Three A.M.

by Steven John

  I looked down into her eyes and saw not fear but a great sadness and resignation. She pulled my ear down to her mouth and called out above the din, “I’m so sorry, Tom. I’m so sorry.”

  I looked at her, holding her cheeks between my hands and shook my head. Then I pressed my lips to hers and her mouth opened eagerly. Her hands were on my back, my thighs, my ass, and then up my shirt. She peeled off my jacket and then pulled her own sweater over her head.

  “You don’t want this, Becca!” I shouted, stopping her hands as she began to strip off her T-shirt. She shook loose and pressed one hand over my mouth, peeling off her shirt with the other. She grabbed the bottom of my shirt, trying to get it off me. I pulled it off for her, and by the time it was on the ground, her pants had followed. I stripped naked, and then she fell on top of me, her breasts near my face. Like some starving infant, I pressed them to my mouth. She moaned and I felt her lips on my forehead, one of her hands snaking down between my legs and taking hold of me.

  Our lips met. She was on fire, biting, licking, her tongue flitting about, serpentine. I grabbed her about the waist and flipped her onto her back on the pile of blankets and shoved my face down into her crotch, the bristled skin of my cheeks dragging roughly across her soft, tender flesh. No matter—she screamed with pleasure amidst the howling winds and thunderous roar and slashing lights, and then I slid upward and was inside her.

  The world could have collapsed in that instant and not taken us with it. Galaxies twirling and smashing into one another would have had to take a seat and wait until we were through with each other. Thrusting and moaning and in ecstasy from head to toe. Her eyes opened briefly and met mine, and it was pure joy. Bliss. Her nails raked across my shoulders and she arched her back and her screams drowned out the helicopter blades. I rose up on my forearms and threw back my head, driving ever deeper until I too cried out into the night, cried out so that I could hear nothing but my own victory yell and feel nothing but a perfect warmth and joy spreading from my loins to my very fingertips.

  I fell down on top of her, and her tongue found mine. Our lips stayed together for a long time until finally, breathing more steadily, I realized something. “They’re getting farther away,” I whispered in her ear.

  As we made love, it had seemed the lights and thunder were all around us, circling and zeroing in. But now the roar was slowly fading away into a distant rumble, and the searchlights were a dull glow, ever receding. She wrapped her arms tightly around me, eyes staring upward attentively. Slowly she relaxed and her grip loosened, her hands running gently across my sweat-covered back. She looked up at me.

  “Thank you,” she murmured.

  “Thank you … thank you…” I stammered back.

  “Will you stay in me for a while?”

  I nodded and slumped downward, partially supporting myself with my elbows. Her hands gradually slowed their ministrations across my back.

  “Are we safe?” she asked, her voice sounding very small and far away.

  “We’re safe for now.” A faint smile grew on her face and stayed there as she drifted off to sleep. Slowly I withdrew from her, sighing with pleasure. I wiped myself off on the sleeve of my shirt and then wrapped several of the blankets tightly around her lovely sleeping body.

  Dressing, I stood up to stretch and lit a cigarette. We had been lucky, but it was our first day on the run. The remaining nights were limited. No doubt about that. I had the makings of a plan in my head, and I paced to think it through, careful not to rustle too many leaves or snap twigs that could awaken her. My mind kept wandering, though; I had just had sex with her. From the red dress to the blazer to the girl cooking me eggs … I had just had her. And it felt pure, righteous. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her. To wake up beside her and listen to her slumbering breaths. To feel her fingers running through my gray hair. I wanted to protect her forever, however long that was and whatever protecting her ended up meaning. Her chest rose and fell as she took long, slow breaths, and her face was perfectly at peace. It wasn’t going to be easy.

  * * *

  I had been awake for about a half hour. The sky was pale blue, and in the forest all was cast in a muted, dreamlike purple gray. I could see my hands but not the veins and scars crisscrossed along their backs. I could see the shapes of the trees but not their colors or textures. The air was bitter cold but crisp. It felt wonderful to be alive. I was lacing up my boots, careful not to wake Rebecca. We were going to have a long day ahead of us.

  I slinked away from our campsite and made my way through the awakening forest to where the truck was parked just inside the last stand of trees. The fields beyond the woods were still gray and dormant, but a touch of gold had crept into the eastern sky. I walked past the truck a few yards and stood leaning against a young sapling, looking out across the land. It was silent save for the occasional songbird.

  There was no sign of human life. Not even a hint it had ever existed. I knew it was a false, bittersweet landscape, but I liked it this way. Better than the purgatory from which I had escaped, certainly, but in the darker corners of my mind, I had always felt that I was born at the wrong time. I should have lived a thousand years ago—maybe more. I would like to have had no concerns beyond the only three that counted for a damn anyway: sustenance, shelter, and sex. Everything else is padding, clutter. Even the pleasures derived from reading or a glass of scotch or a sunset or all of it are superfluous if you’re fed, safe, and have two sets of genitalia willing to collaborate.

  Perhaps a greater connectivity to others is virtually essential. Sustenance, shelter, sex, and a bit of conversation, then. I had that now for the first time in my life, in an odd way. We could hide in the forest, live off the land, make love, and then lie back and whisper together. My ship had come in, but the port was on fire. Soon enough, we would sink back into the gray depths again. Unless we acted rather than waited, rather than stood by, hoping.

  I turned away from the brightening countryside and walked back to the truck. After opening the door, I leaned in and rifled through our rations. I grabbed a little bag of dried fruit, a can of black beans, and about a cup of rice. The concussion of the slamming door echoed through the trees and I winced, berating myself for the carelessness. There was no one to hear—I told myself that several times. It was just us and a million acres. My hope was that for them having patrolled this area last night, we would have at least a day of relative safety. I needed just one day.

  Rebecca was sitting up, swaddled in blankets when I got back to the campsite. I noticed that one of the rifles was resting conspicuously close by. She seemed relieved to see me but nervous nonetheless. I set down the food and knelt beside her. She leaned in and kissed me gently on the lips. It felt so strangely domestic, even out here in the cold forest at dawn.

  “Do you know how to use that?” I asked, rocking back onto my heels and pointing at the rifle.

  “Not really. In theory … but I’ve never actually— No. I really don’t.” She looked from the gun to me, a sheepish grin on her face. I smiled and told her we’d get to it after eating.

  I gathered twigs and brambles and in a few minutes had a little fire burning. I set the can of beans down close beside it. Rebecca dressed, which I watched with pleasure, and then we sat nibbling on fruit, waiting for the beans to warm. Once they were ready, we took turns eating out of the can. When it was empty, I filled it with rice and water and nestled the can down into the glowing coals.

  We tidied up the campsite as the water came to a boil, gathering blankets and the remains of our humble meal and sharing the bland rice. “Well, this is … caloric,” I said under my breath.

  “That’s what counts.” She smiled back, her mouth full of rice. I nodded. It was indeed what counted, after all. Sustenance. We finished the meal in silence, and then I picked up the folded blankets and two of the rifles.

  “You take this one,” I instructed, handing her the third weapon. “So you can start getting used to the weight.”


  She lifted the rifle and hefted it a few times in her hands to get its feel. Her fingers explored the bolt, trigger, and safety. I was nervous—a gun in untrained hands is a dangerous thing. But she was a smart girl, and I was sure she’d be a quick study. I was also banking on her never having to fire the thing at anyone.

  We made our way through the thorns and brambles back to the edge of the woods. It was fully morning now—the fields rolling away and down across the hills were verdant beneath a striking cobalt sky punctuated here and there by wispy clouds. I tossed our blankets into the cab and then walked to the very edge of the tree line. My eyes slowly scanned the countryside, then the horizon and finally the skies. We were utterly alone.

  “Okay … before long, you’re going to shoot this,” I said over my shoulder, holding aloft the empty bean can and walking about fifty feet out into the field. I rested the can on a small moldering stump and returned to where she stood by a large pine. I grabbed a rifle from where it was slung across my back and held it at the ready, indicating for her to do the same.

  “Pretty simple overall, okay? Clip goes in here, this button releases it when spent.” She followed along as I showed her each part and its action. “Ratchet back on the bolt like so, and you chamber a round … you’ve got thirty of them per clip … safety off … squeeze and fire.” I whirled rapidly and fired three shots at the can. The third knocked it off the stump. Rebecca let out a little gasp at the loud reports.

  “Sorry … showboating,” I said.

  “You’re allowed.”

  I handed her the rifle and walked toward the stump, saying over my shoulder, “For the record, no shooting right now.”

  It took a while for her to work up the courage to take a shot. The noise bothered her. Finally I convinced her just to squeeze a few rounds off into the air, said she could even turn her head away and close her eyes. Soon she was a professional at shooting with her eyes closed tight and her face averted. It took a lot longer to get her eyes down to the stock and sighting along the weapon. But she got there. I coaxed her along, reminding her now and then that our situation was neither ideal nor elective.

  “Just look between the rear sights, put the forward iron on the can. Let your finger close slowly on the trigger.… Wait, stop!” Her eyes were closed again. “You need to keep your eyes open. It’s the anticipation that bothers people—not so much the actual shot.”

  “The actual shot isn’t a whole lot of fun, Tom,” she said snippily.

  “Better to be on this end of it.”

  “Yeah, okay.” Becca lowered her face to the rifle again. She fired three shots. The third knocked the can from the stump. She let out a little yelp of surprise.

  After she had fired fifteen or twenty rounds competently if not accurately, I decided it had been enough. She was visibly shaken, unaccustomed to the loud crack of the weapon and of the violence inherent in its use. We walked out of the open field and back toward the truck. I put two of the rifles in the bed and two in the cab and then turned to face her.

  “Now you know how to use a gun in case you need to. For any reason.” Her pale blue eyes stared deeply into mine. She understood completely. I absentmindedly slid a hand into my jacket pocket, seeking cigarettes but finding the syringe I’d taken from the man in truck. That would work too, if it would keep her from pain. I withdrew my hand empty.

  “They’ll kill us if they find us, won’t they?”

  “Yeah. They can’t afford not to.”

  “Do you think—” Her voice cracked, and she took a wavering breath. “—do you think my brother is dead?”

  “I don’t know, Becca. I hope not.” Tears welled in her eyes and I drew her to me, stroking her soft tangle of hair. She did not weep, merely sighed over and over again for a few minutes. Finally she leaned back and looked out across the sunlit hills.

  I followed her gaze along the peaceful, empty land. Its vastness gave a false sense of security. I was certain they could find us easily and was scrambling for a way to make it out alive. It had kept me up for most of the night. Watley and his kind would not stop searching. Even if we made it to a new city—a different country, even—and tried to start a new life, they would follow. We would have to blend in and disappear and live forever in fear, forever looking over our shoulders and afraid of things that go bump in the night.

  Any romantic notions I had held of slipping away from it all and never looking back were fading. Besides, I’d long known that even if the fog had never come, even if none of it had happened, my life would not have been exceptional. I was born to get by and not much else. Maybe that had changed now. Maybe I could rise to the occasion once. At least I had to try—for her if not for me.

  She had walked a few steps toward the meadows. I grabbed my pack of smokes and drew out a cigarette. There were about fifteen left in the pack. Then I was done. Shaking my head, I lit one and took a long, deep drag. A gentle breeze had stirred up, and I watched the smoke dance skyward in frenetic little spirals until caught by a more powerful wind and blown away.

  “So what do we do now?” she said without looking back.

  “Well, first we clean up the campsite. Got to make it look like no one was ever there. I’ll take that,” I said, reaching for the rifle. She handed it to me, and I put the weapon in the cab. She turned and headed toward camp as I grabbed one of the jerry cans from the truck bed, then stamped out my smoke and poured fuel into the gas tank. Impulsively, I reached into my pocket for the cigarette pack. My fingers closed instead around Heller’s cassette tape. I pulled my hand from my pocket as if shocked, looking down at my fingers. For no discernible reason, I found myself fighting back tears. The things I knew now and the conversations I’d had with the kid—fuck, it seemed they were separated by years. Slowly I eased my fingers back between the rough folds of cloth in the jacket and caressed the tape. For several minutes, I was motionless. Chopin. I’d said I’d bring it back to him. If I died out here, Tom’s music would die with me. I shuddered involuntarily and thrust the tape back into my pocket, taking the empty jerry can in both hands and turning to the pickup.

  I tossed the gas jug back into the truck bed. It made a jarring, unpleasant clatter, made my spine shiver. I positioned it more carefully among the others and looked up. Something was off. I could feel it. Sense it. After a long moment, I knew it. Hadn’t taken them long at all. I sighed, shaking my head slowly. A low rumble crept across the hills. The rhythmic chop of helicopter blades was unmistakable. I turned to walk back into the forest and stopped short.

  Two soldiers stood smiling at me, rifles trained at my chest. I instantly recognized one of them as the broad-shouldered guard from the jail cell in Science. The other man was middle aged and stone faced.

  “Go call the birds and tell them where to put down,” said my friend from the prison. The older soldier hurried off along the tree line, jogging south, away from Becca.

  “Thanks for all the shooting. Saved me a lot of time.” I cursed myself. “Where’s the girl?” the big man went on, his smile fading.

  “What?”

  “First take a step back from the cab and those guns. That’s better. Now … where is she?”

  “Dunno. Keys were in the truck when I stole it. I owe the bitch a black eye—it’s the least I could do.” I tried to act confident, defiant. “Say, how’re your balls doing?”

  He spit on the soil, advancing. “Never better, Vale.” He stopped within arm’s reach of me, the rifle barrel still aimed at my chest. “I hope you enjoyed your time out here. We sure did miss you back home.”

  I started to reply, but that’s when I saw Rebecca. She stood, petrified, not twenty feet away. Her blond hair and wide eyes shone brightly in the morning sun against a backdrop of dark forest. She was directly behind the soldier. I looked at her for less than a second, then kept my eyes on him, my gaze being the only thing that would give her away.

  “Never heard home sound like a dirty word before you said it,” I muttered. “Just tell me
what the fuck to do, asshole.”

  He took another step toward me. The gun’s muzzle grazed my chin. I thought of knocking it aside and leaping for him, but it would have been in vain—his partner couldn’t have been far off, and the din of the choppers was growing louder. Besides, if I could keep the focus on me, maybe I could help her escape.

  “If it were up to me, you’d be on the ground right now with a bullet in you.”

  “You know what? If I had my say, I’d probably ask for the same,” I shot back, retreating a step and brazenly reaching into my pocket for the pack of smokes. As I drew it out, I let the keys fall to the ground. I made as if to retrieve them but then straightened up, kicking them away. “Doesn’t much matter now, huh?” I snorted, placing the unlit smoke in my mouth. Over the soldier’s shoulder, I saw Rebecca set her jaw and begin walking toward us. She wasn’t going to let me go down alone. I couldn’t allow that. I grabbed the cigarette back out of my mouth, raising my voice to mask the crunch of brush beneath her feet.

  “Stop! Stop with the bullshit. Just tell me what to do, man! Do I just walk out into the field and jump in one of those choppers?”

  “That’s about the whole of it.” He nodded.

  “Fine. Fuck it. Here I am, all by my lonesome. You boys win.” I leaned toward him and raised a hand, palm out. “I guess this is good-bye. Too bad.” I paused, drawing in a long breath. “But I promise”—my eyes locked on to his—“my little friend … I promise if I can, I’ll see you again. You and I are not done here.” He cocked his head to one side, confused, but he didn’t seem to realize my voice had caught on the word promise, that those words not meant for him. Both of Becca’s hands were pressed to her face as she stood still, watching me. Finally she crouched behind a thicket of brambles out of view. The last glimpse I caught of her was of those two brilliant blue eyes closing as she knelt. I wheeled and walked out across the soft green grass. Toward the rapidly approaching fleet of choppers. Away from her.