Ben Mason listened and waited patiently as his father finished his speech. As Tom Mason went on about losing friends, Ben felt his thoughts drifting.
"Are you practicing operational silence? Because you've hardly said a word all day. You know it's not you're fault."
"That's what everyone keeps telling me." Ben's face was hard.
"Who would have expected your dad to have been there after three months? It was dark, skitters on our heels, something moved. Anyone would have shot."
Ben looked straight ahead, away from his friend. "But it wasn't anyone, it was me."
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"One long, two short is me." Ben said, flashing his light in example.
"All clear is two short, one long. And if you've got skitters following you…."
"You get the first shot." Ben finished.
"Awesome. Wait, uh, you might need this."
Ben turned back to his friend, watching as he removed the compass from around his neck.
"Weaver's compass?" Ben asked, confusion on his face.
"Yeah, just don't make me come after it." His friend joked. "That waters freezing."
Ben scoffed in a playful manner and slipped the compass around his neck. "It's invigorating."
Walking into the water, he glanced over his shoulder. "Invigorating!"
His friend smiled as he watched Ben start the long swim across the river.
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"I'm sorry, he's gone."
Those four words felt like a gunshot to the chest.
He couldn't be gone. His friend couldn't be dead. He just couldn't.
But as Ben looked down at the unmoving boy, he knew he had no choice but to believe it. He was gone, and he wasn't coming back.
Later on that night, after his friends funeral, Ben visited his grave.
I'm sorry. He thought. I'm so sorry.
He promised himself then and there, that he would continue to fight on. Fight for his friend who no longer could.
"Ben."
Ben snapped out of his memories, looking down at Denny. The girl nodded towards his father, who had just finished his speech.
He and the de-harnessed girl had become close, become good friends. She understood him, for she had been through the same things. Ben was happy he'd found another great friend, but he knew that they would never have that same bond that he had with old friend.
Ben stepped up to the table containing the silver tags and grabbed the sharpie. Reaching up, he rested the tag on a branch and it dangled for everyone to see.
Stepping back, he smiled up at the tag.
Jimmy Boland