ATTENTION: Don't click any links that may show up in this story. I don't know how they're gettin' in there (probably something with saving it as an html) but I didn't put them there and they don't lead to anything about the story. The one I checked led to some dating service. Just thought I'd warn ya.
Past Evils
Chapter 4 - A Second-hand Life
Looking at the soldier dying on the carpet, my squad's old insignia marking his sleeve, I found my mind forced back to that fateful day. The day Lt. Steve Barkin died. I suppose you'd really have to begin with our desertion. It started as a mission down to South America, a little town called Guamaya. It was a major route for drug runners and terrorists and the townsfolk would often suffer because of it. We were sent down to try and neutralize the threats that befell them. However, political relations with the government started to fall apart. They started to resent the Americans who "barged in like John Wayne, trying to take over." (Their words) Also, the situation in the Middle East wasn't helping either, and soon we were ordered out.
However, we had been in Guamaya for awhile and had witnessed the troubles of the natives first-hand. Drug wars and terrorist recruiting, whittled away at the town's population. We felt that we were needed here TOO much to let some politician run us out. After much discussion and argument, we finally all agreed on the same course of action. Like the self-righteous idiots that we were, we cut radio contact and stayed. We started a guerilla campaign against the drug runners, taking out shipments, ruining trades, and generally making their lives difficult. And for awhile it felt like we were actually helping.
But time has a bad habit of twisting things around. Small actions and experiences are seeds that grow to bigger changes. Ours came in the form of Juan Nimbori. He sought us out of his own accord, never hiding the fact that he himself was a dealer. He claimed that while he did do business in the cities, he agreed with our feelings that innocent people shouldn't be made to suffer. Juan provided us with information on Naji Moru, a rival of his that ran merchandise through the area. He provided us with times and places of buys and shipments. We didn't really trust him, but took the information, which turned out to be very accurate.
In about a month, Moru's empire was crumbled. Nimbori thanked us by sending almost 100,000 dollars. At first we refused the money, insisting that we were doing this for the townspeople. He insisted right back that it wasn't any kind of payoff or anything, he simply approved of our ideals and wished to support our operation. And none of us could deny that our 'operation' needed support. A group of mercenaries, camping in the woods, fighting for the safety of a village may sound cool, but coming by ammunition and supplies was tough. And while the latter was sometimes supplied by grateful villagers, the former was scarce and we were always dangerously low.
So we took the money, never recognizing it as the first nail being driven into our dirty coffin. Nimbori brought us more information, all of it good, and we took down quite a few drug lords with his help. Then he asked for the favor. Someone was muscling in on his territory. If we hit their base down here, he would be able to regain control. It seemed alright at the time, and of course there was always the money. After that our fall from our lofty moral perch was swift and violent. Soon we were doing no jobs but the ones Nimbori paid us to do. I tried to deny it at the time, but the truth was inescapable. We had become nothing more than hired guns.
It wasn't long before the nearby rebellion, which had always left us alone up till then, started making objections to our actions. However, our camp was mobile and in the middle of the jungle, so they're chances of finding us were low. But safety is fleeting, always disappearing when you need it most. All it took was one mistake to bring everything down around our ears, and I had the immense 'honor' of being the one to make that mistake.
Being near the town for so long, attachments were bound to happen. A couple of the guys had a girl in the village they would visit. The one I met was named Neeri Maa. She ran a stall in the local market were we would get most of our supplies and I would always stop by to talk. I'll admit that I loved her, how could I not. She was everything I thought I was looking for, and maybe that should have been my first tip off. I don't really remember when I gave away the camp's location, some night when I had had a little too much to drink and a little too much sex I suppose, mumbling it out before dozing off. The full extent of my idiocy still burns me today.
I didn't even put it together as the rebels attacked our camp, picking us off from the trees. As I lay on the ground, the gun shot wounds in my abdomen leaking blood into the dirt, I finally saw her. Neeri, wearing the colors of the rebel group. I had been set up easily, leading them right to our hideout. I closed my eyes, hoping that death would erase the guilt.
But I didn't die. I woke up in the river, one of my dead teammates lying on top of me. I crawled out of the water and made my way back to the camp. I don't know what I hoped to find there, but it was the only place I COULD go. The tents had been torn down, but the equipment had been stacked up a little ways off, probably being readied to sell on the black market. Sifting through the pile I finally came across our old radio.
While we had cut contact with the U.S., we had kept the radio intact just in case. I didn't know what else to do, so I radioed in for a pick-up, tapping in the Morse code signal. I got out of sight after sending the message, knowing the rebels would be back for their loot. Pulling myself into the bushes, I tried to stay conscious as I waited for help to arrive. The rebels DID come back, carrying away the equipment. SHE was with them. I watched her the whole time she was there, more than once contemplating running out and trying to break her neck.
Soon they all departed and the sun began to sink from view. As night time started to come on, I finally heard the sound of choppers. I crawled back into the clearing as they descended. As two soldiers ran towards me, I finally couldn't keep it up any longer and fell to the ground, unconscious.
When I got back, I was questioned intensely by military forces. The sudden cut off of radio contact had caused my team to be labeled as MIA. My story was that the rebel faction in the area had attacked us, destroying most of our equipment. I told them that the rebels had attacked us repeatedly until I was the only one left. We had tried to fix the radio and I had finally managed to signal the U.S.
I could tell that many of them didn't believe my story, but with no proof they couldn't bring any charges against me. They did, however, ask me to resign. I did so without argument, heck, I probably would have done it without them asking me to. I was tired of guns, blood, and fighting. I wanted something new, something good. Anything to wash the taste of guilt from my mouth.
So, I turned to teaching. Got a job at Middleton and quickly worked my way up to principal. And I had done a good job with this second life, if I do say so myself. But now this ghost from my old life has forced its way into the present, and it looks like my new life might end just as badly as the first one did.
I backed away from the body on the floor. I had to get out of there, his teammates would surely show up any second. Turning I ran back up the stairs to the office. A window in there led out on top of the marquee. Climbing out, I carefully worked my way to the edge, looking over into the parking lot. Just as I had suspected, there was the same black van from the school, its windows tinted and no license plates on the bumper. Had they followed us here after all? If so, why wait so long to come in after me, and why let Possible and Wilks leave? I couldn't bring myself to believe it was out of the goodness of their hearts.
Turning from the parking lot, I climbed the ladder leading up to the roof of the building. Making my way to the other side of the roof, I carefully made my way down the fire escape, cutting through the alley of the building next door. As I neared the street, a bus was pulling up to the stop. Running over I jumped on, luckily having some change in my pocket from earlier in the day. Moving to the back of the bus, I sat down, watching nervously out the window. Once I was away from the theater I sat up, leaning back in the seat.
I didn't know what to do. The appearance of this new squad of Ghost Rats had left my mind numb. My thoughts seemed mired in tar, black and sticky, it slowed them down, blotting out the sun. The whole world seemed black, the world outside the bus a dark barren landscape that would freeze me solid if I dared to step into it. The theater was my last idea. I didn't know where to go now. I felt like just sitting in the bus for the rest of my life, riding with it until it dropped off the edge of the world.
But you can't hide from the world. It creeps around you, pushing into the cracks until you can't breathe. Now was no different. I had to think of something to do, some course of action to take. I thought of Jim Palo. He was supposed to be looking for information on whoever these guys were, and if he couldn't reach me at the theater, he would probably try at my apartment. It seemed like the stupidest Idea in the world; going back to my apartment. These Ghost Rats MAY have decided I'd never go back there, but I couldn't bring myself to think that optimistically. I was almost sure they'd have someone guarding the door.
Still, it was my only real course of action. Now that I had learned that these soldiers were a new group of Ghost Rats, a former GOVERNMENT military squad, the thought of them having some kind of contact or surveillance at the police station seemed more and more likely. No, I couldn't go to the police. I would just have to try and sneak back in to my apartment and hope to meet up with Jim.
I exited the bus at the next stop. Getting my bearings I began walking back to my apartment. It was a ways to go, but walking would give me a better chance to sneak into the building. Plus I didn't have a car. It was strange watching the late night traffic whiz by on the streets, passing the occasional pedestrian walking to who knows where. It all seemed so normal, and yet so small, now. I felt like I was in my own world and that these other people were nothing but illusions, cardboard cutouts of things that were unaware of me and I couldn't interact with. Like computer controlled characters in some video game, running through their normal routines, oblivious to my personal dilemma.
The air was brisk, winter was arriving, and I felt the cold through the white undershirt I was wearing. No one looked at me when I passed them, no one mentioned the clunky-looking bulge at the small of my back that simply screamed, "concealed weapon". It was as if we had all made some silent promise with each other not to become involved in each other's lives. Individual entities walking around in our own little bubbles, refusing to even acknowledge that there are others around us.
My building had taken on a new, foreboding look when I finally reached it. Red and blue police lights winked from the distance, presumably from my wrecked car and the car full of dead men. The lights cast flashes of deep shadow over the bricks, the moments of light emphasizing the black windows that stared out at me like eye sockets on a skull. Maybe it was just the situation I found myself in, but my apartment building just looked plain evil at that moment.
I didn't walk straight to it, in case someone WAS watching. Instead I headed for the building a couple buildings down. I knew for a fact that the building next to my apartment had a fire escape that ran right next to ours. Ducking through the alleys, I climbed up the fire escape on one side of the building, crossed the roof, and began climbing down the fire escape on the other side. All that climbing was starting to wear me out, my years away from the army starting to finally weigh on me. Still, I was able to leap from the one fire escape to the other on the side of my building. My room was on the other side of the building. Carefully breaking in one of the windows, I made my way through the halls until I reached my door.
There were no police guards, yellow tape, or chalk outlines, though I didn't really expect there to be. Whoever these guys were, they didn't want the police involved. They'd clean up their own messes whenever possible. I continued to cautiously search my room, making sure to avoid crossing in front of the window. Once satisfied that the apartment was empty I sat down in the corner by the door, where I would be sure to see anyone who came in before they saw me. Leaning back against the wall, I allowed myself to relax a little. I sat perfectly still, letting the silence push in around me, a comforting weight. I didn't know what would happen, I didn't know what I would do if Jim didn't show. Heck, I didn't know if I even wanted to bother running anymore. But I WOULD keep running. It was a human condition; survival. Even people who think they WANT to die. When they're actually face to face with death and they can feel it's breath on their face smelling of dirt, blood, and urine. Even those people will want more. They will fight for their lives, even if those lives are worthless.
To be continued....
Okay, this time it wasn't my fault. My computer had a major brain fart and I was unable to use it for almost two or three weeks. Anyway, there's chapter 4 for you. I won't say I hope to get the next one out sooner, because I said that about this one and look what happened.
