Good Men

"The good man is the man who, no matter how morally unworthy he has been, is moving to become better." John Dewey

Chapter 7: A Moth to the Flame

Cloud watched fearfully as the lights drew closer, flickering between the trees. "Harry," she whispered, "you've got to go while there's still time. If we try to make it together, we'll both be caught."

He nodded. "I'm afraid you're right. Our options are limited."

"I understand." Her voice held only a trace of bitterness, but Nelson could read the disappointment in her eyes at his ready acquiescence.

"No," he said, "I don't think you do." He handed her the medical kit and his rifle. "The magazine's full, so you have eight shots—that's all. You'll need it to help you get back to Crane. When you find him, tell him I said it was time to make the call. He'll understand. He won't like it, but he'll understand." He searched her face, trying to gauge her resolve.

"Harry, no," she said, finally understanding his intent, but he was already gone, silently disappearing into the underbrush. "Don't do this," she whispered to the emptiness where he'd been.

Nelson moved to the side, deeper into the jungle. He could still see Cloud sitting on the ground where he'd left her, watching him. He hurried on, making less effort to be silent as he progressed further into the trees. Nelson knew he'd succeeded in diverting their pursuers when suddenly the lights shifted, probing in his direction. He heard a shout and the crack of a rifle shot— his signal to run. There was no way he could outpace them—young men half his age who were used to this terrain— but it was imperative he lead them as far away as possible to give Cloud time to escape.

The falling darkness made it hard for him to make his way, but at least it also hampered Wilson's men. For a while he maintained the distance between them, leading them deeper and deeper into the trees. He wondered why they didn't shoot again, then realized it was too dark for them to draw a good bead on him. Also, he thought grimly, they want me alive.

Gradually, the hunters began to gain on their prey. Nelson could hear them crashing though the jungle close behind and he pushed himself harder, making a last, desperate effort. Then suddenly he was falling, his feet tangled in vines. He hit the ground hard and lay gasping, the wind knocked from his lungs. He kicked futilely, trying to untangle himself, but it was no use.

"Stop! Stop or we'll shoot!"

Blinded by the beams of their flashlights, he shielded his eyes as he squinted upward into their hard, implacable faces.

X X X

There were four of them, two islanders and two foreign mercenaries. As they searched him and bound his hands with one of their belts, Nelson gained a fair idea of how frustrated they were by the chase he'd led them. Winded, his muscles trembling with exhaustion, he didn't try to resist as they marched him back to the place where they'd first spotted him. Nelson tried to look suitably defeated, insisting he was alone, hungry, and without supplies. He thought perhaps he seemed believably pathetic, because they only searched the area perfunctorily before driving him in front of them back to their camp.

Nelson was profoundly relieved they'd failed to find any trace of Cloud. Wherever she'd gone, she'd hidden her tracks well. He walked a little straighter, shoulders back, relieved of the burden of worrying about her safety. That only left one thing to trouble him, but he decided not to think about how long it would take to break him until the moment it happened. He would have his answer in that horrible instant, and that was soon enough.

Three more men waited at the campsite, hunched around a cooking fire. They looked up, eyes lighting in anticipation, as the hunters entered the small clearing. Hurricane's party had bloodied this patrol's nose the previous evening and now Wilson's men had the opportunity to vent their anger.

"We found this old ass wandering by himself in the jungle." The man who had bound Nelson's hands with his belt thrust the admiral into the center of the group. "He was separated from the others last night. He's just a paid hand— says he doesn't know anything about the rebel's plans." He folded his arms across his chest, looking self-satisfied.

"So you think you found something out, huh?" said a man in uniform who seemed to be the leader, taking a bite of bread and chewing thoughtfully as he examined Nelson's face.

The admiral's captor shrugged. "Yeah, I guess."

"You found out shit." The leader leaped to his feet, advancing on Nelson. "Use your brain! He's older, experienced, American. Looks like a military advisor or contractor to me." He grasped Nelson's collar, twisting it. "Which is it?"

The admiral shook his head. "Neither."

"Who was with you in the jungle?"

"No one was with me."

"Liar!" The leader slammed his fist into Nelson's side, doubling him over.

"Who was with you?"

"No one," Nelson ground out. He tried to dodge the next blow, but it was impossible with two of the others holding him in place.

The leader drew a pistol and leveled it at Harry's heart. "Kneel down! On your knees!" He pulled the slide back and chambered a round.

Nelson could feel the blood pounding in his head and he wished suddenly, desperately, for the man to ask more questions even if he was punished when he answered with lies. That was life— a duel of fortitude and wits fought with fists and fear. But the pistol— the pistol was only death. Dust to dust. And then he thought of Hurricane's doctor, Cloud's hero, crawling in the dirt, eating it as the child watched.

The pistol was death, but there were things worse than death. Slowly, Nelson raised his eyes and his unwavering gaze, fixed on his adversary, was as hard as steel. "I don't kneel."

"Get down on the ground!"

"No." Nelson braced himself to be shot at point-blank range, but the man suddenly holstered his pistol, considering.

Relief must have shown in the admiral's face, because his captor laughed. "Do you think I'd just kill you? When you still haven't answered even one question truthfully?" He picked up a stick and drew it slowly through the fire. "I'm going to burn you, old man," he said quietly. "You'll roast until your skin chars and melts. Then you'll wish you'd talked. Then you'll wish you'd knelt. You'll wish your knees weren't raw bones running with blood." He turned to the others. "Strip him."

Nelson thought he had fought hard many times in his life, but never had he fought as he did then. He twisted, kicking, feeling his boots connect only to have his legs captured, the boots torn off his feet. Knives slashed his clothing and the skin beneath it, peeling away layers of safety, until eventually he was left with nothing. His hands came unbound, but it made no difference when he was one and they were seven. They seized his wrists and propelled him, naked and writhing, towards the fire.

His struggles were so frantic, Nelson didn't even notice the first shot. The man holding his right arm simply dropped away and suddenly his hand was free. He felt the second shot like a shockwave hitting his chest. Then the man grasping his other arm screamed and fell to the ground, clutching his abdomen.

There was no time to think. Nelson dove for the fallen man's knife and rolled to his knees, stabbing upward into the leader's belly before the man could draw his pistol. Nelson buried the knife to the hilt, blood streaming down over his hand. Vaguely, over the pounding in his ears, he heard more shots rip through the night.

Wilson's men tried to overpower him, but Nelson tripped one and cut his throat. Another grabbed a stick, swinging it like a club. It connected with the admiral's side but he barely felt the pain. He leaned into the blow, ramming the knife deep into his assailant's body. The man's dead weight bore down on him and he stumbled, falling to his knees in the dirt. He tried to rise but his legs were shaking too much so he stayed where he was, waiting for the next attack, the knife tight in his fist.

Slowly, Nelson became aware of the silence. There were no cries of pain, no agonized movements around him. All was still, and in the quiet he heard the soft, dragging sound of approaching footsteps. He still couldn't see through the red haze that obscured his vision, but he felt a small, calloused hand touch his bare shoulder.

"Harry?"

He didn't move, couldn't answer.

"Harry?" Cloud reached out and gently pried the knife from his numb fingers.

He looked up then, squinting at her in disbelief. "Child." His eyes swept over the scene of carnage, the seven dead men lying around them. "Why are you here?"

"Because you are," she answered simply. "Where else would I be?" Cloud's face was lined with pain and she leaned heavily on her rifle. "You need clothes. Wait here. One of them is about your size."

Nelson closed his eyes, sitting back on his heels, as she went to get the clothes. He drifted vacantly until she returned, pressing the garments into his hands. "You didn't take these off his body?" he asked, horrified.

Cloud shook her head. "He had a pack." She turned away as he put them on, then took his hand as if he were the child. "Come away from here." With Nelson following, unresisting, she led him slowly and haltingly through the dark woods to the river. He crouched in the shallows while she washed blood from his hair. "The killing spirit is still on you," she said quietly, scooping water with her hands.

"Berserk."

"What?"

"That's what ancient Norse warriors called those caught in the grip of battle lust." Nelson looked at her and shuddered. "There's blood in my mouth, Cloud."

Balancing on one leg, she held his head while he retched bile. "You shouldn't have come up and touched me like you did," he said when he could. "I might have killed you."

Cloud shook her head. "I was ready, just in case. I know how fast you are."

"I told you to get away and find Crane, not hide until we came back and follow us!"

She shrugged. "I don't have to do what you say."

Nelson stared at her wonderingly. "If I were your father…"

"Fill the canteens, Harry," she said, cutting him off. "I took some food when I took the clothes. We need to eat and sleep."

X X X

As tired as he was, Nelson carried Cloud for an hour or more before stopping to rest. He felt he had to put more distance between himself and the scene of the slaughter before he could find any peace. Finally he stumbled to a halt, almost dropping Cloud in his weariness. She was already asleep in his arms, her brow furrowed with pain. He laid her carefully on the ground and threw himself down beside her.

Sleep came quickly but it brought unpleasant dreams. Nelson woke with a cry, his eyes full of fire.

"What is it? Did you see something?" Cloud was instantly awake, tugging on his arm.

"No," he shook his head, his mouth dry. "I was just dreaming." He tried to dispel the memories, but they were too vivid. "They were going to burn me, child. I've seen men burn when torpedoes hit their ships. I've seen them jump screaming into the sea."

"Harry, stop!"

"There are so many in the water, like a shoal of fish, twisting in the waves. You can't save them all but they're begging you to anyway. They're trying to swim but they can't."

"Harry," her voice was gentler than he'd ever heard it, "tell me about the stars."

"What?" He blinked, confused by her request, momentarily startled out of the past.

"The stars," she said firmly. "Tell me. You're a sailor—you're supposed to know about them." She pointed through a hole in the jungle canopy. "That one. What's its name?"

"That one? Um… let's see. It's in Cygnus, so it must be Deneb." He shivered, forcing himself to concentrate on her question. "It has an apparent magnitude of about 1." He frowned. "No, 1.25. That means it's very bright, very easy to see from Earth." He drew a shaking hand across his eyes.

"Tell me about another one."

"Another one? Yes, all right." He swallowed hard and pointed to an even brighter star. "Do you see that one close to Deneb? It's Vega, in the constellation of Lyra."

"What's its magnitude?"

He studied her face, turned in wonder towards the heavens. "Zero. It's only 25 light-years away—very close to us."

Nelson's voice grew deeper and calmer as he navigated the night sky, pointing out the brightest stars and reciting all he could remember about them. He freely mixed scientific data with the stories of the zodiac, recounting tales of the mythical creatures and heroes splayed across the heavens.

Beside him, Cloud grew quiet and he thought she'd fallen asleep. He almost felt willing to brave the nightmares again himself when she said drowsily, "I was watching. You didn't kneel to them."

"No."

"I'm glad."

"Cloud," he said wearily, "it wouldn't mean anything if I had. A moment of weakness doesn't erase a lifetime of strength. You should honor your doctor's memory. He never lied to you. I don't know how brave he was or what he endured, but there's one thing you can count on— he loved you very much."

"How do you know?" she whispered.

Nelson didn't answer, but his arm tightened around her, pulling her close. Cloud fell asleep with her head resting on his chest, listening to the strong, steady beat of his heart.