.
Jake winced at the sound the little white pills made as the clinked against the plastic walls that were their prison. To his aching head, it sounded like a hundred fireworks going off.
Johnston placed the bottle and water on the nightstand. "We'll talk. In the morning." With that, the elder Green left the room, gently pulling the door shut.
Jake debated about taking the aspirin, but the effort seemed too great so instead he allowed himself to drift off into a troublesome sleep.
Johnston entered the bedroom his wife and he had shared for more than thirty years and instantly knew she was still awake, even though he could not see her clearly in the darkness. He quietly tried to slip into bed, hoping to avoid any further conversations tonight. He was beat and wanted to go to sleep. A minute passed, and then another. 'Am I going to get away with it?' he mused.
"Johnston, you're not going to sleep until you talk to me," came the ethereally voice from the dark.
Johnston sighed and rolled over to face his wife. "He woke up. He is drunk. He is hurting physically and mentally. Other than that, he is fine."
"That boy has not been fine since…" Gail's voice trailed off.
Grunting, he rolled away from his wife before replying, "I'll talk with him in the morning. In the meantime, I'm going to sleep."
"I'm worried," came Gail's soft plea.
Johnston rolled back over and gathered his wife in his arms. "Me too," he murmured.
4
Jake stood on the stair landing and surveyed the deserted scene below. Rattling pans told him his Mom was more than likely in the kitchen. Dragging a hand through his toweled dried hair, he continued down the stairs, around the corner coming to a halt in the kitchen doorway.
Gail glanced up from the pot she was stirring. "Morning, well actually afternoon. Don't suppose you are hungry?"
Jake gave a little half grin, as he indicated no.
"How's your head?"
"Been better."
"Your Dad's down at town hall." Gail let the spoon rest against the side of the pan, walked over to her eldest son wrapping her arms around him. "I love you, Jake."
Jake lowered his chin to rest on the top of hers. "I know Mom," he returned softly. "I love you too."
Releasing him, she took a step back. "Why do you do this to yourself?"
Jake ducked his head and walked across the room to stare out the backdoor. His voice was gravelly when he finally answered, "I don't know Mom. I don't mean…" He ran his hand across his face in frustration. "Things happen to the people around me and it always seems to come back to me." His voice broke with emotion. "Am I that bad a person?" he whispered more to himself than his Mom.
Gail swiftly crossed the room to embrace her son again. "You're not a bad person, Jake."
He gazed over her head out the window with glistening eyes. If she only knew what he'd done, would she still think he was a good person? His eyes wandered back to the pot his Mom had been tending. Smoke was rising from it. Breaking the hug he said, "Mom, your food."
Gail hated to lose the moment, but in a world where food was scarce and you never knew where your next meal was coming from, wasting food could not be allowed. She flew across the room to attend to the pot. When she had things under control, she turned and said, "Jake I…," but when she scanned the room, she saw it was empty and the moment was lost.
5
"We need to talk about last night," Johnston said in a nonjudgmental tone when he and Eric connected up at town hall.
"Not at the house," Eric stated emphatically
"And Bailey's is out too," Johnston countered.
"Deputy Mayer's office?" Eric suggested.
"Sounds good to me."
The two men, each wrapped in their own thoughts, silently walked down the hallway to the office. Once inside, Eric firmly shut the door before pulling up a chair across from where his father had sat.
"Dad is she ever going to stop blaming me? "
"Well, it takes time Son. But April is a strong woman and I …"
Eric interrupted the platitudes. "I wasn't talking about April, Dad. I was talking about Mom."
"Oh," Johnston intoned flatly. He cleared his throat before continuing. "Your mother is, well, torn I guess. She loves you Eric so very much and she'd do anything to protect you. But she also loves April. And the baby, well that is another complication. This situation is not easy for Mom and I think she is doing the best she can."
"Does Mom expect me to stay with April, just because of the baby? I will love my child no matter what. But I don't love April and Dad, she doesn't love me." Eric got up from the chair and paced the office. "Did April ever tell you or Mom that she was the one that had the divorce papers drawn up first, before the bombs went off? She wanted out of this marriage too yet somehow this has become my entire fault. "
"No, April didn't mention it, at least not to me."
Eric stopped in front of his father's chair. "Yeah, well I found them, the papers, when we were cleaning up after the fire. All drawn up. Nice and legal. Just waiting for signatures on the dotted line."
"What happened?"
"What happened?" Eric said exasperated as he flopped down in the chair again. "The bombs happened that's what happened. She said in the new world we now live in she did not want to get divorced. She wants to try to work it out. Dad, how am I supposed to believe that? What am I expected to do? Hang around for God knows how long waiting to see if she changes her mind again and kicks me out!"
Eric leaned forward in his chair; a passionate intensity fevered his tone. "I love Mary. I love her now, I want to be with her forever and in this crazy world we live in, I have no idea how long forever might be. I don't want to take anything for granted." Eric paused a beat. "Funny, that's what Jake told me on the way to Rogue River and you know, for once he is right." Eric paused and then asked "Dad's what's going on with Jake?"
"What do you mean Son?" relieved that the conversation was finally turning to a topic he could handle. He had no answers on the April – Mary – Baby triangle.
"Last night. I was thinking about it later. I believe Jake let me win. It was like he wanted me to beat him up. Like he helped. I know I was wrong and I lost my temper. But I swear Dad; he deliberately provoked me and then let me beat him. Am I crazy? Did you say something like that to me last night?"
Eric was surprised when his father quickly concurred with him. "I think you are right. Jake was looking for a fight and you happened to be the one who crossed his path at the wrong moment."
"I knew it. I knew he didn't mean those things he said about Mary. In the car, he told me to do what made me happy and if that was Mary, then so be it. He tried to support me Dad, without being judgmental. He was there for me." Eric rubbed his beard in frustration." Geez I wish I had not lost me temper with him last night. I should have been there for him. Tried to help him, not hurt him," Eric said with regret.
Johnston reached over and placed a hand on his son's knee. "I know this sounds strange, but you did help your brother. You gave him exactly what he wanted, at least in his mind, and you know, I think it was the right thing to do. Thank you."
"Gee Dad, I never expected you to thank me for beating up my brother."
"Trust me Son, it's not something that I ever expected to say either. " Johnston returned slapping his son on the knee.
"Dad, seriously, is there anything I can do to help Jake. I do love him and it seems like he is on a path to self-destruction."
Johnston sat back in his chair. "I am afraid the only person that can help Jake, is Jake. That's true for all of us. The only way we can change, is through ourselves. Just be there for him, if he asks."
"And if he doesn't, ask?"
"Still just be there."
"And Mom. What do I do about her, April, the baby and Mary?"
"Time, understanding and love."
Eric didn't understand the answer but chose not to pursue it. He had one more pressing question he wanted to ask. "And what about you Dad? How do you really feel about this whole situation with April, the baby and Mary?"
Johnston rubbed his beard trying to formulate his answer. "Obviously, I wish you and April would be madly in love with a child on the way. But this world isn't about what I wish. I guess what I am saying is what I want is for you, to be happy. I expect you to do the right thing, by April and the baby, but that doesn't mean indenturing yourself to a marriage that will not work for either of you. If Mary makes you happy, then I wish you a long and happy life together like your Mother and I have."
"Thanks Dad. That means a lot to me."
"Son, just make sure what you are chasing is what you truly want."
"It is Dad. Trust me it is."
6
Dinner came and went at the Green's household with no sign of Jake. Johnston, April and Gail ate their meager rations. Gail made sure that April's portions were more plentiful since she was eating for two. She could not make her son love his wife, but by God, she could take care of her grandchild and the mother.
Conversation around the table came in fits and starts, what happened around the medical center today; what happened around town. The one thing that everyone studiously avoided was what happened to Jake. No one had seen him in the last six hours.
When the kitchen door opened and closed, all eyes turned expectantly to the doorway. Jake wandered in suddenly feeling like someone was shining a bright spotlight on him.
"Sit down, I'll get you a plate,' Gail said breaking the silence.
"No, that's OK. I'm not hungry," Jake replied evenly.
"How are you feeling? How's the head? Any double vision? Nauseous?" April inquired.
"Nothing. No. I'm fine."
Johnston was the final one to speak. "Jake, your mother and I would appreciate if you let us know where you are going when you leave this house. In this world, it is important to know."
"Sorry, Dad, Mom. I should have said something." Jake shifted awkwardly. "Dad, can we talk? Alone?"
"Sure Son. Let's go upstairs. To the den." Johnston rose from the table, smiled apologetically at his wife, and trailed after his son upstairs.
Upon entering the den, Johnston went over to the liquor cabinet. "You want a little of the hair of the dog that bit you?"
Jake raised his hands in protest. "No way. I am still coughing up the hair balls from this one." The analogy wasn't quite right but it was close enough.
Johnston replaced the bottle in the cabinet and turned to face his son.
"Listen, Dad, I…" But Jake got no further because Johnston swiftly moved across the room and embraced his son in a giant bear hug.
"I love you Son," Johnston said hugging his son even tighter.
Shaken and not sure how to react, Jake's voice quivered with emotion. "I love you too, Dad."
Johnston let go, stepped back, and like he had done the night before with Eric, held Jake's face between his hands. "No matter what you say. No matter what you do, I'll always love you." Releasing Jake's face, Johnston walked over to a near by chair and sat down and looked expectantly at his eldest son.
Trying to get back on an even keel, Jake ran his trembling hands through his hair. He moved to sit down in the chair across from his Dad. "Last night…"
"Was dumb, was stupid and was cruel to your brother," Johnston interjected. "You forced him into a fight he did not want and then deliberately let him beat you."
Jake looked at his father with a sense of amazement. "Nothing gets past you Dad."
"Why Jake? Why did you do that to Eric? To yourself?"
"I don't know," Jake replied ruefully. "To remember? To forget?"
"I don't understand Son."
"Remember, the day before we went to Blackjack? How Jimmy and I found Joe Bentner dead, frozen to death in his own house?"
"Yes, I do. It was a tragic."
"I've seen worse," Jake whispered to himself. Raising his voice, he continued. "Well after we got home from Blackjack, empty handed, Jimmy asked me to help him check the rest of the houses in town, to make sure there were not any more…" Jake stumbled, "Joe Bentners."
Johnston straightened up in surprise. He hadn't known that his son had been asked to perform such an unpleasant task.
Jake's eyes grew cloudy as he drifted into a world of remembrance. "We traveled throughout Jericho, door to door, knocking and praying someone would answer. If no one came to the door, well we entered, however we could to check… to see... "Jake took a shaky breath. "Thankfully, no one else froze to death. But there was one house where," Jake breathing grew rapid. "Where everyone was dead. But not from exposure. By execution. "
"What!" Johnston uttered shocked.
Jake nodded his head. "As near, as we could figure the father took his gun and systematically shot everyone before turning it on himself. He even shot the family dog. It was gruesome Dad. It reminded me so much of…" Jake halted, unable to go on.
"Reminded you of what," Johnston prodded feeling that this revelation was the crux of the matter.
After a dozen frantic heart beats, Jake finally answered. "Iraq."
7
It was another hot day. Before the sun even poked it fiery red head above the horizon, the temperature had already soared to well over 100 degrees. But it wasn't the heat that had made this mission the worse one of Jake's life, the one that would burn itself into his cortex and haunt him for the rest of his existence. It was the nature of the mission.
Their mission as 'officially' told to them was quite simple. Drive to the village of Tarque, enter each house and check for survivors.
This was not an official mission that could be carried out by the Army, Navy, Air Force or Marines. Jake understood now, why that was true. However, the outfit that Jake worked for, this is what the existed for, to carry out those "other" missions that some thought were crucial to winning the Global War on Terrorism.
Tarque had been an embarrassment from the start. It was a small village. It had never been an intended target, but in a gross miscalculation, the town had become the center of a scorching bombing run.
After the unfortunate incident, officials had argued about how best to handle the mop up on this unplanned event. The media mercifully, had not gotten wind of the situation. Officials expected civilian causality to be extremely high. Had this been the enemy, this would have been a decisive win, maximum loss of bad guys, minimum loss of good guys. But these were civilians, and the scenario didn't work. Some folks were arguing for full disclosure, others for full cover-up.
While the powers-that-be argued, the people who ran the underbelly of the war had already reached a decision and quietly went about executing it. The town was small and its people expendable was their conclusion. 'Special troops' would be sent in to deal with the situation and take care of the survivors. The 'official channels' would be carefully controlled, and led down the right path.
Even before this incident, Jake had been talking to Freddy about getting out of this outfit. He'd seen too much and had had enough. Freddy had convinced him to make one more run, and somehow, that gig had ended him up here, in Tarque, doing a door to door death search.
There had been no issues with the first houses they had searched, as all the occupants had been dead. It was the thirteenth house that caused the problem. Jake and Freddy entered the hut and discovered one elderly man had survived the attack. Freddy went out to report the findings to the squad leader while Jake went over to the man and offered him water from his canteen.
The squad leader had entered the hut, and upon confirming there really was a live survivor had ordered Jake and Freddy to leave the hut and continue the house search. He would take care of assisting the survivor.
Jake and Freddy had complied but once outside, Jake realized he'd forgotten to pick up his canteen after offering the old man some water. He returned to the house to retrieve it, as being without water was not an ideal situation in a desert environment. He had cross the threshold into the house in time to see his squad leader pull the trigger on the gun pressed directly against the old man's temple. The death count in the hut rose to hundred percent.
"What the hell are you doing?" Jake yelled.
"What I have been told. Are we going to have a problem here Green?" the squad leader asked as he moved in Jake's direction.
"He was alive. He could have been saved." Jake shot back.
"That is not what we are here for."
"You mean we are here to kill any survivors we find?"
The squad leader didn't reply but pushed past Jake and made his way out of the hut. Jake stood there for a moment, staring at the now dead man. Turning heel, he burst from the hut.
"I won't be part of this," Jake yelled after the squad leader. "I won't. This is murder."
"Hey, shut up," Freddy hissed at his best friend. "There is only one way out of this place and it's with them."
"Freddy, do you know what they are doing? What we are doing here!" Jake hissed. "This is murder!
"Man, I don't judge and I don't ask. Maybe these people are all insurgents." Freddy said, knowing the words sounded flat even to him. "Look, I just want to finish up here and get the hell out. Keep your mouth shut and we'll be OK. I promise."
Freddy pushed Jake forward and they trailed after the squad leader. Jake fumed, but he knew Freddy was right. There was no other way out of this desert other than the way they came in. Jake didn't want to die out here so he trailed along after the rest, but he refused to enter any more huts. Every time a gun went off, which was mercifully few times, Jake recoiled.
Unexpectedly, the squad found themselves under fire. As trained, they dove for the nearest cover to return fire.
As Jake dove for cover behind a low wall, he felt a sharp pain in the left thigh. Once safely behind the wall, he did a quick inspection which showed that a bullet had passed clear through his leg leaving a wound which was bleeding heavily. He dazedly wondered if it had nick the artery as he took a tourniquet from his medical pack and secured it around the leg to staunch the bleeding.
The squad laid down heavy ground fire as they tried to maneuver a small party around the backside of the enemy. Unfortunately, the enemy had the same thought and had been quicker in their execution. Fire rained on the squad from behind and though they scrambled for new positions, they were like sitting ducks and many were quickly cut down in the crossfire.
Thinking fast, Freddy grasped Jake and dragged him into a hut that was a few paces away. They were fortunate to get inside without getting shot. The hut offered a few minutes of respite from the fire-fight outdoors.
Freddy dragged Jake across the floor to the far wall of the dwelling. He propped Jake up against the wall and they both trained their guns on the huts entryway. In the interior gloom, they failed to notice they were not alone. Jake started when, as he eyes adjusted and he realized a man and woman were in the hut with them. When the owners of the domicile realized that they had been spotted, they quickly raised their hands to show they harbored no weapons.
The hut's door slowly started to open. A thin crack of light growing ever wider on the dirt floor. Freddy kept his gun trained on the man and woman while Jake, aimed his at the opening door.
The door froze in its progression. Jake tried to calm his ragged breathing and keep his gun trained steadily on the door. The throbbing in his leg was becoming overwhelming and sweat poured down his face.
Suddenly, the stalled door flew open the rest of the way.
"Shoot, shoot," Freddy, yelled as in a panic he squeezed his trigger, instantly killing the man against the wall.
Jake heard Freddy yelling, he heard a gunshot and he shot the figure in the doorway even though he did not have a clear id on who it was.
A small body fell forward into the dirt. "Oh my God. I've killed a little girl," Jake whispered horrifically.
8
Silent tears coursed down Jake's face as he sat safe and sound in his father's den in Jericho Kansas. Johnston sat stock still, trying to process what his son had just told him. He could think of no words to offer, to comfort.
Jake wiped his haunted eyes and continued. "I crawled over to where she lay in the dirt, but there was nothing to do. She was dead. I rolled her gently onto her back and her lifeless brown eyes stared up at me. Her mother, at least I assume she was, got over her initial shock and came running over to where her little girl lay dead. Freddy let her go. She was no danger to us. We had just killed her husband and her child. What else could we possible do to hurt her more?"
"The gunshots outside ceased and we could tell, by the voices, that somehow we had won the skirmish." Jake ran a hand across his face.
"Everything after that is a bit hazy. I remember Freddy dragging me to my feet and forcing me outside past the mother and the child. I'll never forget those little girl's dead eyes staring at me from the cradle of her grieving mother's arms." Jake's voice trembled with emotion. It took a few minutes before he was able to go on.
"When the squad leader found out the mother was still alive, he went back to kill her. I had I tried to stop him but he pushed me aside. I yelled after him. I should have put a bullet in his back, but I didn't. In the end, the mother joined the rest of her family. Maybe in a way the mother saw it as a blessing. "
Jake leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. "Out of the dozen of us that had comprised the squad, only Freddy, I and the squad leader survived. The rest lay littered amongst the dead of the village. The squad leader wanted to leave me behind too but somehow, Freddy convinced him to bring me… home."
Jake opened his eyes and stared at an imaginary spot in space. "Freddy, left me in the shade of the truck and followed after the squad lead to perform one more act. I don't blame him Dad. Freddy was doing what he was told, what was necessary for him and me to escape that hell hole. I drifted in and out of consciousness and upon awakening realized I was now in the truck and it was moving."
Johnston couldn't even describe the look on his son's face as he finished his tale.
"The wind kicked up and it brought an unpleasant odor, one I had smelled only once before in my life, when our squad was fire bombed. It was the stench of burning human flesh. I pried myself up enough to see that the village was a massive inferno. I tore my eyes from the flames licking the skies to look at Freddy. His eyes were squeezed shut and he was repeating the rosary over and over and over."
Jake's eyes grew cold and empty, like they had been in Mary's bar the night before. "I wonder sometimes, Dad, if Freddy did me a favor or not. Maybe it would have been better if I had rotted out there in that desert."
Jake ran a hand over his eyes. "Of course Freddy's dead too. Died in my arms by a bullet that just as easily could have been mine. Maria, the baby…" trailed off. "Anyway, when I saw that family today and that innocent little girl with that bullet in her head, I lost it." Jake looked at his dead and pleaded, "I am so lost Dad."
Johnston moved from his chair to kneel in front of his son. "Sometimes in life, we are forced into situations we can not control. We take wrong paths and suffer mightily to find our way back. But you have to struggle Son. To find that right path back because that is the only thing that can save you. You can't erase the past but you can learn from it to improve the future."
Jake stared at his father and then dropped his eyes to the ground. "But is the future worth it?" he whispered.