Heart of the Resonant- the Soldier's Tale

by B. C. Handler

  Should.

  I’ll know if this was an actual success soon.

  Relief steadied my hands, so I was able to tape the catheter in place without issue. I looked at the elf. She still cried, but a wide smile split her face. I set my hand on her shoulder to get her attention. I opened my mouth to speak but closed it with a sigh. I pointed to the girl, and then made a flat plane with my hands and pushed them down. The elf nodded with understanding and whispered something to the woman in her lap.

  As I put everything I spilled from the medkit back, the elf reached over and rested her hand over my forearm.

  “Delo tay,” she said with a sniffle.

  Guess that’s elf for “thanks.”

  I patted her arm once and gave a weak smile. With medical supplies in hand, I went back over to Judge. His hand was still pressed to his neck, so all that’s left to do is clean and slap a bandaid over him. Hopefully infection hasn’t settled in.

  “That one woman is breathing,” I said as I laid everything down. “I seriously pulled a rabbit out of my ass for that, but if it gets worse later, I might not be able to do anything.” An alcohol wipe was ready in one hand, some gauze in the other. “Alright, let daddy see your scrape. It’s probably going to sting like hell.”

  He didn’t lift his head.

  I dropped what I had in hand and stared at him. I looked down to his right knee to see his hand clutching the pocket bible he always kept on him, the chain of his tags between the pages.

  “Judge?”

  ✽✽✽

  Four hours later, after burying Judge and the wizard, I went to work setting up a camp. The air chilled as the day settled into dusk, but from what I could see through the trees, it didn’t look like it was going to rain. All that was in our rucksacks even remotely useful for setting up shelter were the two large tarps. One could make an A-frame tent, but I’d have to cinch both of them together to make something more spacious.

  To keep the lady with the ears comfortable, the elf and I coaxed her into my standard-issued sleeping bag. As the elf lifted and I went to shimmy the bag in place, I saw the puffy, blonde tail the woman had been lying on. The appendage was about as long as my arm from fingertip to the shoulder, and it was of a similar color scheme to her hair, the tip having a cap of white fur.

  Since the… fox-girl (?) was still breathing, whatever tear in her lung that caused the leak had sealed itself. I withdrew the catheter and gave the surrounding flesh a thorough clean with some alcohol wipes before slapping a chest seal for good measure. There wasn’t time to clean beforehand; the needle was sterile, so infection was unlikely. Though, as I’ve reminded myself several times, only time will tell. A heavy cough might reopen the tear, and she’ll suffocate as the lung collapses again.

  The fox-girl passed out at some point while I was digging, and she didn’t stir while I got her settled. It was for the best. I’d imagine a collapsing lung would feel like continually getting stabbed in the chest. Due to the complex nature of administering aid, only certified medics carried morphine or antibiotics for pain and bacterial infections. The closest thing to medicine on hand was the bottle of Tylenol I kept to help with headaches for when rides or patrols were especially bumpy.

  I could give her a small dose, but I worry if that would thin her blood, impede clotting, and slow down the healing of whatever internal damage she suffered.

  No, that’s aspirin. Aspirin is a nonsteroidal anti-inflammatory drug that reduces blood clotting—good for heart attacks and strokes. Tylenol contains acetaminophen, which is an analgesic and antipyretic medicine—good for aches and fever.

  After dry swallowing a couple for myself, I rattled the bottle. Half-empty, maybe twenty-six pills left. It should last for a while, given that I, or anyone else, doesn’t get hurt.

  Using my shovel as an ax, I felled a few narrow saplings and hacked them into small logs. There were plenty of dead sticks and twigs to get the initial flame going. Ninety percent of all the camping trips with Dad had a fire built using the teepee method. Simple, and it got a large fire going fast.

  With the flames keeping the oppressive chill away and making up for the waning light, I took stock of my supplies.

  One modular sleeping system (in use), one sleeping mat (in use), one extra set of clothes, one tarp, one individual first aid kit (half used up), one canteen with steel cup (less than half full), one GI folding shovel, one KA-Bar knife, one flashlight and spare batteries, one compass, one MRE unit (Mexican style chicken stew), around fifty feet of paracord, one fragmentation grenade, one smoke grenade, one Beretta M9 pistol (forty-five rounds: three magazines), one M4 rifle (ninety rounds left: three magazines), and one cigar case that contained a Zippo, three Maduros, and one Dominican cigarillo.

  I checked the fuel-line of the soft flame insert I used to replace the flint one. The brass case belonged to my dad when he was in the Army, but lighter fuel makes cigars taste like ass. Thankfully, some genius made a butane insert that made it more practical. So long as the lighter didn’t leak, we’ll be good on fires.

  Minus the grenades, and a couple personal items, Judge’s loadout was identical to mine, but he also had the additional canteen missing from my kit. Mine must’ve fallen off when I jumped off the roof, or when I ran, or during that explosion. It didn’t matter.

  He had a total of one hundred and fifty rounds for his rifle (five magazines), and the same ammo count for his sidearm as mine. I decided the bury Judge in the gear he wore; most of it was far too bloodied anyways. And it wouldn’t feel right stripping him. Including ammo and arms, which would put the total weight of his gear around fifty pounds. Considering the same items in my gear, that puts my rucksack around the same weight, plus my combat uniform adding thirty pounds. So total that would equal…

  The train of thought derailed when the elf started crying. Up until now, she’d just been staring at the crystal necklace she pulled from the wizard when I went to bury him. She’d just been sitting in front of her friend near the fire without uttering a peep.

  It was a slow buildup. First, a shuddering gasp, then sniffles, and once the tears started flowing, she buried her face in her hands and sobbed, the necklace still hanging between her fingers. I looked to Judge’s tags hanging out of the bible; knowing him, he left it for me. The elf ushered some words and tossed a handful of dirt to send off the wizard as I lowered him in the shallow grave. A solemn look she had then, but it lacked any waterworks.

  Maybe she was hungry?

  A person’s psyche can bend under tremendous loads, but it was always one tiny, insignificant detail that pushes one to the breaking point. A fly could be buzzing too close your ear, or the fan in could be squeaking, or a pencil snaps mid-sentence, or your stomach rumbles to remind you how empty you are.

  Of my personal artifacts, three of them were snack bars. I get hungry at inconvenient times, so I took up carrying a few of them. Grabbing one, I left where the supplies were laid out and sat next to her. She looked up, an unflattering string of snot dangling from her nose. I held out the bar, but all she did was sniffle and stare at it. Tearing open the wrapper, I took a bite out of the dense, lemon-flavored snack and then proffered it again.

  This time she took it, and after a cursory sniff, began eating. She took more hearty bites and chewed more fervently, but she stopped and sobbed around a mouthful for a moment, then began eating again. At four hundred calories a pop, she should be sated. Maybe she’ll shut up with a full belly.

  The fire looked steady, the fox-lady was still breathing, and I triple counted everything and repacked it in order of immediate use. I excused myself to take a piss.

  While relieving myself, I stared at the tree I was watering. Deciduous. Thin white bark that looked identical to a sycamore; however, the trunk was far too thick. In fact, all the trees in the area were huge. Most had trunks four feet in diameter and towered beyond sixty feet. Some even exceeding a hundred feet, the branches continuing in the black abyss of the sky.

  The
fire’s light dimmed as I walked away. I kept going until it looked like nothing more than a flickering candle in the distance.

  The crooked cross of sticks reminded me of where I wandered off to.

  As hard as I tried, nothing could distract me from the quiet. For a brief moment, I was a child again. Scared of the dark and terrified of everything lurking in the shadows. Monsters could be out there—The thing with the scepter could end me faster than I thought—Where is this forest? Ji-hyun, Heath, Judge and a whole lot of people are dead—I’m alone, I—

  With a trembling hand, I pulled my last cigarillo from the case and lit up, drawing in the sweet, calming smoke. A few beats later, after absorbing nicotine through my mouth lining, the trembling ceased, and I had my cool.

  I tapped some ash onto the upturned dirt of Judge’s grave, not bothering to mask the scowl on my face. The asshole didn’t mention the other stone shard that managed to get the subclavian artery. With the blood that leaked from his neck, I wasn’t able to notice. His shirt and the interior of his vest sucked up the blood like a sponge. He probably died a few minutes after I left him.

  “I told you not to die, dick.”

  Being a devout follower of the good word, he even took it upon himself to leave me a parting message by bookmarking the bible with his tags and leaving a bloodied thumbprint in the passage.

  Proverbs 24:14 Know that wisdom is such to your soul; if you find it, there will be a future, and your hope will not be cut off.

  Awfully melodramatic.

  “Why?” I asked the mound of dirt.

  Taking one last draw, I shucked my cigarillo nub into the forest. The smoldering tip flew through the air like a firefly, and then the darkness consumed the light. I stared at the heavens and exhaled the last comforting wisps of smoke.

  “And what the fuck are you even doing up there?”

  Chapter 5

  One moment I was away. The next, I had my pistol drawn and pressed into someone’s throat.

  The elf stared at me wide-eyed, her hand still resting on my shoulder while my barrel pressed into the soft spot where her two clavicles met. Her silvery gaze remained glued to mine while I imagined how easy it would be to pull the trigger and watch her bleed out—maybe use a follow-up shot to end it quickly.

  No. That would be wasteful. Better to use just the one for her and let the other die from exposure.

  As the civil parts of my brain woke up, the morbid thoughts slipped to the very back of my head.

  I thumbed the safety with an audible click and holstered the pistol. The elf pulled away and sat back on her haunches, watching while I rubbed the tired from my eyes. Yesterday only allowed maybe an hour of sleep. I eyed the fox-woman, envious at how she was able to sleep for an entire day. At some point in the dead of night on the second day, I managed to pass out. Though, I would wake on and off up until the elf woke me. The last time I stirred was predawn. After feeding some wood into the fire, I passed out while sitting up. My back ached and felt stiff as a board.

  Working the last kink from my neck, I gave the elf my attention and asked gruffly, “What?”

  She rambled off a series of things with a worried face and then pointed to the fox-woman. I was tempted to remind her, like yesterday, that I couldn't understand.

  Just point to get to the point, dumb broad.

  I got to my feet, my back popping in the process, and went over to the sleeping bag where the fox-woman was bundled up. She was still moaning and groaning, same as last night, which was so damn annoying, only she was sweating buckets now. I pressed the back of my hand to her sweaty forehead, confirming her fever. I gave a sideways glance to the elf, who watched me pleadingly.

  What the hell do you want me to do? I wanted to ask. I suppose I could’ve; not like she’d even know.

  I grabbed the Tylenol from my pocket and shook out a couple of pills. Directing the elf to hold the fox-woman’s mouth open, I placed the pills on the back of her tongue and poured a little water from my canteen. The elf kept the other’s mouth closed and massaged her throat until we saw that she swallowed. That should help the fever. Or ease the pain to shut her up, at the very least.

  Opening up the sleeping bag and exposing the fox-girls bare chest, I saw that the area where I did the compression was a little red and swollen, but no leakage. With that, the fever, and the overt signs of malaise, she had an infection.

  I massaged my throbbing temples. There would be so much less to deal with if she had died. Judge might still be here, and we might’ve been able to salvage whatever damned situation we fell into — God’s way of punishing me, perhaps.

  Judge, Ji, and Heath get to chill in the clouds while I’m condemned with the company of a woman who can’t talk, and another woman acting as the boulder I’m forced to carry.

  Just hungry. That’s why I’m so irrevocably pissed.

  Hunger never came yesterday, so I gave my last two snack bars to the girls—the elf having to feed the other one á la premastication. Watching one person spit food into the mouth of another killed any lingering appetite I may have had.

  Two and a half days passed since I last ate, so my stomach roared.

  The elf looked satisfied with my efforts, so I left and went to get the MRE from my rucksack. After some deliberation, I decided to go with the Mexican-style chicken stew; save Judge’s pork sausage patty for another day. At around twelve hundred calories each, I could make one MRE last two days, three by being frugal.

  As I ripped along the perforated line and got everything set out, the elf joined me. I glanced at her, but it didn’t look like she had anything to say, so I went back to getting the stew heated in the ration heater. The powdered magnesium in the little cooking pouch reacts with water, producing heat without the need for a flame. The elf spoke up while the stew warmed up.

  “Sets gá youl de Meriel.”

  Sighing, I looked up with a brow cocked.

  She repeated the sentence slower, as if that would help, then pointed to her chest. “Meriel,” she emphasized, jabbing her chest a few times.

  “Your name? Meriel?” I humored.

  She pointed to her chest and repeated the word with a nod.

  I pointed to the comatose fox-woman, which she responded with, “Fell.”

  “Meriel, Fell, howdy,” I said before going through my drink packs.

  There was the army’s version of Gatorade, coffee, or tea. The sweetened electrolyte powder was the smart thing, but freeze-dried coffee sounded more appealing. Before I could choose, the elf—Meriel—opened her trap again.

  She rambled off in that foreign tongue and then pointed to me, her head tilted in question.

  “Oliver Lawe,” I replied without looking up.

  “Al-Leever Low?” she echoed.

  “Close enough.”

  The stew’s savory aroma filled the air just as I set aside the canteen cup with water to boil over the fire’s coals. Drinking the coffee cold crossed my mind due to how badly I needed a caffeine fix, but the coffee already tasted like acidic shit.

  Steam rushed out of the stew pouch as I tore it the rest of the way open. Spoon in hand, I went to eat, then paused when I caught Meriel staring. Her gaze looked up from my food to meet my eyes, her stomach growling a second later.

  Meriel stripped off her leather armor last night, setting it near where Fell rested. Underneath the protective gear was a very form-fitting, black compression shirt of some kind. Aside from the black riding pants, which also highlighted her powerful lower body, she only had her daggers sheathed at her hips. She had a very lithe and toned frame, the musculature clear in her stomach and shoulders, even under the thin attire. The curvature in her legs was the result of muscle, hardly an ounce of fat on her taut form.

  I tore my eyes away from her body and ate a few spoonfuls of the stew before eating a couple of crackers. The olive-skinned elf didn’t bother to mask her disappointment. She drew her knees to her chest and stared at the fire.

  “Christ, you’re l
ike a fucking kid,” I groused and then held out the pouch. She stared at me like a wild animal would a person offering food. With a shake of the pouch, I said, “Go on.”

  She accepted, and after a hesitant whiff, she ate one spoonful. After that, she shoveled everything into her mouth like the food was going to disappear. I took the heated water and mixed my coffee, thinking about the new rationing method. Splitting everything three ways meant that each MRE would only last a day.

  Better to starve in company, then.

  I ate a handful of cheese-filled pretzels, and then a couple pieces of dried fruit, thinking they would be best for Fell—the antioxidants should help her body fight the fever.

  It was when I went to drink my coffee that I noticed a new problem. After watering the fox-woman, and making coffee, I only had half a pint left. With Judge’s canteens, we had a little over two quarts. People go without eating for at least two weeks—maybe three for me, maybe less for the girls—but no one can go beyond five days without water. If the bare minimum water intake for a moderately healthy person was about a quart, then we had a water supply of maybe two days. However, one person wasn’t moderately healthy. Given Fell’s fever, she’ll need more fluids.

  Dismissing stressful thoughts, I tried to enjoy my shitty coffee for a few minutes.

  “Meriel,” I said once I finished the last drop.

  She looked over with cracker crumbs on her lips. I gave her the pouch of dried fruit and pointed to Fell, then mimed eating. Brushing away the crumbs, she took the fruit and joined her friend’s side.

  She tried to rouse Fell, but only received a weak groan in response. Meriel chewed up some of the food, and then pressed her lips to Fell’s to transfer the fruity mush. The elf didn’t show any disgust, even going so far as to look tender with how carefully she treated the other woman. Meriel showed sorrow at the wizard’s death, but the strong visage she set by our first encounter shattered once Fell was suffocating in front of her. They must be good friends.