by John Shors
Joshua started to fiercely row his left and right oars in opposite directions. The lifeboat began to turn. A smoking plane roared overhead and crashed into the sea. Watching Isabelle weep and hold her belly, Joshua was filled with a sudden and seemingly infinite sense of pride. “I love you,” he whispered, wondering if this would be their last day together, praying that it would not.
“Please hurry, Josh,” she said, her voice quivering, her face streaked with tears. She rocked back and forth on the bench, a profound feeling of helplessness overwhelming her. Though her time aboard Benevolence had been often defined by tragedy, at least she’d been able to subdue her patients’ suffering. At least she’d helped. But now, much to her horror, when Annie most needed her, Isabelle could feel the distance between them increasing. She could do nothing.
As Joshua’s hands bled upon the oars and he felt a muscle give way in his back, he tried to comfort her, for he could see that she was at the extreme limits of her endurance. “I bet it’s a girl,” he said, his eyes growing moist.
“A girl?” she replied, surprised by his words.
He nodded, grunting against the oars, biting his lower lip as he thought of their child. “With big . . . blue eyes and a heart . . . a heart like her mother’s.”
Isabelle watched Annie drag herself through the shallows and then start running down the beach. “Look at her go,” she whispered, shuddering as she wept.
As Joshua watched Annie, he prayed for her safe return, pleading with God to deliver everyone unharmed. “Where did the frightened little girl go?” he asked, awed by the change in Annie’s character. “When did she get so brave?”
“When she fell in love,” Isabelle replied, her trembling hands reaching for the medical kit. “I think Annie . . . she just needed to fall in love.”
WHEN RATU HAD FIRST heard the gunfire, he stopped running. Leaning against a tree, he wept, clinging to his necklace as if only it could save him from drowning. When the sound of death had suddenly stopped, he started running again. Darting around trees, he quietly called out Jake’s name, repeating it over and over in the same determined manner that a baby wails for its mother from a crib.
The deeper Ratu moved into the jungle, the more anxious he became. “Where are you, Big Jake?” he half spoke, half cried into the endless trees. “Big Jake, please tell me where you are! Please!”
Several gunshots rang out not far away. An explosion and additional gunfire seemed to answer. Believing that Jake and Akira were still alive, Ratu hurried ahead. He cried as he ran, his small frame wracked by sobs. Ratu had never felt so alone. Not when he first stowed away on Benevolence. Not when his father left. The terrible noises, the jungle, and the absence of his friend overwhelmed him. Suddenly, nothing mattered but finding the man who he’d grown to love.
And so Ratu charged blindly through the jungle, calling for Jake. As he crossed a stream, he thought he heard shouts in the distance. “Big Jake!” he screamed. “Big Jake, I’m here!”
Twenty paces away, bushes suddenly parted and Akira and Jake burst forth. Jake grabbed Ratu with his left hand, sweeping him over his shoulder. Ratu looked up and saw a handful of soldiers running forward. Gun muzzles flashed and bullets thudded into nearby trees. Akira paused briefly to fire, and a soldier cried out and fell.
Beneath Ratu, Jake hurtled over logs and rocks and seemed as strong as ten men. Ratu tried to wrap his arms about Jake’s torso, but his friend’s giant leaps caused Ratu to bounce and groan. More gunfire rang forth, and suddenly Jake grunted and stumbled forward. Ratu almost immediately saw the wound in Jake’s leg. Blood spurted from an ugly hole, and Ratu tried to press his hands against the torn flesh. A crushing explosion then threw Jake from his feet, tossing him against a tree as if he were no more than a leaf in a gale.
Akira screamed when he saw the grenade detonate so close to Jake and Ratu. Jake crumpled against a tree, his rifle spinning end over end into the jungle. Ratu was thrown into nearby foliage. Knowing that his countrymen would bayonet Jake and Ratu if he left them alone, Akira dropped to one knee and fired his rifle. His bullet struck a soldier in the neck and he died instantly. Even before the soldier’s body hit the ground, Akira was running toward it. He dove for the man’s light machine gun and, grasping it, rolled and fired in practically one motion. Another two soldiers fell and then an explosion lifted Akira off his feet. The world spun around him. He twisted through the air like a tossed toy, landing hard on his back. He tried to stand but his legs betrayed him. His ears rang. His thoughts weren’t connected. Time expanded, wobbled, and burst. To his immense surprise, he noticed that two fingers from his left hand were missing. He then saw Annie smile, and he reached for her.
Roger knocked Akira’s outstretched arm aside. Still on his knees, Akira started to mumble something, and Roger slammed the butt of his gun into Akira’s ribs. Pinpricks of light dominating his vision, Akira toppled face forward onto the ground.
“Don’t kill him, you fool!” Edo snapped. “I need to—”
Roger thrust his pistol into Edo’s open mouth and pulled the trigger. The back of Edo’s head disintegrated, and he fell lifeless at Roger’s feet. “Goddamn . . . monkey,” Roger muttered, swaying unsteadily.
At the sound of Roger’s voice, Akira groaned and rolled to his back. Blinking, he tried to bring his enemy into focus. But Roger noticed Akira’s wound, stepped on his injured hand, and ground his heel upon the bloody stumps that had once been fingers. Akira screamed. He tried to beat Roger’s leg with his other hand, but the world still spun and his blows were almost powerless.
Roger laughed deliriously, gripping his side. “Where . . . where’s that little bitch?” he asked, finally removing his foot from the wound.
Akira sought to gather his thoughts, to properly wield his mind and strength. Blood poured from his wound, and he knew that his world would soon go black unless he bandaged his hand. “Free,” he finally replied.
“Free?”
“From the . . . the ugliness of you.”
Roger wiped his sweaty brow, tried to steady himself, and again smashed his heel upon Akira’s wound. Akira screamed as pain nearly overwhelmed him. “I’m going . . . to drink her blood,” Roger said, spitting out the taste of himself. “Yours too.”
Akira closed his eyes, aware that he was fading, desperate to see Annie again. “Are you . . . a coward . . . or a man?” he asked in Japanese. The pain on his hand came again, darkening the nearby jungle, threatening to send him into oblivion. “I—”
“Get up,” Roger suddenly yelled, kicking him in the ribs.
Akira clawed back from the blackness. He opened his eyes and saw a plane burst into flames through a gap in the canopy. An image of Annie atop a tree then flashed before him, and he made no effort to force her away, as he needed her now. How he loved her. How she brought a sense of wonder into him that he’d never known. Thinking of this wonder, and of how Roger wanted to steal it from the world, Akira stood unsteadily and faced his adversary.
Roger spat out more of his own blood. “You’ll never . . . touch that little whore again,” he said, raising his pistol in one motion, pressing its warm muzzle against Akira’s nose.
“But you see,” Akira said, closing his eyes, keeping the image of Annie locked within him, “I am . . . touching her now.”
“Now?” Roger laughed, putting slight pressure on the trigger. “Did you say now?”
“You would not . . . understand. So sorry.”
“She’ll be next. And she’s going to—”
Akira suddenly twisted to his left, knocking the gun aside with his uninjured hand. Roger reflexively yanked on the trigger, and Akira felt a searing pain in the side of his neck. But his world didn’t immediately darken, and so he slammed his knee into Roger’s broken rib. And as Roger shrieked in pain, Akira dropped to the ground, grabbed Edo’s fallen pistol, and sent a trio of bullets straight up and into Roger’s groin and chest.
And then Akira started to fade away. Thinking of Annie,
and of how he wasn’t nearly ready to leave her, he forced his injured hand beneath Roger’s shuddering body so that the weight of his dying enemy would stop his own blood from departing.
FIFTY FEET AWAY, the gunshots reverberated within Jake’s mind. With immense effort, he opened his eyes. Ratu lay motionless nearby. His head was bleeding profusely, and the sight of such blood caused Jake to weep. “No,” he whispered, trying to move, besieged with grief. “Please . . . no.”
Ratu blinked, grimacing at the pain within him. “Big . . . Jake?”
Jake attempted to rise to his elbows, but his body barely responded. His tattered legs were immobile, as if he were a snail and they his lifeless shell. Still, he slowly dragged himself toward Ratu. Moaning at the agony his movements brought, Ratu clawed to his friend. Their hands met, and Jake rolled over and pulled Ratu closer. Ratu managed to put his head on Jake’s chest. Lying on his back, Jake pressed his hand against the wound on Ratu’s forehead.
“Thank you . . . for . . . for finding me,” Jake whispered, the edges of his vision darkening.
Ratu began to tremble. “Big . . . Big Jake?”
“Yes?”
“I’m . . . afraid . . . of dying,” Ratu whispered, the mere effort of speaking making him dizzy.
Jake felt himself fading, and with all of his will, pulled himself into the present. “You . . . you ain’t alone. I’m here . . . with you.”
“You are?”
“Can’t . . . you . . . feel me?”
“I’m . . . cold. So cold.”
“Think of . . . all them fish . . . we caught,” Jake whispered, his thumb moving slowly against Ratu’s wet eyelashes.
“I’m . . . tired.”
“Me too.”
“Will . . . we . . . travel to heaven . . . together?”
“We . . . surely will,” Jake replied quietly, fighting the darkness with all his remaining strength, wanting to be with Ratu for as long as possible. “Like . . . two salamanders.”
“Will you . . . hold my hand . . . on the way?” Ratu asked, shivering.
Jake could no longer move his head, but felt tears roll down his face. “Yes,” he whispered, unable to open his eyes. “And we’ll . . . we’ll fish. And . . . and laugh.”
“Please . . . please hold my . . . hand, Big Jake. Along . . . the way.”
In the blackness that nearly consumed him, Jake managed to lower his hand from Ratu’s face. He searched for Ratu’s fingers and, finding them, squeezed them with his own. “You . . . feel that?” Jake asked, unsure if he’d said the words aloud.
“Is that . . . your hand?”
“I reckon.” Jake wanted to say more, but an enormous weariness was overcoming him, as if he hadn’t slept for years. Finally, he whispered, “I . . . love you, Ratu. You’re . . . my son. My boy.”
“I . . . I am?”
“Sure as . . . rain’s wet. Good . . . sweet rain.”
Upon hearing these words, Ratu wanted to hug Jake but was powerless to do so. “Do you . . . still have my hand?”
Jake saw his farm. The day was hot and long. Ratu was beside him. “I’ll . . . always . . . always have . . . your hand.”
“I . . . love you too,” Ratu said softly, closing his eyes.
“A . . . fine . . . son,” Jake whispered. “Such a . . . fine son.” He tried to say more, but he could no longer speak. And so he squeezed Ratu’s hand once more. And then he felt himself moving, felt the days of his youth merging with the memories of middle age. He saw knee-high corn, his mother’s face, a dirty arrowhead held by his small fingers. And then he saw Ratu. And he held Ratu’s hand and didn’t let go, even as he felt himself being carried somewhere distant, even as the colors of new worlds washed over him like waves.
DESPITE THE CLAMOR of the distant battle on the beach, the three gunshots reverberated in the jungle, causing Annie to stop and listen. Her heart thudding wildly, she hurried to her left, her wet clothes covered in mud and grime from the many falls she’d taken. Though Annie had been afraid for most of her life, she wasn’t afraid now. At least not of her own death.
And so she ran, trying not to panic at the thought of what the gunfire meant, wondering why the nearby jungle was once again silent. She prayed for Akira, Ratu, and Jake, hoping that a miracle would befall her, and that they’d all be fine. She promised God that such a miracle would prompt her to dedicate the rest of her life to a noble cause.
The first body she came across was a Japanese soldier who’d been shot in the chest. He hadn’t died instantly, and thinking of Akira, she started to weep when she saw the agonized look on the man’s face. Twenty more paces brought her to two more dead soldiers. She spun around, peering through the foliage. “Akira!” she yelled, no longer caring if anyone else heard her. “Akira! Where are you? Jake! Ratu!”
No answer emerged from the jungle. The silence terrified her, for it meant that they might all be dead. Running forward, she tripped over another body. “Akira!” she shouted. “Tell me where you are! Please!”
Annie came to the crest of a small hill and saw Ratu and Jake, saw how they were holding each other. “No!” she shrieked, running forward, sliding to her knees as she neared them. She frantically felt for Ratu’s pulse. Finding it, she searched for wounds. He had a nasty cut on his forehead, and, screaming with effort, she ripped part of his shirt off and wrapped it around his head, binding the wound as tightly as possible. Her hands then searched the rest of him. His left arm was broken, but she couldn’t locate any other significant wounds. Carefully, she laid him down and propped his head up.
To her dismay, Annie couldn’t find Jake’s pulse. His flesh was still, and his legs were bloody and ruined. Trying and failing to hold back her sobs, she leaned down, pressed her mouth against his, and desperately sought to bring him back to life. “Don’t go, Jake,” she whispered, pushing rhythmically on his chest. “Please . . . please don’t leave us.”
She tried to awaken his heart until her shoulders ached. She looked once more for a sign of life. Seeing none, she leaned down, kissed his brow, longingly touched his face, and said good-bye. Then she rose and stumbled through the nearby foliage, shouting Akira’s name.
She found him tangled with Roger and a small Japanese soldier. Weeping, she searched for his pulse and cried out when she felt its beat. Though a plane suddenly crashed into the jungle not far from her, and antiaircraft guns continued to boom, she barely heard the explosions. Her years of training and service took over, and she inspected Akira with trembling hands. She moaned at the sight of his two missing fingers. Ripping a strip from his shirt, she bandaged his wound as best as possible. She then focused on his neck, which bore the rut of a passing bullet. Her tears dropped like rain upon him as she worked.
Suddenly realizing that Ratu was unattended, Annie groaned in frustration. About to leave Akira in order to help Ratu, she heard her sister calling for her. “Izzy!” she screamed, disbelieving her ears. “Izzy, where are you?”
The bushes near her parted and Isabelle, Joshua, and Nathan rushed forth. The two men held rifles, and Isabelle carried the medical kit. Isabelle dropped to her knees beside Akira. Quickly Annie removed bandages and other supplies from the kit. “Ratu,” Annie said, pointing toward a tree. “Go to him, Izzy!”
Isabelle and Joshua ran into the bushes while Nathan remained. “What can I do?” he asked, setting his rifle aside.
Annie looked at Akira’s wounds, which she’d almost finished dressing. “Can you carry him?” she asked, her voice cracking.
Nathan nodded. “I’m sorry, Annie. I’m so sorry.”
Having finished with Akira’s wounds, Annie brought his uninjured hand to her lips, kissing it. Shuddering, she then hurried toward Ratu. “How’s he doing?” she asked Isabelle, pulling anxiously at her own hair with bloody fingers.
“He’ll be fine,” Isabelle answered, glancing sadly at Jake.
“It’s going to be hard . . . oh, Jake’s death is going to be so hard on him.”
; “I know,” Isabelle replied as she fashioned a sling for Ratu’s broken arm.
Louder explosions suddenly thundered on the other side of the island. “It’s the ships,” Joshua said, helping Isabelle with the sling. “They’re engaging.”
“Should we stay or go?” Isabelle asked, trying to deny the weariness that threatened to overcome her.
Joshua put his arms beneath Ratu. “It’s time to go.”
“We can’t leave Jake,” Annie said. “I’ll carry Ratu. Josh, can you get Jake?”
“Let’s . . . let’s take him home.”
Annie picked up Ratu as carefully as she could, holding him like a baby in her arms. Stepping unsteadily, she headed back to Akira. Annie saw her lover’s bloodied hand and neck, and her tears began anew. But she also began to walk toward the shore, and she didn’t stop until her feet touched the sand.
SIX HOURS LATER, after the giant guns of the ships had gone silent, after dusk had swelled and then darkened the sky, Joshua finally stopped rowing. He carefully eased the oars into the boat with bleeding hands that were closed tight by the memory of the wood. Sitting on the bench before him, sheltered within Isabelle’s arms, was Ratu. He stared blankly into the distance—his mind dulled by morphine. Fresh stitches dominated his forehead, and his arm was in a sling. He’d said almost nothing since he awoke.
At the front of the lifeboat, Nathan peered into the binoculars, seeking to make sense of the darkness. On the bench nearest to Nathan’s perch, Akira and Annie also sat quietly. She’d stitched up the wounds on his hand and neck. The hole that had once held his two fingers had been extremely difficult to close in the rocking boat, but she’d finally finished. When Akira had opened his eyes, she gave him a dose of morphine and leaned his head against her shoulder.
At the bottom of the boat, Jake lay in a fetal position. He looked to be sleeping. Joshua had thought about burying him on the beach, but realizing that Ratu would want to say good-bye, Joshua had gently placed Jake in the boat and then collected a few fist-sized rocks, setting them next to him. Now, as Joshua sat beneath the shimmering sky, he thought about the heat of the coming day, and how Jake would have to be buried at sea. He also pondered how he should mention such a burial to Ratu.