a/n: Well, I struggled with this chapter, and when I rewrote it yesterday, I know why. Hopefully it's an enjoyable read. Thanks! Reviews are more than welcome!
Chapter Five: Ominous
There was something worse coming. I could feel it.
Each soldier looked tense. Lake especially looked like doom was inevitable. He led the group, well ahead of it actually, to be safe. We were getting close to Cameroon. The refugees were excited. No one was stupid though. Rebel soldiers were still hunting us, and they wanted us dead.
Actually, from what Lake mentioned, they wanted Arthur Azuka dead. For a brief second, I wondered what they'd do to him, if they found us. I felt sick just thinking about it.
"You look tense," came a voice to my left. I was surprised it was Red who spoke. I found myself surveying him instead of answering right away, which was probably rude, but oh well. Red (a nickname, I assumed) had that close-cropped/shaved hair look. The short hair was reddish blonde—I remember he had darkened it up before with paint or whatever. It'd worn off now, but I didn't think it mattered as much. His eyes were light, and that's when I noticed he was still waiting.
"This isn't really a relaxing situation," I said, gesturing to the guns and the group. Red chuckled. He had a slight accent, just a drawl of the South, but it came and went in his words.
"I suppose not," he said. He looked ahead and to the sides, a cautionary, defensive thing. I thought it was interesting how he and the others could multitask like that, always be in the soldier mindset. Actually, Lake couldn't quite do that as much since he was scouting for danger at the head of the group, but I guess that was good, for safety's sake.
I was in the middle of the group now, which got me thinking. I peered at Red curiously.
"I thought you were always at the back of the group," I said. Red raised an eyebrow at my remark.
"Why's that?"
I opened my mouth to answer, but hesitated. It might not be a good thing to bring up, but . . .
"You were always at the back of the group, when I was following you all." I tensed up, waiting for some bad blood to emerge or something. But Red just smiled, more to himself than me.
"We rotate around sometimes," he said. "I was supposed to watch for hostiles following us." He grinned, and that relieved me. Guess he doesn't hold a grudge. Not anymore, at least. I could have sworn once I was brought to the group that he was imagining ways to kill me.
"Sorry about that," I said. He frowned.
"Why?"
I shrugged. "Lake said you knew someone was following. I probably just put you more on edge, and . . . I don't know. You seemed ticked, knowing someone was there. It probably wasn't what you needed."
Red glanced around again as we continued to walk.
"It was exactly what I needed," he said, and this too was more to himself than me. I frowned. I watched him closely, wondering what he meant. As if sensing that, he glanced my way. "It was a good distraction. We'd just come from the village, remember?"
Of course I remembered. Duh.
But his words were laced with haunting, and I could tell he was affected by the village too—actually, more so than what I saw in the other soldiers.
"Anyway," –I think his voice wavered there, "trying to catch you was a pain in the butt, but at least it kept me sharp."
I smiled.
"Glad I could help."
Another chuckle. It was nice to hear. I found my respect for Red growing, which was a nice replacement for the fear I had before. He was a good man.
My eyes wandered to the other soldiers. Humanity in a soldier wasn't the first thing I expected, yet here I saw it in these highly-trained men. I wondered what else they'd been through. They obviously excelled at their tasks, which made me admire them even more—the stereotypes for the outstanding soldier didn't include humanity and compassion. Maybe that's what made them stand out to me. Despite the uniform that discouraged uniqueness, each man was still human, with a personality and emotions . . . Good people, not machines.
I didn't know what was so special about that realization, but it made me feel more at home and safe than I had felt since leaving the United States.
It was midday when the group stopped. LT and Zee, the African American soldier, knelt down and motioned for everyone to do the same. I peered above the grass as much as I could to spot Lake.
"Miss Sorenson," Red whispered. "Stay down."
I glanced between him and Lake. Lake was focused on the field in front of us, and his posture said something was near. But I slinked back down.
The villagers with weapons had them all out and ready for danger. I pulled out the gun I had, but didn't remove the safety yet. Last thing I wanted now was to accidentally shoot one of the soldiers. I glanced at Red, thinking he'd probably think I was crazy, but he wasn't paying attention to me. His eyes were on the treeline on the other side of the field.
He stayed low, and moved further to the left. I was left with the villagers, staring at the quiet, tense field.
I looked for Lake again. Blades of tall grass cut into my view. I found him though. He had his rifle ready as his eyes scanned back and forth. I couldn't see what he was seeing.
Then I heard something. I couldn't describe it, but instinctively I knew it was a bad sound. I heard Red say, "Sniper, 11 o'clock." A shot. That was what the sound was, but it was quieter than I expected. I couldn't see Lake. Leaning left and right, I tried to find him.
He was lying down.
"Lake," I whispered. Lena, the doctor, was beside me. I heard her swallow. Amazing that it was that quiet. And then things exploded.
Zee and Red fired something into the treeline across the field. LT and the soldier named Doc ran ahead to Lake. I held my breath until I saw them helping Lake—and Lake was moving around fine.
"He's been hit," Lena said. I only nodded. Thank goodness he was moving.
The feel of the gun in my hand made me look down. Pursing my lips, I stared hard at the safety. And then I flipped it off. From the corner of my eye, Lena stared at me strangely.
LT and Doc stood, bringing Lake to his feet with them. All three had their guns ready. The soldiers launched ahead, and then the trees above us exploded with a rocket of some sort.
I screamed. The villagers too. Gunfire deafened me, ahead of us and across the field. The soldiers were fighting against the rebels. We'd been found for sure. As that reality sunk in, I froze. My eyes found one of the soldiers. I'm not sure if it was LT, Red, Zee, or Doc, but I watched as shell casings flew over his shoulder and into the air.
It wasn't Red, I realized, as he suddenly bolted straight at the enemy. I gasped, but the Americans were firing more rapidly now, covering him. Red dove into the grass for some reason, and I saw something in his hands. He came back moments later, diving again behind cover, but without whatever object he held before.
And then I saw one of the soldiers get hit. I didn't know him enough—I think his name might have been Slo, a nickname perhaps. He was shot right in the gut. He sank to his knees. Zee went to him.
Something blew up right then, coming from in front of us. And then it got quiet. Morbidly, dazed, I just watched. The Americans regrouped, huddling around Slo if they could, or maintaining watch on the enemy. From what the soldiers were saying, the glimpses I heard, Slo was dying.
I felt the anger build within me. How could this happen now? We were so close to Cameroon, and everyone had been through so much already. We had to make it. I didn't want anyone to die, not when we were a stone's throw away.
"Slo!" LT yelled with a tone of denial. Slo was dead then. I closed my eyes briefly, uttering a silent prayer that he would be taken care of.
Then there was shouting. It came from the treeline as a roar, all the enemy, and the sheer number of what I heard made me afraid. That was the point of yelling like that, and it worked well. The soldiers readied for Round 2. Lake slammed a fresh magazine into his rifle. LT got this stern look on his face, staring down the enemy. Red drew a deep breath.
I wondered how long this would continue.
I thought about shooting something, but didn't see an enemy I could hit. "If it comes to it, conserve your ammo." I gritted my teeth at Lake's voice in my head. For now, I couldn't waste a shot, and having never fired a gun before, any shot would definitely be wasted.
"Run!" Hell was breaking loose, or more so than it was before.
The villagers answered the Americans' command, screaming and running towards Cameroon. I wasn't sure if I should follow them. Cynically, I wondered if they were running the right direction.
A bush next to me was shot up by bullets, and a poof of leaves rained around me. That got me moving. I looked over my shoulder, though, still not sold on running away. The Americans formed a line, firing at the oncoming rebels. One by one they would change positions.
I saw Lake, moving for his turn, when he stopped. What's he doing? He was running towards the enemy—
--to the aid of one of the villagers. It was a woman, taking cover and shrieking right in the thick of the crossfire. My heart caught in my throat. Someone pulled at my arm, and I stumbled backwards. My eyes didn't leave Lake though.
Suddenly his body was spun to one side violently. I saw him wince, the pain on his face from another bullet wound. The woman he tried to save went down, and then I saw Lake fall after her.
"Lake!!!"
Someone was still pulling at me, but my scream emboldened me to wiggle out of their grasp. I don't know who it was that was trying to get me to move. I just wanted . . . I wanted to not be here. To be in Cameroon. With everyone safely there, alive.
My eyes stayed on Lake. He was moving still, crawling forward slightly. But then I saw the soldiers, the Americans, running harder than before.
"Move! Now!" Red came straight towards me. His mouth moved more, probably to swear at me because I didn't budge, but it was lost in a grenade explosion not far from us.
"He's alive," I said, but I doubt Red heard me. I might have whispered it. Lake was still alive, but far away given our relative proximity to the enemy. It was too dangerous—I knew it. My arm came up to point at Lake.
Red just snagged my arm as he ran by. He pushed me forward, and my legs started moving on their own. I barely saw where I was going. I felt numb. In my mind, I saw Lake falling. Crawling. And the enemy overtaking him.
"Keep going!" I heard from behind me. Red and the other soldiers were falling behind, trying to fend off the rebels. I followed a path of sorts, and turned a bend in it till I lost sight of anyone. I could hear the fighting, but I was blind to it.
Until a flash blinded me too. There was a boom and light, both of which stunned me. It was an explosion, and it threw me off the path, rolling over the grass. Shrapnel flew around me and various sticks and rocks scraped my skin and clothes.
Everything got hazy. I know that's said a lot, but that's how it was. I heard voices—perhaps Red calling out. But I was so tired! Red and the others would be running past me, if they hadn't already. Maybe it was too late. My sense of time was off, that relative experience. Maybe I was injured.
Raising my head to survey my condition, I didn't find any limbs missing. Odd.
"You're in shock." This time, Lake's diagnosis might have applied.
And then the ground shook with the footsteps of hundreds of rebels. If they found me, I would be shot. The gun. I looked to my right hand. I still had it. My hand was clamped so tightly around it that if it were alive, the gun might have hurt. I smiled to myself. I still had my knife, but I left it untouched.
I flipped the safety off the gun and pointed it at the rebel soldiers rushing by. Gunfire, which was a constant sound, continued closer to Cameroon. I should get there. But I looked in the direction I'd come.
Common sense screamed at me to look out for myself. I was huddled to the ground, and I had a very clear sense of déjà vu. Rebel soldiers, screaming, running away. I knew that the situation was different, to a degree. I mean, everyone was running, and Red told me to do as much. But something held me back.
Maybe it was grief, for the loss of the soldiers so far. Maybe it was delusion brought on by shock. I couldn't leave though. It didn't feel right. I couldn't abandon . . .
Abandon who? They're dead. More likely than not, that was true. But what if it wasn't? Especially . . . Lake. I know what he said before about the village—had I stayed, he would have found my body.
I ended up reasoning that if I headed for Cameroon, I'd be right alongside the enemy, and probably be killed easier. If I headed back the way we'd come, back to the field, I might be safer, farther from the rebels.
Staying low, I moved away from the main path of the rebels, and headed back to the field where the assault began.
I hoped the others would make it to Cameroon safely. I hoped I would see them again, Nmumbu, LT, Lena, Red.
I hoped I wasn't making a very bad mistake.
