Firelight
by
George Pollock, Jr.
She watched the fire crackle against the dark. Her gun was in her hand, and the three children were asleep on the other side of the flames.
The light caught the gray insets of her black military pilot's uniform. Within the fire's faint range, the Nirvash mecha – now in car mode – sat like a large animal kept at bay by the blaze.
She had done her duty. Her battle orders had been to clear out the enemy in the city. No word on civilians – women, children, the old. Just "the enemy." And in her impressionable mind, she had done just that. Even to her last attack.
A crowd, a group of civilians, held up a white cloth, apparently in surrender. So she thought. Until the explosion. A hidden bomb blasted near the KLF she called Nirvash and toppled it. A trap set by the enemy.
The enemy.
She had exited the fallen vehicle quickly with her automatic weapon. In less than a minute, it was over. And lying before her was a collapse of the slaughtered. It was over.
So it seemed. She approached the carnage she had just created. Standard operating procedure: Scan the enemy dead. Dispatch any survivors.
Distant explosions crashed and gunfire snapped elsewhere in the city. But as she walked in the empty, wrecked street, there was nothing but the crunching of her boots on pulverized rubble. The closer she got to the massacre, blood mixed with the dust and dirt into a red, grainy mud that stuck to the bottom of her boots and lined the edges of their soles. Much later, remembering that detail – not the pile of bodies – would make her vomit.
No movement. She had done her duty well. And her easily molded mind was satisfied with that.
No. There was movement.
And also – only then – it registered with her that from beneath the murdered, there were muffled cries. She closed in slowly, aimed at the noise and kicked aside a woman's body that lay atop the sounds.
Curled like pups, three children – very young – wailed on the ground. Two boys and a girl. Dirty and smeared with blood. They appeared unhurt, so it must have been others' blood. She assumed the woman whose body she had kicked aside was trying to protect them. And she had succeeded, the pilot noted.
The boys whined incessantly. So did the girl until a heavy, choking breath and an explosive cry: "MAMA! MAMA!" She kept screaming it.
The small aqua-haired pilot stopped. She had always watched her work from the Nirvash's cockpit, and it had always seemed so … small. Knock down the game pieces, then walk away.
Three children had been lucky. But she suddenly realized that she'd killed other families today, and she had no idea how many. Utterly none.
The boys wailed. The girl screamed for her mother. And they made the woman no longer feel like a soldier. That had gone. It had flown away instantly, and the ease with which it did surprised her in that instant. Right now – at that moment – she had become, she knew, a murderer.
She slung her weapon over her shoulder and pulled the children out from under the bodies. Quickly, she ran over to the Nirvash and put it in car mode. The toppled mecha responded sluggishly but completed the transformation. Then, with great difficulty – she really wasn't much bigger than them – she carried each child to the vehicle and put them inside.
There were hills nearby, she noticed. A place to pause. A place to think. She crawled into the Nirvash, put it in gear and – in the cockpit crowded with the orphans she had just created – drove away from the war.
It had long been night by now.
The sounds of battle had died off in the distance. Her gun caught the flames' flickering. She sat on the ground and didn't know what to do. Actually, she knew one thing she could do.
She imagined holding the gun to her right temple. She imagined pulling the trigger. She imagined the left side of her head blasting away.
But she couldn't imagine what would happen next. Would I die instantly? she thought. Would what was left of me feel – even for an instant – screaming, scalding pain before death?
She didn't know. The children slept on the other side of the fire. Their faces were quieted by sleep, and they were so different now. There wasn't the horror and terror and grief that the day – and she – has splattered them with. They were lost in sleep.
And I'm lost, too, she thought. Beyond saving. I murdered today. I murdered their parents, their friends, their neighbors. Right now, their bodies are probably stiff, certainly cold. She imagined hungry dogs sniffing the corpses. Birds pecking at exposed flesh.
I made that, she thought. And I never want to do it again. Ever.
And there was only one way she could think of to guarantee that.
A shot to the temple would either blow away the opposite side of her head or lodge in her brain. Sticking the barrel in her mouth would explode the top or back of her head off. But it seemed undignified. Under the jaw? Same as in the mouth – but maybe more dignified. Maybe. Not by much, though.
There was no guarantee, though, that any way would completely finish her. It could leave her a living wreck. Something that would live on, but not live, and wanted to die – but unable to die. A living hell. Maybe, she thought, I deserve that.
She looked at the children again. They would awaken at the gunshot, see her dead, and scream and cry. Then they'd finally get hungry and wander away. She'd be left to the animals, as she imagined their parents were. It all seemed fair.
Under the jaw, then. Yes, that way.
She stuck the barrel of the gun under her jaw. Closed her eyes and swallowed.
This is how I pay for murdering your loved ones, children. This is how.
"Eureka!"
She started, and by sheer luck, she didn't pull the trigger in shock. She opened her eyes. It was a man's voice. Nearby. Almost harsh and scolding. One she knew. So she thought.
Scanning the darkness beyond the fire revealed nothing. She looked around quickly but saw more of nothing. Maybe she imagined the voice. Maybe some higher power was taunting her, torturing her by delaying her relief. Maybe another was readying her for death.
But maybe it was the voice she thought it was. She had to know. She called out to the night:
"Holland?"
There was rustling near the Nirvash, and a form arose slowly behind it. She pointed her gun at the specter, partly from training, partly in fear. Even in the weak light, she saw a tall, slim man in a pilot's uniform. He started walking toward her, and she began to discern details. Familiar ones: A mop of grayish hair. A stubbly goatee. Not regulation.
And she knew Holland didn't think much of regulations. In that, she often envied him.
Right now, however, she thought more of the gun Holland was pointing at her.
"You alone?" he asked.
She nodded.
He holstered the gun and approached the fire. "You didn't detect me. If I'd been the enemy, I could have killed you."
Wish you had, she thought.
"And if you didn't want to be found, you should have turned off the Nirvash's tracking signal. That's not like you, Eureka."
She had put her gun down. "I've had a lot … on my mind … Where's your KLF?"
"There's a deep gully about a click from here. I put it down there in car mode. I saw your fire."
"Oh."
He surveyed the children. "Who are they?"
She bowed her head. "Survivors," she whispered.
"Of what?"
"I killed a crowd of civilians. After an ambush I was in. The children survived."
He ran a hand across his lips. "You killed the crowd? Did they attack after the ambush?"
"No."
"Then why?"
"I was ordered to destroy the enemy."
"That meant the military enemy."
"Are they the only enemy when we fight?"
"No. Not always …"
She looked at the ground. "Holland … I'm scared … I don't know what to do …"
He thought. "Guess I can't fault you for that. You were an envoy from the Scub Coral. From another intelligent life. And the regime made you a weapon. I hated seeing that done to you."
"I know," she answered quietly. "But you've helped me see things I didn't think of before. Some were beautiful. But some are like this right now."
"Like what?"
"Guilt. Shame."
"Not the gifts I would have chosen to give you, Eureka."
She stared at the fire. "Holland, I'm beginning to think beyond what they taught me. Finding them …" She gestured at the children. "… made me think …"
He sat on his haunches. "What?"
"I don't want to do this anymore. Ever. I'm not a soldier. I'm just a murderer."
"I don't believe that. But even if you are, what are you going to do next?"
"I don't know."
"Are you going back to the unit?"
"No."
"Ever?"
"No."
"That's desertion, Eureka."
She was silent.
"Do you know what they do to deserters in wartime?"
She looked up and saw the features of his face dart in and out with the light from the fire, and he looked like an oracle of old – one who spoke behind a fluid veil of the supernatural.
"Summary execution," he pronounced.
She glanced away. "I know. They'd save me the trouble …"
"What's that mean?"
She looked back at him. "When you showed up, I was thinking … of …" She touched the gun's muzzle to the bottom of her jaw.
"Bang," she said quietly.
"Why?" His tone wasn't of shock or fear or anger. It was that of a strict but caring teacher who was meticulously testing a student.
"I deserve to die ..."
"We'll all die someday. Why you right now?"
"I thought I was a soldier, but I'm just a murderer."
"Lots of murderers don't want to die. Even soldiers who murder – and they exist. What's so special about you?"
"I can't stop thinking about what I did."
"Why?"
She sighed and pointed to the children. "Them."
He kept up the examination. "What about them?"
"I never … saw the orphans. The ones I made. Not before this."
"Eureka, you can't bring their parents back by killing yourself."
She felt the heft of the gun in her hand. "Then I can give my life in exchange for theirs," she whispered.
He looked at the children. "And that'll help them – how? How does a dead woman help them when they've been dragged out into the wilderness and left on their own?"
She was quiet again.
"If that's what you'll end up doing, you should have left them in the city. At least they could scrounge for food there."
The firelight glistened in her eyes and in the tears forming in them. "I didn't think of that …"
"I think you have the right idea but the wrong approach. You can give your life in exchange for their parents' – just not the way you're thinking."
"How?"
He stood up. "Adopt them. Take care of them. Raise them in their parents' place. Give your life in exchange like that."
"Holland … I can't do that. If I desert, I'll be on the run. I can't take them with me like that."
"Depends on where you run."
"What does that mean?"
He took a deep breath. "You're not the only one who thinks the war has become a load of crap. I'm tired of killing, even in combat. I felt duty once, too, but I got where you are a long time ago. Just couldn't do anything about it until now."
"What happened?"
"You know how I was a celebrity sky boarder before I was drafted?"
"You told me."
"Made me a lot of money. And a lot of friends. Friends who aren't fans of the regime. Friends with a lot of technical skills. People who could operate a warbird all by themselves."
Her eyes widened. "A warbird?"
He nodded. "There's one that's just been completed. Hasn't gone into service yet. It's called the Gekko. Sweet pickings if you could steal it."
She connected the dots. "And you and your friends are going to do that?"
"Soon. My friends are close to having the plan in place. When they do, we go."
"You'll be a deserter, too. And your friends will be outlaws."
"Never cared for the regime's laws, anyway. You knew that."
"I guess."
"Eureka," he said simply, "come with us."
Here it is, she thought. This is the moment. Going with him meant being a deserter, a criminal. But she felt like a criminal now. A murderer. She studied the children. "What about them?" she asked.
"Bring them with you."
"I don't see how …"
"They'll be surrounded by people like a family. I promise."
"But how do I explain them to others before the plan happens?"
"Say you picked them up as orphans on the way back to the unit. That's partly true, right?"
"Back to the unit?"
"I can protect you and them better there until the plan goes. It'll be soon, Eureka. Really soon. And the Gekko can hold its own in a fight with the air force. It's designed to." He glanced at the children, then back at her. "The kids'll be all right. I promise you that. And so will you. You'll be their mother then. Give up your own life. Isn't that what you wanted to do?"
The fire snapped and popped as she stared into it. She wished it would show in its glow what she should do. What her future held. But she knew it couldn't. Only she knew. Actually, at most, she could only guess what lay ahead.
So she guessed.
"All right," she said. "I'm in."
He crossed his arms. "We go the day after tomorrow," he revealed. "I'll hold up the kids' relocation. I have enough pull for that. You officially take charge of them until we go. I'll be there to back you up. The commander will buy it. It'll keep the kids out of his hair for a while. And make sure they get a shower and a couple of hot meals."
He chuckled. "You're going to have to get used to that, anyway … Mom."
For the first time that day, she smiled. "All right."
"Don't take too long to get back to the unit. Midmorning, at the latest. That's reasonable enough to say you got lost. Understand?"
She nodded.
"See you there." He started back into the dark but stopped. He turned to her. "Eureka," he said.
"Yes?"
"From now on, use that gun only to protect yourself or the kids. Nothing else. Is that clear?"
"Yes. I understand."
"Good."
She watched the blackness take him away. But it wasn't complete. Above the nearby hills, a thin stripe of rainbow was growing. Sunrise soon.
A high-pitched yawn startled her from behind. She looked back and saw one of the boys stirring, causing a chain reaction of movement with the two other children. She walked over and knelt by them.
The first boy awoke. He looked to be the oldest. He sat up, yawned again, rubbed an eye with a fist and looked around. He saw the small woman.
"Where's my mama?" he asked.
She sighed and started to reply. But the other youngsters had awoken, sat up and searched around. Soon, panic exploded:
"DADDY?"
"WHERE'S MY MAMA?"
"I WANT MY PAPA!"
"DADDY!"
"MAMA! MAMA!"
Crying erupted, and she reached over and embraced all three. Their screams were muffled by her arms, her shoulders, her small breasts. She felt their sobs on her body until they cried themselves out.
Finally, the girl – tear-streaked and exhausted – looked up at her. "Where's my mama …?" she whimpered with quivering lips.
The woman touched all three heads gently. The boys looked up, too. "Listen. Listen to me," she whispered. "Your parents are … gone. They've gone to …" She remembered the humans' word: "… heaven …"
The children's faces drained. She had to move fast. "I'm sorry," she continued. "I'm so sorry. But they … loved you. They loved you very, very much …"
"Then why did they leave me?" one boy screamed.
"Because … heaven loved them and … wanted them there …"
"Doesn't heaven love me?" the other boy yelled.
"Of course it does. But … it wanted … your parents first. So they can be with you … when you go there …" She prayed it was convincing.
"But I want my mama NOW!" the girl wailed.
The woman embraced them tighter. She felt a closeness with them that she'd never experienced with other humans. Maybe something approaching it, with Holland. But not this deep.
"Listen," she repeated softly. "Listen to me, please." She looked at their faces and saw they were just beginning to understand how much they had lost. "I promise I'll be your mama now. Honestly. I'll be mama for all of you from now on …"
She blinked in thought. "For the rest of my life," she concluded.
"Mama …?" one boy asked, seeking confirmation.
The fire caught her eye, and it was finally giving out. But the gray somethingness of dawn was lighting the rough, rocky site. The children's warmth was working into her. She didn't need the fire anymore.
"Yes," she finally replied. " 'Mama' …"
"Eureka Seven," its characters and situations are copyright of their respective owners. Story copyright 2011 by George Pollock, Jr. All rights reserved.