by Krista Wolf
Dakota himself ate three times what I did, then went back for more. In the middle of the breakfast his mother got up and made pancakes, and both he and his father helped themselves to a stack.
Finally the meal ended, and I was ready to be rolled out of the kitchen. Dakota cleared the table, and thankfully went to help his mother with the dishes. It was now or never. I’d already decided upon a divide and conquer strategy, so I had to make my move.
Eager to get my blood pumping again, I turned to his father and delivered him my most charming smile. “Walk with me?” I offered.
The man hesitated for a long, agonizing pause. For a very tense moment, I thought I was screwed. Then he shrugged and rose from the table.
“Be outside for a bit,” he said, and I followed him out the back door.
Twenty-Eight
SAMMARA
We walked for a few minutes in silence, just the two of us, out past the sheep pasture and down near the remnants of the old barn. I’d rehearsed this a hundred times since last night. Gone over all the things I wanted to say.
But suddenly everything escaped me at once, and I drew a complete blank.
“This here was built sometime in the 1880’s,” he said abruptly, his voice casual. “About thirty years after they founded Sioux City.”
The barn itself was a rotting hulk, its walls and doors decaying before our eyes. But the support beams — the skeleton of the old place — were still standing.
“You know, you could reclaim most of these supports,” I said. “They’re still sharp as ever. Just look at them, all sawed and debarked by hand. They’re totally beautiful.”
“Yup,” was all his father said.
“Wouldn’t take much either,” I told him. “A crane. A couple of guys with hammers and spikes, to punch out the wood dowels holding them together…”
He turned to look at me, and his cerulean blue eyes sparkled in the morning sun. It was uncanny, how much he looked like Dakota in that moment.
“What would you do with them?”
I laughed. “Build another barn, of course. Maybe a workshop. Hell, you’d have enough here to build a lodge if you wanted.”
He nodded, and I could tell from his demeanor I’d mentioned at least one of the same ideas he’d been thinking of as well. Score one for me.
“It’s a shame,” I said, “but some people are just eager to rid themselves of history. They’d burn a place like this. Make room for something new and ugly.”
“Those people should be shot,” he actually laughed.
“Well… maybe not shot,” I grinned. “But yeah. Definitely tarred and feathered. Something along those lines.”
We walked some more, up a hill to where an old picket fence was practically falling in on itself. We were overlooking a great, reaching field. One that was apparently left fallow.
“Were you ever in the military?” I asked abruptly. “Like Dakota?”
“No.” The old farmer kept walking. “Wanted to be at one time, though.”
“What happened?”
“Failed the physical,” he said. “Bad eyes. Ironic, right? Dakota could spot a field mouse in a bramble patch from half a mile away. He’s got eagle eyes, that kid. But mine…”
He trailed off. I could tell by the number of flags and sheer amount of Americana around the house he was profoundly proud of his son. There were framed photos of Dakota dating all the way back to basic training. Some even included his commendations and medals.
“I wish I could’ve done my part,” said the old man. “My friends did. Some of them, anyway.”
I ran my hand along one of the sturdier fence posts. “Did you teach Dakota how to shoot?”
His father nodded proudly. “Hell yes I did. Started age five. He went competitive for a while — filled the whole house with ribbons and trophies.” His eyes flashed with fond remembrance. “I taught him everything he knew… up until the Army taught him more.”
“Well considering some of the things he’s done with his rifle,” I smiled, “I’d say you more than did your part then. Wouldn’t you?”
The old farmer stopped walking, and I stopped with him. He still had his hands in his pockets. His expression was the same, except now it held the hint of a wry smile.
“Listen,” I said abruptly. “I’m really, deeply in love with your son.”
He remained stoic. Motionless.
“You are, eh?”
“Yes.”
I stepped into his field of vision. Forced him to look at me.
“I know it’s weird. I know it’s unorthodox,” I said. “And I know it’s the very last thing you and your wife expected. Trust me, I know where you’re at. I didn’t expect it myself. If you would’ve told me three years ago—”
“What about the others?” he asked. “You love them too?”
There was no use in holding back. I nodded firmly. “Yes.”
“Same as Dakota?”
I searched my feelings. “Yes,” I said truthfully. “I love them all with the same heart, the same emotion and intensity. But I also love them for different reasons. They’re individuals, every one of them. I love them for their differences, too.”
“Tell me about the reasons you love my son.”
I folded my arms, then unfolded them. I wanted to be open. Honest. This was my moment — my one chance to make an authentic connection. I didn’t want to blow it by seeming standoffish.
“Dakota’s pure,” I said. “Genuine. What you see with him is exactly what you get.”
His father said nothing. He only continued staring.
“He’s also the most optimistic person I know,” I went on. “With him the glass is always half full. Sometimes it’s pretty damned annoying, honestly.”
I saw him crack a grin.
“Yeah… that’s Dakota alright.”
“And he’s got the biggest heart,” I went on. “It’s so big he’s got love for everyone. You should see him with the others. He’d die for them — any one of them.”
“He’d die for any of his fellow soldiers,” the old man replied. “That much I know for sure.”
“Yes, but it’s different with them,” I countered. “Kyle, Ryan, Jason… these are his brothers. Every bit as much as a his real brothers. The bonds between them — between all of us — they’re unbreakable at this point.”
He looked away. I could see him struggling, trying to process.
“Look, I never imagined I’d be involved in something like this,” I said. “But here I am. I’m going to give your son every bit as much love and attention as if I were marrying him one-on-one. Don’t think for a single second that we don’t do everything together…” I paused, regretting my choice of words, “or that our marriage would be one-quarter of what it could be. If anything, with his war-brothers bound to him forever, through me? It’ll be four times as strong.”
Dakota’s father pulled one hand from his pocket and scratched at the back of his neck, eyeing me carefully. In the morning sun, every line of his face stood out. There was wisdom in those lines. But also, I thought, some small measure of acceptance.
“I can see what my son sees in you,” he said simply. “You’re a lot like some of the women around here. Strong. Fierce. Brave.”
“Smart,” I added. “Beautiful. Driven.”
“Modest?” he chuckled.
“Yeah,” I laughed. “That too.”
A gust of wind picked up, blowing the grass in long, beautiful waves. They looked like the swells of the ocean, the way they moved.
“Sammara look,” he said. “I don’t know you. But what I’ve seen of you so far… I like.”
He smiled halfway, and I wanted to hug him. I wanted to bring out the rest of his smile.
“Dakota’s a big boy. If this is what he wants, it’s good enough for me.” He squinted at me with one blue eye. “But…”
But…
“But it’s not me you need to convince,” the old farmer finished. “It’s his momma.�
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I nodded, my heart racing. I was winning him! Maybe. Hopefully. The victory was sweet, but far from complete.
“And how do I convince her?” I asked.
Dakota’s father nodded in the direction of the farmhouse. He began walking back, and I fell into step beside him.
“One way you could do it instantly,” he theorized, “would be to give her what she wants. What she’s always wanted. The one thing I tried to give her five times, but failed.”
My mind whirled, racing to figure out what he meant. And then, just as suddenly as he said it, I knew.
“Little girls.”
Twenty-Nine
SAMMARA
We stayed a few days. Just long enough for Dakota to enjoy his parents, not long enough to wear out our welcome. Or should I say my welcome. He was welcome to stay forever, if it were up to his mother.
I learned a lot about the Bradley family farm, and how it had changed over the years. They’d traded most of their corn crop for cattle back in the 50’s, and then moved on to raising and shearing sheep. I suspected it had something to do with his father’s soft spot for animals. He greeted many of them by name, scratching behind their ears, feeding and caring for them as pets rather than a commodity. That made for bad business when it came time to sell for slaughter, but shearing sheep was a different story.
After our first night, the bed and breakfast had inexplicably moved us to a bigger and better room on the first floor. Dakota claimed it had to do with Iowan hospitality. I almost didn’t want to break it to him, but it probably had more to do with a 220-lb giant ravishing his not-so-quiet fiancé on a small, squeaky bed several times throughout the night.
We even spent a whole day in Sioux City, where I of course dragged Dakota all over the place to look at the different architecture. So much of it was beautiful, especially the old schools and churches that had been spared destruction through city landmark status. They remained untouched by time, as enthralling as they were elaborate. I asked if we could stay the night in town, so I could see the place at night. As usual, Dakota just smiled and gave me exactly what I wanted.
The entire evening was amazing. After a unique ‘fusion’ dinner at a pizza place turned Chinese restaurant, Dakota took me to a huge warehouse bar. Several dozen people milled around, laughing, drinking, playing pool on one of the many tables or throwing darts. We were three drinks in and feeling no pain when Dakota’s phone went off. He checked it… then quickly slipped outside so he could hear better.
I stood alone in the former warehouse, sipping my beer, marveling at how the place must’ve looked when it had been a textile mill. I could almost imagine the huge spinning machines, running side by side with carding and combing equipment. The hundreds of people who put in twelve hour days here, only to go home with sore muscles and bleeding fingers…
“Sammara!”
Dakota hadn’t returned, he was only poking his head inside. I could see his face in the doorway, all drawn with concern as he motioned me out.
“Now.”
My heart sank. Something was terribly, terribly wrong. I rushed out to the street, where everything seemed suddenly silent by comparison to the busy bar.
“What is it?”
Dakota was walking so quickly in the direction of our hotel, it was difficult for me to keep up. I could see he was tense. His hands were balled into fists.
“Dakota, tell me! What—”
“I just heard from Di Spatia,” he said. He stopped at the next intersection and whirled on me. “Kyle and Ryan missed their last two check-ins.”
I gulped… but whatever was in my throat simply wouldn’t go down.
“W—What does that mean?”
“It means I need to go,” he said, walking again. He was moving even faster if possible. “It means I need to go see what happened. Head out to their last known location and—”
“WAIT!”
I grabbed him and pulled with all my might. He stopped, but only because he wanted to.
“You can’t go!” I cried. “This is exactly what Kyle and Ryan did! They left to find Jason at his ‘last known location’. And now they’re missing! Whatever happened to Jason must’ve happened to—”
“You don’t know that,” spat Dakota. His eyes flared dangerously. He was speaking in the harshest, most serious tone of voice I’d ever seen from him.
“I know you’re not going without me,” I growled. “I can’t lose you Dakota! Not now! Not after all this!”
“Are you saying—”
“No,” I countered quickly. “Of course I want them back. And we’ll get them back! But I can’t… I can’t lose all of you!”
Dakota hesitated, but only for a moment. Then he shook his head.
“Sammara, you don’t understand. I have to go. I’m heading to the base now, directly from the hotel. On the way I’ll put you on the next commercial flight home.”
The streetlights blurred as tears filled my eyes. I couldn’t imagine Dakota being gone too. Going back to the house all alone, without any of them there.
“Please don’t worry,” he said, laying a gentle hand on my shoulder. “I’ll be in constant contact with you. I won’t let—”
I shrugged his hand off violently. “That’s what they said!”
The tears welling up in my eyes streaked down my cheeks. It made me angry, that I was crying. I’d told myself I was through crying. That I was done with tears.
“Dakota, I don’t just want you. I’m in love with all of you. We’re a team, the five of us. All or nothing. That’s what I signed on for.”
He looked down at me with pity in his eyes, and the look stung. I didn’t want pity. Pity sucked.
“I’m not telling you to stay,” I reasoned. “I want you to go. I want you to find them, to bring them back.” I caught his gaze and held it. “Just not like this.”
He inhaled deeply, looking frustrated. His big chest heaved a tremendous sigh.
“Then what Sammara?” he demanded. “What should I do? What the hell do you want me to do?”
“I want you to be smart about it!” I declared loudly. “I want you to go into this prepared! Instead of rushing off to whatever they rushed to, I want you to—”
All of a sudden I stopped... and a chill realization stole over me. For a long moment, silence reigned. The sounds of the city faded to nothing, feeling very distant and far off.
“What?”
“I just thought of something.”
Dakota’s eyes narrowed. He cocked his head to one side.
“Markus Ladrone,” I said simply.
His eyes narrowed even further. “Huh?”
“Markus Ladrone,” I repeated. “Di Spatia’s kept tabs on him, even after he was deposed. Jason’s always said he knows where he is.”
“Yeah. So?”
“Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer. That sort of thing,” I said. “Right?”
He still didn’t get it. “And?”
“Dakota, you can’t do this alone. You can’t even do it with Di Spatia.” I stepped into him. “But with Markus… and his contacts…”
“Markus?” My big fiancé let out a short laugh. “He hates us! Why the hell would he help us?”
I grabbed Dakota’s hand and squeezed it tightly.
“Because we have something he wants…”
Thirty
KYLE
It always amazed me how quickly everything could go south. How in just two or three seconds your entire world could go from totally normal to completely, utterly fucked.
I also forgot how bullets can rip, rather than just punch through. And that was the part that sucked the most.
“GRENADE!”
I hugged the floor of the shanasheel, pressing my face against the filth and grime while waiting for the inevitable. Thankfully the explosion occurred outside. It blew the carved wooden latticework inward though, showering me with jagged splinters and a shit-ton of dust-smoke.
“GO GO GO!”<
br />
I did my best to rise, but it was a no-go. The pain came back even worse than before, not so much flaring as searing its way through my brain, crushing any other thoughts of movement at all.
FUUUCK!
Nothing hurt like this. Nothing ever. I knew my femur was probably shattered, or at least it sure felt that way. I could hear and feel a crunching sound, a grinding, deep in my thigh. It happened every time I moved. And yet…
And yet I still had to move.
“Fall back! FALL BACK!”
I could hear Nanise, the big Samoan. His shouts boomed commandingly, even over the sharp report of a half dozen AK-47’s. The column had been split in half over an hour ago. I wondered if Ryan had made it to the village, or if he was still caught out near the little valley where we’d been ambushed.
Ryan…
Last I’d seen him, he’d been firing the .50cal. Spitting a non-stop line of withering tracer-fire in the direction of the hills — the same direction the rocket attacks had come from.
I could only hope he hadn’t chased them too far. Two of the Hummers had actually joined in, roaring off to squash the surprise offensive rather than retreat from it. But then the second attack came, from the opposite side. It had left us vulnerable. Sent us speeding off in the direction of the abandoned village…
A fresh spike of pain instantly obliterated all other thoughts. It made me bite down so hard I was sure my teeth might shatter.
You have to MOVE!
Staying here was a death sentence. I didn’t know the extent of the attack, or whether our enemy had reinforcements. Shit, I didn’t even know who our enemy was! But they were well-armed. Well-equipped with—
“MURPHY!”
Nanise again! Closer this time. I shouted back for him as I tried putting weight on my leg one more time. The agony was so great it cut me off mid-sentence.
“Here! I’m over…”
The door behind me exploded open. I whirled instinctively, training my pistol on a tattooed Samoan giant. He was built like a refrigerator, with the widest shoulders of any man I’d ever seen. He also had the brightest, widest smile.