by Perrin Briar
“A man’s belief is a man’s belief,” Mark said.
They ate cold dry rations from their packs. Every bite reminded Mark of Tabitha, not because she was tasteless or dry, but because she was the exact opposite. She was full of life and vigor. The world was dull and bland in comparison.
Mark stared into the darkness and thought of Tabitha and the baby growing in her belly. He felt an emptiness, what his life would be like without her in it. A new life was meant to be something to rejoice, wasn’t it? But he didn’t feel that at all. He only felt empty, like a part of him had been taken. It was his youth, he realized, and there was no way he was going to get it back.
“I wish Roach were here,” John said.
Mark startled. He’d been deep in his own thoughts. John took a seat beside him and grunted as if it took a great deal of effort.
“I bet he wishes he was here too,” Mark said.
“I’ve been thinking about it, his death,” John said. “Do you think it was all part of some kind of conspiracy? It’s hard to imagine he would die like that.”
“The world is a battlefield,” Mark said. “You never know when you’re going to bite it.”
“So make the most of life while you can,” John said. “That’s what they say, isn’t it?”
“That’s about it,” Mark said.
“Then what are we doing out here?” John said. “What good are we doing sitting in the middle of the forest in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the day?”
“You’ve got me there,” Mark said. “But maybe we’re part of a larger pattern, a small part of something that will help the largest number of people.”
“Sounds a bit too optimistic for my taste,” John said.
Mark smiled, but it was distracted.
“What’s eating you?” John said.
“Who said anything was?” Mark said.
“Something’s on your mind,” John said. “I might be stupid, but I’m not dumb.”
Mark opened his mouth, and then hesitated. He’d trusted his life to his friends more times than he could count, but rarely his secrets. Did he want to divulge them now?
“Tabitha’s pregnant,” Mark said.
John nodded, pursed his lips, and then looked toward the forest.
“Aye,” he said. “That’ll about do it. There’s nothing like having children. It’s the greatest and worst thing I’ve ever experienced. To feel them in your arms, to care for them and bring them up… It’s the greatest feeling in the world. Outside the bedroom, anyway. But then to lose them… It’s the greatest pain you can ever feel. Especially when they don’t know who you are anymore, because you’ve been away for so long. Babies remember those things. It takes a lot for them to forget. But at a certain point it happens, and you can never get their trust back again.”
Mark couldn’t look at his friend. He was aware of John’s difficulties but he’d never been so open about it before.
“But what does a soldier do instead?” Mark said. “What can a soldier do?”
The thought of not being in the Force anymore left a sour taste in Mark’s mouth. He thought of the world, of home, of the drudgery he imagined existed in a regular job.
“You give yourself orders, I suppose,” John said. “I’m not the right person to talk to about this stuff. That’s something I’ve never been very good at. But you, you’re used to handing them out. You just have to get used to listening to yourself.”
“I could get a normal job,” Mark said. “Maybe something like security, where I could use the skills I have. Tabby’s club is always looking for new security. It’s not glamorous, but it would be fine until I find something better.”
But he knew he was unlikely to find anything better, not within a company anyway. They turned former service members away almost as callously as former prisoners.
“There you are,” John said with a smile. “You’re following orders already, like a good Jarhead.”
He turned to look over at Daoud, lying on his moss bed with his eyes closed.
“Do you think we can trust him?” John said.
“We have to,” Mark said. “He’s one of our team now.”
John grumbled something under his breath about wishing it was Daoud who was infected and not Jacob.
“Do you want me to take first watch?” he said.
“No, I’ll take it,” Mark said. “Take a nap. It’s going to be a long day.”
John climbed onto his own bed, rolled over, and within moments he was still.
Mark stared out at the forest. His mind went to, of all things, the tour he’d recently completed in Ebola-infected West Africa. Something about his situation with Tabitha reminded him of it. Perhaps it was the feeling of being trapped, of a hopeless situation. Or maybe it was just because he was afraid.
TWO MONTHS EARLIER
An appointment in Africa as a Special Forces soldier was one akin to babysitting. This made it no less dangerous than if it was a warzone, and in some ways made it even more dangerous. In a warzone you knew to keep your head, to always be aware of what was happening around you. Constant vigilance. But in an area such as Liberia, often at peace, but with the constant itch of civil unrest, war was a waiting game. Being in the wrong place at the wrong time, or in the wrong state of mind, was a death sentence.
Along the coast of Liberia was the city of Monrovia. In 2014, it was inflicted with some of the worst cases of Ebola on the continent. The Special Forces team was sent in to oversee security and ensure a semblance of stability in the city.
A gang of young black children often scrambled for the soldiers’ attention, with handfuls of beads and other trinkets. The soldiers ignored them for the most part, and waved them away when they got under their feet. Anywhere else they would have considered themselves lucky to get just a clip around the ear. Sparing the rod at the US camp had spoiled the kids with a sense of arrogance.
“You buy?” they said as one. “Please sir, you buy?”
“Scram,” Mark said.
He turned and headed into a tent. The crowd of children, used to rejection, moved on to another target. But one boy remained. He was short for his age, skinny, his ribs showing through his torn shirt. The boy looked up and down the road before following Mark into the tent.
The heat was oppressive, even with multiple fans blowing. But the video images were diluted by sunlight, and needed darkness.
Mark stood at a laptop. Tabitha was onscreen.
“How now brown cow?” Mark said.
“Hey, baby!” Tabitha said. “How is it over there?”
“It’s fine,” Mark said. “How is it over there?”
“Hot,” Tabitha said.
“You don’t know hot till you come over here,” Mark said.
“I was thinking about that,” Tabitha said. “Maybe I could come over there. You know, for a couple of weeks.”
“Baby, we’ve been over this,” Mark said. “You’ll get bitten by a mosquito, and that’ll be the end of you, and I can’t have that. What would I do without you?”
“I don’t know,” Tabitha said. “What have you been doing without me? A lot of self-abuse, I take it? I’m tougher than you think.”
“You’re a whole lot tougher than me,” Mark said. “But I can’t stand it over here, and neither would you.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Tabitha said. “Happy anniversary, by the way.”
Mark’s eyes widened.
“You forgot, didn’t you?” Tabitha said.
“No, honey,” Mark said. “Of course not.”
He clicked his fingers, keeping his eyes on the camera, and waved the African boy over.
“Then what did you get me?” Tabitha said.
“Oh, you know,” Mark said. “We’ve been so busy here that it’s tough to find time to go shopping.”
The boy hesitated, deaf to the conversation going on right then. But he edged closer.
“So you did forget,” Tabitha said flatly. “Or you didn’t, but
couldn’t be bothered to get me anything.”
Mark grabbed whatever was in the boy’s outstretched hand and raised it to the camera.
“See here?” he said. “I didn’t forget. I got you these lovely… bracelets. Yeah.”
“Aw,” Tabitha said. “Bring them closer to the camera so I can see them.”
Mark did.
“They look nice,” Tabitha said. “Where did you get them?”
“I took a trip into town,” Mark said. “There’s a nice flea market down there.”
“When will I get them?” Tabitha said.
“Soon,” Mark said. “I promise.”
“Good,” Tabitha said. “Because I’ve got something to talk to you about.”
“What’s that, babe?” Mark said.
Conflicting emotions played across Tabitha’s face. The image flickered.
“Nothing,” Tabitha said. “It can wait.”
The tent flapped in the wind. Mark peered outside.
“A dust storm is heading in, so the signal’s going to be bad soon,” Mark said. “I have to go.”
“All right,” Tabitha said. “I love you.”
“Love you too,” Mark said.
He switched the computer off and breathed a sigh of relief. He noticed the boy watching him. He felt the cold metal of the bracelets in his hand.
“I owe you one,” he said to the boy.
The boy extended a hand.
“Oh, right,” Mark said reaching for his wallet. “How much?”
“Ten dollar,” the boy said.
“You wish!” Mark said. “They’re worth no more than two.”
“Girlfriend see them,” the boy said. “Now she want. Ten dollar.”
“Girlfriend didn’t see them clearly,” Mark said. “Girlfriend no remember.”
“Girlfriend always remember,” the boy said.
Mark looked the boy over, dressed in rags. It was probably a costume he put on every morning to entice pity from the right customer. Mark pressed his lips together.
“Fine,” he said, handing over the notes. “Ten dollars. But if my girlfriend doesn’t like them I’ll want a refund.”
“She will like,” the boy said, making the money disappear on his person.
He extended his skinny arm, displaying the watches on his wrist.
“New watch for you, sir?” he said.
Mark smiled. He couldn’t blame the kid for trying.
“Get out of here,” he said. “You’ve already fleeced me once today.”
The boy smiled.
“What’s your name, kid?” Mark said.
The boy thought for a moment.
“Kid,” the boy said. “Call me Kid.”
If Mark had known how things were going to turn out with Kid, he would have gladly borne the grief with Tabitha and the forgotten gift.
Z-MINUS: 6 hours 3 minutes
Rat-a-tat-tat. Rat-a-tat-tat.
Mark’s eyes burst open. He sat up and listened, taking in the unnatural manmade sounds of the forest. Gunfire. In the distance. Somewhere.
Mark found John, the last person on watch, facing the direction of the noise. Daoud leaned up on his elbows, eyes scrubbing the canopy.
Boom!
An explosion. Large, but invisible to them. Mark tried to identify what might have caused it, but there weren’t any telltale signs. There was no fire or lights on the horizon. Whatever it was, it was lost behind the canopy.
“Do you want to go check it out?” John said.
Mark listened a moment longer.
“No,” he said. “It could be something to lure us out.”
“Sounds expensive,” John said.
“It could be a recording,” Mark said. “On loudspeakers.”
Unlikely, but it was possible. It wasn’t like the military to spend unnecessarily. They were a thrifty bunch, especially when it came to training, which was only considered an indirect form of improving a soldier’s skills. Much better to enter him into the theater of war and have him learn on the job, and achieve an objective in the process.
Thudding of displaced air. Like the heartbeat of a man running a hundred miles an hour. Mark’s team recognized it for what it was immediately. Trouble.
The thudding grew louder. The three men stood beneath a thick canopy, guns raised and ready for action, eyes searching the dim light, knowing that if soldiers located them, their days were numbered.
The canopy overhead shook, leaves raining down on their heads. Their breaths made harsh noises in their throats. There could have been twenty guys in their team and they still wouldn’t have been able to watch every direction.
A shape like a fat cigar floated above them. The foliage waved, careless and free in the strong breeze kicked up by the helicopter. The sound was loud in their ears. They couldn’t have conversed even if they wanted to. Then the chopper turned and headed away.
“Did they drop anyone?” John said.
“I don’t know,” Mark said.
A flash of light, followed by a hiss that made the world scream. Then a huge explosion that shook the birds from their nests. Another hiss, and this time an even bigger explosion. They weren’t close to Mark’s team, so they waited.
Finally the helicopter banked like a puppet on strings. It took its thudding propeller blades with it.
“They’re really putting some effort into this training exercise, aren’t they?” John said.
Mark didn’t like it. It wasn’t like the military to waste funds. They never spent money on piss-ant soldiers like themselves. He felt a shiver rise up his spine.
“Let’s get moving,” he said.
“They just passed overhead,” Daoud said. “Did they even know we were here?”
“If they had, they would have dropped soldiers down here with us,” Mark said. “But they didn’t. They would have been onto us by now. They destroyed something. Why? To get our attention?”
He shook his head.
“No,” he said. “There are easier ways, cheaper ways. Something’s not right.”
“You think the major is building a trap?” John said. “To draw us out?”
“Maybe,” Mark said, but he wasn’t certain.
“He’s a wiley old bird, I’ll give him that,” John said. “Where does the Edwards strategy ability come from? A famous general in history?”
“Someone far more fierce,” Mark said. “My grandmother. She didn’t suffer mistakes or stupidity. She was always quick to criticize, but not to blame. She would have made an awesome military leader. My father never beat her in an argument.”
“Sounds formidable,” John said.
“She was,” Mark said. “She’s probably up there now, reorganizing God’s archangels for battle.”
“What are we going to do?” John said.
“We press on,” Mark said. “Toward the compound.”
Toward the explosions.
Z-MINUS: 5 hours 51 minutes
The forest was at peace, living out its days as if there was nothing outside its tiny sphere. For the present moment, Mark supposed there was nothing wrong with this supposition, though he doubted it was going to last long that way.
Deafening silence.
Mark crouched. His team listened, turning their heads side to side. It was the third time they’d stopped to listen, and each time, the birds had begun to sing again, and the world returned to its regular course. Something felt off, or perhaps it was just the mysterious events of earlier that put them on edge.
Mark sighed. Another false alarm. He shouldn’t be so jumpy. It was what his father wanted. He shifted his body weight to stand. A hand pressed him on the back, keeping him down. John had a finger to his lips. Then he pointed with it.
Crunch.
Close by.
And then another crunch, this time from the right.
Mark froze, not moving a muscle. He watched, open eyed as pairs of ragged shoes and scuffed boots shuffled past. The figures had scorch marks over their fingers and
arms. He couldn’t make out their faces without turning his head, but he could smell singed hair, and a listlessness that came from hours of boredom. Whoever these actors were, they were good.
Some wore the same costumes as the guy who captured Jacob. Others wore uniforms. There had to be hundreds of them. They ambled past, slow and fumbling. Mark realized then why they hadn’t run into more patrols. When the opposition had these roaming eyes and ears combing the area, why waste valuable resources?
One of the figures tripped on a protruding tree root and fell over. His head hit the ground. He hissed, like a coiled snake having missed its target.
The figure’s face was haggard and torn, a whole new level of detail to the one Alfred had worn. It was like comparing the design and quality of a low-budget TV drama versus a high-budget Hollywood blockbuster. There was no comparison. The guy’s cheeks were hollow and torn, his flesh hanging from his features like it couldn’t wait to fall off. And his eyes…
His eyes…
The figure grumbled to himself, got to his feet unsteadily, and then continued on his way. Another figure bumped into a tree, and kept walking into it until she managed to work her way around.
These guys really stay in character.
Finally, the last few stragglers of the group passed. Mark and his team didn’t breathe or move again until they had all gone, fading into the foliage behind them like they’d never existed.
Mark, John and Daoud got to their feet.
“They aren’t messing around, are they?” John said. “They got the crème de la crème for this training exercise.”
“If you’re going to do something right, you might as well do it properly,” Mark said, though he was distracted.
“Why, during a post-apocalyptic event, would the enemy try to stop us from helping them?” Daoud said.
“Maybe they won’t know we’re there to help, numb nuts,” John said.
“I stand impolitely corrected,” Daoud said.
Mark felt a deep twist in the pit of his gut. Judging by the look on the others’ faces, he wasn’t the only one. They joked, but it did nothing to disguise their trepidation.