Jake and Eric Green watched as their father walked away from them and towards where the fake Marines had made their retreat. It was so like Johnston Green to be the one to follow and make sure the rag-tag group was well and truly on their way.
Eric turned to his older brother.
"Well," he said, which pretty much said nothing and everything all at once. "Looks like Dad's back in full sergeant mode."
Jake raised his eyebrows and nodded once in agreement. "Somehow it's more palatable now than it was then."
Eric sent a reluctant grin his brother's way. He shook his head and said, "Things were hard back then and you always managed to do something to make things worse."
Neither Eric nor Jake was smiling anymore.
"Yeah, well, things change," Jake said as he huddled down into the hood of his jacket.
"For the better, I hope," Eric noted, an observation that was clearly not a commentary on their current precarious existence since the bombs, but rather on something far more personal, and infinitely more important.
"Yeah." Eric stepped back and took a good look at his brother.
"Are you okay? How's your head. Hard, I hope."
"Funny," Jake answered wearily.
"You didn't answer my question."
"I am tired and my head hurts," Jake answered irritably. The long day, the cold night and their crushed hopes were working in concert with his aching body to put him in a pretty foul mood.
"And your hands?" the younger Green sibling asked.
"They're throbbing, just like April said they would. I wish I could go back to numb."
"No you don't."
Jake cocked his head and offered a crooked grin. "No, I don't," he conceded.
"What say we head back to the house. It's been a long day."
"Feels like a week. We need to see if Stanley needs help. I doubt he's ever driven a tank before," Jake answered as the brothers headed toward the military vehicle. They reached the tank to find Stanley still admiring Jericho's new armored machine, and still smiling at the prospect of housing it in his barn.
"Hey, Stanley, do you need any help with your new toy?" Jake asked as he grinned and shook his head at the seemingly permanent smile plastered on his friend's face.
"You'll have to take a number. I've got lots of help and a driver ready to go."
"You're sure?" Jake asked.
Stanley slid down from the tank's 'hood', landing on his good foot and then hobbled over to the Green brothers.
"Jake, we've got it. And besides, you kinda look like shit."
"Gee, thanks," Jake answered, pretty sure that he felt every bit as bad as he looked.
"You did good today, Jake. Go home and get some sleep," Stanley said, no more joking in sight. Jake knew that his friend felt guilty about their accident the other day, that Jake's injuries had been so much more serious than his own. Jake also knew that there was little point in wasting his time talking to his childhood friend about it; he'd never been all that successful changing Stanley Richmond's mind once the stubborn man had settled on something.
"We're leaving," Eric said as he pressed his hand in the center of Jake's back. His older brother took the hint and started moving. "Don't be on that foot all night, Stanley," Eric warned.
"As soon as we put her away, I'll be hittin' the hay. Hey! I'm a poet." He smiled widely at the old joke. "Plus, these days, sleeping on hay isn't far from the truth."
"Good night," Jake called back with a chuckle.
The Green siblings headed back across town. Eric noted how his brother's limp seemed a little more pronounced, how his shoulders were brought forward in an attempt to block the cold, how he'd re-positioned his hood and now held it closed at his neck with one hand, his other stuffed into the hoodie's pocket, despite the fact that it really didn't fit with the thick, bulky winter glove on. Eric knew that Jake wouldn't appreciate coddling, at least not from him. So they walked on in relative silence, the noise from the tank now enveloping them and masking the other sounds of a less than typical early evening winter night in Jericho, Kansas.
They were a little more than half way to their parents' house when Jake asked jokingly, "Since when did it take so long to get across town?"
Eric's answer held no humor. "Probably since your limp got so bad. I think you overdid it today big brother." Jake trudged on, not wanting to answer. Not wanting to lie to his family if he didn't have to.
A few houses from the Green homestead Jake took a misstep and veered into Eric. His brother steadied him and said, "Okay. That's it." He placed Jake's arm over his shoulder and then reached his own arm across the back of his brother's waist. Eric was surprised to feel Jake lean in and accept the support; he had expected the exact opposite.
"Thanks," Jake said softly as he followed Eric's lead for the last part of their journey.
"You're welcome." They finished their walk without speaking, though no doubt both men's minds were racing with thoughts of today's events, of the other difficult personal issues that remained unresolved in their lives, of what the future held for them and their family and the other people, some as dear as family, that surrounded them in their hometown.
"We're not going to make it in without Mom seeing…" Jake started.
"Jake? Eric?" Gail Green asked worriedly. "Is everything okay? Jake, are you hurt?"
"Just tired, Mom," Jake answered, hoping that his brother would back him up. They headed into the living room, Jake now helped by Eric on one side and his mother on the other.
"His foot's bothering him more."
"Eric," Jake said in warning.
"Jake, come on," the younger Green sibling pleaded. The brothers stared at each other, but it was clear that Jake's need to sit and to not rock the boat with his family won out. He plopped down on a chair in the living room and sighed.
"Yes, my foot hurts and those fake Marines knocked me out with the butt end of a rifle."
"Knocked you out!" Gail countered loudly. Both Eric and Jake winced at the response, but for different reasons. "Sorry, honey," she added more calmly. "Are you bleeding? How hard were you hit?"
"I don't think, well, actually, I'm not really sure if I'm bleeding or not." He knew that he had been out for a couple of minutes, and he remembered Eric kneeled next to him, but that was about it.
"I checked him, Mom. I think he's just got a bad headache," Eric told his mother.
"BAD headache," Jake admitted, though to be honest, between the bitter cold, his foot, his hands, his head and all of his other aches and pains from the accident, he didn't think any one of them had more of a lead than any other in the race to make Jake Green feel altogether miserable.
"His hands seem to be bothering him a lot, too," Eric added. He bowed his head and then turned away from the traitorous look his brother leveled at him.
Jake shook his head and then leaned forward. "I just need some aspirin or something for my head and then I need some sleep. As you both know, there's nothing to be done about my hands that time won't heal. Can I just, please, just…I just need sleep."
Gail sat on the ottoman facing her oldest son and took one of Jake's hands in her own.
"Don't," Jake warned.
"Hey, I just want to take a quick look. We'll put some of the cream on them that April left us, and then you can put your gloves back on." Jake blinked, his eyes gritty, his lids heavy, and then rested his head gingerly on the back of the chair.
"Fine," he said with exasperation as he closed his eyes.
"Jake. Jake, honey. Wake up." Jake opened his eyes and noticed some changes in the room that hinted that he'd been asleep for more than the few seconds that he thought he might have nodded off. First, his brother was putting sheets, a blanket and a pillow on the couch.
"Mom, I can…"
"Don't bother, Jake. You'll sleep where I tell you to sleep," Gail said, her own exasperation with the way things currently stood coming through. It was a rare occasion to see Gail Green lose her cool, but it was no surprise to Jake or his brother that their mother had seen about enough of her oldest son getting the short end of the stick.
Jake looked around some more. There was a fire going. That was new since they'd arrived back at the house. They were trying to conserve everything these days, even firewood. Jake felt guilty that even now they would normally have tried to wait a little longer before lighting a fire; except for his condition they might have lasted another hour or so before starting this one. Well, that was what he thought before, when he first woke. But now he wasn't at all sure what the time really was. He looked left and saw his father standing in the doorway.
"Hey," Jake said.
"Hey, yourself," Johnston replied.
"What time is it?" Jake asked as he turned to see Gail and Eric finish making his bed.
"Nine-thirty. Time for you to get some sleep I expect," his father said in a very fatherly way.
"You'll have some soup and a few crackers. Then you can sleep," Gail instructed as she headed to the kitchen. She left the room in as much of a huff as they'd ever seen.
"Is she mad at me?" Jake asked. He stood up, slow and stiff, and limped over to the couch.
"She's mad at all of us, son."
"First Dad got real sick from the flu. She was pretty mad about that." Johnston Green shook his head and looked down at the floor. "Then you got pretty messed up in the accident, and then got knocked out today. You know, I would have backed you up if you'd said they just hit you," Eric told his brother.
"It was hard to tell, Eric," Jake retorted smartly.
"Maybe if you hadn't tried to play the hero…"
"All right," Johnston interrupted the brewing argument. "She'll get over it."
"Not for a while," Gail said as she returned to the room.
"Sorry, Mom," Jake said, though he was pretty sure he didn't have anything to be sorry about. But if it made his mom feel better…
"Stop that. You didn't do anything wrong. Not really. But Jake, you really aren't recovered enough to be running all over town like you did today. I saw you holding your chest, out of breath. And I appreciate and am very proud of the sense of decency and honor that makes you do these things. But the best thing you could do for me would be to rest and to heal." She looked her son in the eyes, hoping to see understanding, and maybe some acceptance. "And eat," she added as she shoved the ottoman with her foot, edging it closer to the couch, and then set the tray with a large mug of soup and a half a sleeve of crackers on it.
Jake breathed in and then let out a sigh. He wasn't going to make his mother happy with part of his answer, but there was no way right then that he was going to successfully eat the food that his mother had brought – and keep it down.
Jake put his left hand out towards his mother…and noticed that it was lightly wrapped in gauze. He looked at his right and saw the same thing.
"You were out cold," she said as she sat next to her son. "You scared me a little. But I figured it was as good a time as any to clean and treat your hands."
"Thanks," Jake said. "Um," he continued, his head down, using his wrapped hands as a convenient excuse not to look into his mother's eyes. "I think I could sleep for two days straight."
Gail smiled as she held his hand lightly. "Good."
Jake finally looked up at his mother. "But there's no way I can eat right now. I'm sorry," he added.
Gail took her hand and placed it on Jake's cheek and looked at her son's bruised and scratched face. His eyes were ringed dark and he was squinting, evidence of the pain this most recent hit to the head was causing her son. She stood up, leaned over and kissed Jake on the forehead, staying there longer than needed, as though the extended touch would wash the pain away, as any mother would hope that it could. The fact that it was the time-tested 'Mom' check for fever didn't hurt.
"Okay." She looked toward the coffee table. "Eric, could you take this back to the kitchen?" she asked, handing him the tray. "And bring back some water for your brother."
"Sure."
Gail grabbed the ibuprofen bottle. "How about something for that headache?"
"Yeah," Jake answered. "That would be good."
"Lay down," Gail ordered, as there was no doubt that it was an order – she had learned well from her Army Ranger husband. She tapped three pills out of the bottle.
"Those might not stay down either," Jake warned. He hoped that lying down would settle his head and his stomach.
"Here," Johnston said as he placed a small plastic bag-lined wastebasket next to the couch. He sat down on the ottoman. "Just in case. You've had two knocks to the head in only a couple of days. Chances are good you'll need that."
"Great," Johnston's son replied, the sarcasm not blunted by his current condition. "And thanks."
"Here you go," Eric said as he handed the glass to his brother.
"Thanks." Jake took the pills and then laid back into the pillow. It felt pretty close to heaven.
"Go to sleep, son," Johnston said as he pressed his hand affectionately on his son's chest. He followed that with a touch to Jake's forehead. Another check for a temperature. Jake felt like a kid again, but surprisingly, it didn't feel bad. He pulled back a little, but smiled at his dad as he saw that Johnston realized that Jake knew what he'd been up to. "You were pretty impressive out there today. Very sharp. You've earned the rest. Maybe the town can manage a couple of days without Jake Green to dig them out of trouble." His father smiled as he said it, but what Jake felt most was that his dad was proud. It had been a long time since he felt that from his father. He hoped he didn't do anything to screw this up. He had messed up before, he knew that, but this he had to start getting right. He really didn't want to mess this up. Not this time.
He fell asleep before he could answer. He hoped he remembered to talk to his dad when he woke up. He hoped Jericho and their unbelievably hard day-to-day existence gave him that chance.
The End.