In Wait of Absolution
9-9-00
AN: This is so old! I've resisted posting it for about a year now; it finally knocked me to my knees and flat-out ordered me to post it. What could I do but comply? Especially with Merridew looking me in the eye...^.~
The boys slowly stopped crying, some because their emotion had passed, some because they had run out of tears. The officer, emboldened by this subsi-dence in the tide of emotions, turned away from the ship and asked Ralph:
"Do you know if any of you boys can help me look for the others? Maybe figure out about how many of you there are?"
Ralph pointed to a red-haired boy with broken glasses hanging from his waist and war-paint on his face.
"He could help. He hunts," but added noncommittally, "I don't know as you're going to find us all. We tried to keep track, but even Piggy--" He choked up and didn't finish the thought. The officer filled the silence.
"What's your name, son?" he asked the boy with the spectacles.
"Merridew, sir." Jack croaked out. His voice seemed tight, like he was being strangled. Ralph swung around to look at Jack but quickly averted his eyes from Jack's gaze.
"I'll get the crew, and with Captain's say-so we'll find your friends as soon as this fire goes out," the officer offered. There wasn't much more on the island that could burn that hadn't already, so this seemed a reasonable proposition. While the boys waited nervously, the officer re-entered the boat and came out, as promised, followed by the crew of the Martina. Promptly, they began setting up shelters. Ralph noted with dismay that they were far sturdier and more quickly constructed than his own efforts had been. The officer, who had asked to be called Mr. Riley, took a head count.
"Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two." He paused, the turned to Ralph. "I sure hope there aren't many more of you. Of course, there isn't anywhere for them to hide, anymore." He looked out at the blackened, smoldering jungle. "We'll look for anyone else in the morning. The men have put up something of a shelter for you boys, and we have food on the ship. We'll be fine. Meanwhile, you get a good night's sleep."
The next morning, after a breakfast of hardtack and beef jerky, the search commenced. The Martina's captain led the hunt. It seemed to go on for years. Every time a boy was found, the search became more disorganized. Soon the party of searchers had grown so large that boys and the Martina's crew members (who were trying to corral the littluns) were in danger of losing each other in the jungle. Realizing that they were in danger of losing as many boys as they were finding, and with night coming on, the captain decided to call it a night. Carefully, the party proceeded back to the beach, taking a head count every ten minutes and then sending a messenger back to collect the unavoidably missing specimen.
As the boys slept that night, safely but not necessarily soundly, the officer sat down by his captain at the fireside.
"Sir, I took a final head count...it's easier with them sleeping...they don't move around and confuse the issue. There's thirty-six, total. I figure the rest of them, if there were any left, would've come to the fire...you can see it nearly across the whole island because the plant growth is so shriveled. We could leave tomorrow, sir, if you wanted." Watching the flames, the captain remarked,
"Do you think they'll be okay? They've been through a hell of a lot more than normal kids their age. I don't think that one boy--Roger? Is that his name?--I don't think he's quite all there, upstairs. And how'll we find their folks? One of the littlest came up to me right as I came up the shore. He seemed to want to tell me something--maybe his name, or something important like that. Whatever it was, he seemed more distressed that he couldn't remember it than that he couldn't tell me what it was. Can you imagine? Not remembering your own name? How'll we get them home? Even if we do get them home, the war's still going on...where were they going to? How did they get here, for that matter? How will we find out? They won't remember. Do you think they'll last long in the world, Riley? Will they go insane?"
"Permission to speak freely, sir?"
"Yes, Riley."
"Well, I don't pretend to know, sir. It just depends on what they're made of inside, I suppose. The little tots, they won't remember this--they're too young, and memory has a kind hand in blurring things like this. But the older ones--Ralph, and Merridew? They'll remember this all too well. When I went out on the beach that first time I ran smack into the middle of a manhunt! That Ralph had done something--I've no idea what--and he was about to get killed by the rest of those kids. If he goes nuts in his old age, just remember I said that he has a right to. Only twelve, and being hunted like that! 'Course, I might be underestimating him. He seems to be made of strong stuff, that boy. Maybe he'll be the better for it...maybe they all will--(excepting that Roger; I agree with you, Captain, he's got some screws loose!)--you never know. At least the stronger ones'll make it out and stay sane, I think. I really don't think you can predict it either way, sir; I think they'll manage things their way."
"Maybe you're right, Riley. God, I hope so."
9-9-00
AN: This is so old! I've resisted posting it for about a year now; it finally knocked me to my knees and flat-out ordered me to post it. What could I do but comply? Especially with Merridew looking me in the eye...^.~
The boys slowly stopped crying, some because their emotion had passed, some because they had run out of tears. The officer, emboldened by this subsi-dence in the tide of emotions, turned away from the ship and asked Ralph:
"Do you know if any of you boys can help me look for the others? Maybe figure out about how many of you there are?"
Ralph pointed to a red-haired boy with broken glasses hanging from his waist and war-paint on his face.
"He could help. He hunts," but added noncommittally, "I don't know as you're going to find us all. We tried to keep track, but even Piggy--" He choked up and didn't finish the thought. The officer filled the silence.
"What's your name, son?" he asked the boy with the spectacles.
"Merridew, sir." Jack croaked out. His voice seemed tight, like he was being strangled. Ralph swung around to look at Jack but quickly averted his eyes from Jack's gaze.
"I'll get the crew, and with Captain's say-so we'll find your friends as soon as this fire goes out," the officer offered. There wasn't much more on the island that could burn that hadn't already, so this seemed a reasonable proposition. While the boys waited nervously, the officer re-entered the boat and came out, as promised, followed by the crew of the Martina. Promptly, they began setting up shelters. Ralph noted with dismay that they were far sturdier and more quickly constructed than his own efforts had been. The officer, who had asked to be called Mr. Riley, took a head count.
"Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two." He paused, the turned to Ralph. "I sure hope there aren't many more of you. Of course, there isn't anywhere for them to hide, anymore." He looked out at the blackened, smoldering jungle. "We'll look for anyone else in the morning. The men have put up something of a shelter for you boys, and we have food on the ship. We'll be fine. Meanwhile, you get a good night's sleep."
The next morning, after a breakfast of hardtack and beef jerky, the search commenced. The Martina's captain led the hunt. It seemed to go on for years. Every time a boy was found, the search became more disorganized. Soon the party of searchers had grown so large that boys and the Martina's crew members (who were trying to corral the littluns) were in danger of losing each other in the jungle. Realizing that they were in danger of losing as many boys as they were finding, and with night coming on, the captain decided to call it a night. Carefully, the party proceeded back to the beach, taking a head count every ten minutes and then sending a messenger back to collect the unavoidably missing specimen.
As the boys slept that night, safely but not necessarily soundly, the officer sat down by his captain at the fireside.
"Sir, I took a final head count...it's easier with them sleeping...they don't move around and confuse the issue. There's thirty-six, total. I figure the rest of them, if there were any left, would've come to the fire...you can see it nearly across the whole island because the plant growth is so shriveled. We could leave tomorrow, sir, if you wanted." Watching the flames, the captain remarked,
"Do you think they'll be okay? They've been through a hell of a lot more than normal kids their age. I don't think that one boy--Roger? Is that his name?--I don't think he's quite all there, upstairs. And how'll we find their folks? One of the littlest came up to me right as I came up the shore. He seemed to want to tell me something--maybe his name, or something important like that. Whatever it was, he seemed more distressed that he couldn't remember it than that he couldn't tell me what it was. Can you imagine? Not remembering your own name? How'll we get them home? Even if we do get them home, the war's still going on...where were they going to? How did they get here, for that matter? How will we find out? They won't remember. Do you think they'll last long in the world, Riley? Will they go insane?"
"Permission to speak freely, sir?"
"Yes, Riley."
"Well, I don't pretend to know, sir. It just depends on what they're made of inside, I suppose. The little tots, they won't remember this--they're too young, and memory has a kind hand in blurring things like this. But the older ones--Ralph, and Merridew? They'll remember this all too well. When I went out on the beach that first time I ran smack into the middle of a manhunt! That Ralph had done something--I've no idea what--and he was about to get killed by the rest of those kids. If he goes nuts in his old age, just remember I said that he has a right to. Only twelve, and being hunted like that! 'Course, I might be underestimating him. He seems to be made of strong stuff, that boy. Maybe he'll be the better for it...maybe they all will--(excepting that Roger; I agree with you, Captain, he's got some screws loose!)--you never know. At least the stronger ones'll make it out and stay sane, I think. I really don't think you can predict it either way, sir; I think they'll manage things their way."
"Maybe you're right, Riley. God, I hope so."