“Yeah,” he said. “I got there just before. He was taking care of the little girl when I got there, and I tried to help him.” He stopped and looked at Reed as if summing him up – making a decision maybe. He smiled a small, sad little smile and, then, dropped his food to his plate. “I don’t know, bro,” he said. “I don’t know what it is about him that is so haunting. Did you…” he paused and his brow furrowed like he didn’t know how to say it. “Did you, kind of feel like – I don’t know – like he was trying to communicate with you somehow?”
“What, you mean like when we met him in the morning?” Reed tried hard to understand what Ben was talking about.
“Yeah,” Ben’s eyes studied him closely, and Reed tried to take the question seriously but felt unsure of what Ben was really asking him.
“I couldn’t understand half of what the ‘terp said,” he replied with a chuckle, trying to lighten his best friend’s heavy mood, “much less the gibberish the old man was using.”
Ben sighed. “Yeah, I guess,” he said. Not the answer he seemed to be looking for.
“Look, bro,” Reed said and leaned in to talk softly. “What’s up? What’s got ya?”
“I don’t know,” Ben answered, but Reed knew he did. “Been here too long I guess. Jesus, that was horrible – that massacre. And, then, the old man, just – I don’t know. And, the little girl. I mean, what will happen to her now?”
That’s it. It’s the little girl.
Ben was the “take in the stray” type – always had been. He had always known his buddy to be more sensitive than most. He was a helluva shooter, a born sniper, and a perfect SEAL. The other side of his personality, though, always seemed so stark in contrast. This time it just showed itself on the job was all.
“Look, bro,” Reed said. “I know how much it sucks, but we saved her life, dude. I wish we could have saved them all, but shit, man – sometimes it just is what it is, you know?”
Ben nodded, and his eyes looked wet.
“We’re the good guys, man. We’ll make sure the survivors are taken care of, but what else can we do? You and Christy,” he paused and looked at Ben carefully, “you guys are great. She is way too fuckin’ good for you, but she loves you, man. Maybe you’re just kind of feeling that settle down thing? Maybe just wondering about making it real and having your own kids, you know?”
His friend smiled at him, but his eyes looked a little far away.
“That could be it,” he said.
Reed scooped up another big spoonful of meat and rice – pretty tasty, actually.
“Yeah,” Reed said, relieved to have sorted it out. “Let’s eat and work out, and then it’ll be time to call her.”
Talking to his girl will fix this.
“Okay,” Ben dug into his own plate. “I gotta stop by the clinic and check on the little girl first, okay?”
“Sure,” Reed answered, losing a few grains of brown rice down his chin. “I’ll go with you, alright?”
Ben nodded.
At least he didn’t say “my” girl that time.
Chapter 6
The comfort of having a mattress under Ben’s back, no matter how thin, outweighed much of the heaviness in his heart. Reed had been right, he realized as he stretched luxuriously out in his rack separated from his teammates by a series of camouflaged poncho liners hanging from the low ceiling. Talking to Christy had washed away so much of the weirdness for him that he now had trouble distinguishing between what actually happened and what was just crazy Cajun imagination. It wouldn’t be the first time that his bayou childhood and genetic predisposition for weirdness made him see ghosts where none existed.
The downside of his longer than usual call home was the deep longing he now felt to be there. His team was away more time than they spent back at the beach – with training evolutions and operational assignments – and he had never minded that. He loved coming home to Christy, but he loved his brothers in the teams just as much, and the balance had always worked.
Something changed for me in that village.
The something expressed itself as a new and overwhelming desire to be home and alone on a beach somewhere with Christy. Ben had thought about marriage before. He’d been with Christy for well over four years, and he had never once strayed like some of his team mates seemed to do. But he had never seen the need to change an already perfect situation. Christy had never once pushed for it, seeming to understand their situation perhaps even better than he did. But for the last couple of years, they had always talked about the future as if it would always be there for them together.
“Maybe it’s time,” he mumbled under his breath and rolled onto his side. His eyes grew heavy, and he let them close. But he kept his mind focused solidly on images of Christy and their life together. He allowed a brief picture of the little girl, sound asleep and wrapped in clean, warm blankets in the clinic. He ignored the other, darker images that peeked in from his mind’s peripheral vision and built himself a nice dream about being with Christy – alone, naked, and sweaty on a nice island resort somewhere.
He traveled more than he slept.
At first, his travels took him right where he wanted, and he made love slowly and gently to Christy, her soft moaning breath in his ear.
But, then, he traveled to new places, and he traveled with a companion.
The awake part of his mind thought about the Christmas Ghosts who traveled with Ebenezer in the book his Gammy loved to read him every winter. This seemed very much like that, though the old man, his split-open head glistening and wet and his smile full of brown teeth, looked nothing like the ghosts of Christmas past, present, or future.
And, there was no snow where they went.
Ben followed the old man, whose skin seemed tighter and his muscles firmer than he remembered, through a thick grove of trees. The brush wrapping around their legs was obscured by a ground fog that reminded Ben more of white smoke billowing from a witch’s cauldron. The fog swirled, rising and falling, much like that.
He heard the old man’s voice in his head.
We’re almost there.
Where?
Home. Home as it used to be and must be again.
Ben felt a chill and realized suddenly he wore only the black running shorts and brown T-shirt he had worn to bed. His bare feet were wet and cold.
Is this a dream or is it real?
It is both. Dreams are the reality that hides from us. But you knew that. Your Gammy taught you that. You are a Seer, and you know how to find what is hidden. I will help you remember that strength.
Ben felt a new chill not related to the cold and followed the old man who moved with remarkable speed through the jungle, his feet light. He seemed to move with the agility of the deer from back home – which brought a bad memory he was too late to stop.
Ben felt more than saw a flash image of his Gammy standing still in a clearing in the woods, her eyes closed and her arms outstretched. He remembered how the doe had come slowly to her, unafraid, as if called. He remembered how it nuzzled at her hand and how Gammy had opened her eyes and smiled at him for a moment. He had been amazed. They both looked so beautiful, and he wanted to be quiet so as not to disturb Gammy’s peaceful communion with nature. But, then, there had been a flash of steel in the early morning light, and blood had sprayed across her chest and arms as the deer fell dead at her feet, its throat cut in a wide deep arc. His Gammy still smiled at him as the blood dripped from her chin and the long, curved blade in her hand.
He fell behind and pushed the image from his head to catch up with the village elder who now stood still in front of a thick tangle of jungle vine that formed a wall before him. When Ben reached him, the old man looked back at him over his shoulder and flashed his brown-toothed smile from beneath the gaping and gore-filled wound in his head and face. Then, he flashed his own blade, a dull, worn machete. With a single, powerful slice, he cut away the wall of vines and moved into the open clearing beyond.
A pleasant s
mell of cooking meat (just like the venison he and Gammy had eaten later the night he had learned new things about her – something about that memory bothered him, too, but he had other fish to fry right now) floated to him on thin tendrils of smoke from the low fires on the far side of the village. From the long, low houses of bamboo and thick broad leaves covered in mud, he saw brightly colored cloth which flapped from poles secured to the sides with thick ropes made of twisted vine. Other than the “caw, caw” of jungle birds and the soft breeze fluttering the flag-like cloth and leaves, the village remained quiet and still. No blood, no bodies, no massacre – but also no people.
Where are your people?
Our people are not here. This place is as things should be, not as they are. You will help our people come home. They are the keepers of the living jungle, and without them the living jungle cannot survive. Without you, they cannot survive.
Ben wanted to make the elder understand how he wished he could make this real again. But there was nothing left.
Your people are gone. I am so sorry, but they are gone. Only an old man and a few women and a baby are left. Everyone else is dead and gone.
The old man turned and faced him. His skin glowed with a bluish light, and the fireflies flickered in his open throat. His head wound had again miraculously healed, but the gaping wound from the AK-47 round now stared at Ben and spit black blood over the old man’s chest.
The spirits of the people live in the jungle, and the others remain from view. You must help our people. Help them so they will be more than this.
A horrible smell made Ben look past the old man. The village behind him now held bloated bodies, bellies swollen from gas produced by intestinal bacteria unchecked in death. Some of the bodies, mostly the children, had split open and spilled their contents into the dirt. Millions of insects buzzed around the corpses, feeding on the misfortune. Small animals and birds tore gently, unhurried at the bodies. A few feet away, a small animal, like a cat only bigger, shook its head violently from side to side until a long piece of grey flesh pulled free from a young girl’s face. Then, the cat darted off to the edge of the clearing, the ragged piece of bloody meat trailing behind it in the dirt.
Ben’s eyes filled with tears, and his stomach heaved.
Then, he sat up in his rack and realized the “caw, caw” of the jungle birds was actually his own, high-pitched sobs. He tried to slow his breathing and relax his death grip on the sleeping bag he slept on. He swung his legs out of his bunk and rested his face in his hands, elbows on knees. What the hell could he possibly do? It was over. They were dead. His team may certainly be to blame, but it was over.
It is what it is, Reed’s voice reminded him.
“What the hell can I fuckin’ do?” He sobbed as softly as possible, not wanting to be heard by his teammates on the other side of the thin poncho liners than hung like shrouds around him. “What can I do?”
You will know. You are a Seer.
Ben forced the old man’s voice violently from his head and lay back down, his breath slowing but still shuddered by sobs. He cried like that for a while, thoughts of the massacre and of his little girl in his head. He cried until he fell back into a restless sleep.
* * *
Ben woke to the stirrings of his teammates and stretched his sore back. The images from the night had faded slowly as he had slept, and it felt now like what it most certainly was – a stress-related nightmare.
Stress and guilt.
Ben swung himself up out of the rack and rolled his head to stretch out the tight knots in his neck. He looked down at his right hand and saw the ring had turned a crimson red. It no longer looked polished and shiny, but rough and, well – angry, maybe. He twirled it with his other hand and felt warm tingling in his fingertips.
“Headin’ to chow. Ya wanna go?”
Ben looked up at Lash who was already dressed in tan cargo pants and a black T-shirt. His face was freshly shaved, and he looked rested.
“Sure,” Ben answered with a yawn.
“You look like shit, bro,” Lash said. “You need to shower first? Your feet are fuckin’ gross.”
Ben looked down, and his eyebrows arched in surprise at the sight of his bare feet, black with dirt to above his ankles. He also saw scratches and bug bites all over both calves.
“What up, dude? You go out hikin’ last night?”
Ben looked at him not sure what to say. “Went to the head and didn’t wear my boots,” he said.
“What, did ya hike to Djibouti for your leak?” Lash laughed at him. Then, he shook his head. “Clean up, and we’ll wait for you. Out front in ten?”
“Sure,” Ben replied.
What the hell? From the scratches and dirt he could only guess he had been sleep walking. That crazy dream must have had him up wandering around in camp.
Lucky I didn’t get shot by a sentry.
He looked again at his ring and saw it had turned a nice midnight blue and regained its shiny, polished appearance.
Ben double-timed to the head and took a short shower, just enough to hose the dirt off, and pulled on his own cargo pants and a “Hot Tuna’s Bar and Grill” T-shirt. He dashed to the front of their broken down hangar-turned-barracks where a half dozen SEALs waited for him, including Reed who he was glad to see.
“Hey, bro,” Reed said and clapped him on the back. “Feel better?” he said in a hushed, conspiratorial whisper.
“Yeah, thanks,” Ben answered uncomfortably. “Just needed a good night’s sleep, I think.” He held back a wry chuckle at how untrue that seemed.
Ben found it easier than he expected to keep the memories of last night’s dream-journey out of his mind, especially when surrounded by his teammates. By halfway through his breakfast (real eggs!) he felt like himself. He remembered he was no stranger to burying bad thoughts and dreams after all, though he had gotten a little out of practice after the last few, very happy years. He suspected he owed that mostly to Christy. He felt a sudden and out-of-character desire (more like a need, actually) to call her. He decided he would call after checking on the little girl.
“Well, he’s like a witch doctor or somethin’. Right, Ben?” Auger slapped him on the shoulder and brought him into the banter of his fellow SEALs.
“Whaddya mean?” he asked.
“That Voodoo shit you put in my wound. What the hell was that stuff? Your grandma teach you that?”
Voodoo shit? What the….Oh right! The paste the old man made.
“Worked did it?”
“Worked?” Auger laughed. “Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me? That stuff is crazy! The damn wound is healed up. Hell, my ass doesn’t even hurt anymore.”
Ben felt his head swim a little. Voices buzzed in the back of his head, but far away like in another room. He couldn’t make them out. He forced a grin onto his face.
“I can make your ass hurt again,” L.J. from Bravo platoon said.
“Dude, I’m not fuckin’ kidding. My ass has ached from that shrapnel they left in me in Iraq and, no bullshit, it feels normal now. What was that stuff, Ben?”
Ben felt all eyes turn to him and again an uncustomary anxiety grabbed at him.
“Old family recipe,” he said as casually as he could. “Just didn’t want to hear the whining anymore.”
The group laughed and like sharks with blood in the water turned their attention to razzing Auger for being a whiner. Ben didn’t feel surprised that the paste had helped, just surprised he didn’t feel surprised.
Like being at home. Powerful Ashe. Powerful Voodoo shit.
And, maybe a new power? He spun the ring on his finger absently and realized it felt very warm. He looked down and saw it had turned a faint burnt orange color.
The power is in you, Ben. Your Grandma knew, and I think you always knew also.
Ben pushed the old man’s voice away and turned to Auger.
“We still need to see the surgeon after breakfast, okay?” Ben said. “You need antibiotics, and we need an X-ray to
see what fragments might still be in there.”
“Saw the surgeon yesterday when we got back, and he said it looked like just a little cut – not even deep enough for stitches he said.” Auger looked at him as if he expected him to say something, but Ben had no idea what to say. “He put me on antibiotics already,” Auger finished.
Ben nodded.
A little cut?
Ben had stuck his finger deep into Auger’s leg when he had treated him at the village. He would never stitch a bullet wound because of the infection risk. But Auger had a bleeding hole in his leg and certainly had a bullet in there somewhere – no exit wound. What the fuck?
“Let’s look at it again later in the box anyway,” Ben said, referring to the little closet they used as a clinic in their barracks. The guys had come to call it the doc-in-the-box. “We’ll clean it up again to be sure, okay?’
“Sure,” Auger said, but kind of shook his head a little. “After PT, okay? We can go for a run and, then, look at it.”
Auger hadn’t volunteered for a run since his injury in Iraq, and Ben knew it was because his hip hurt much worse than he would admit.
“Great,” he said. He decided he would use their archaic little X-ray machine to take a picture and look for the bullet anyway. “I gotta stop by the clinic first and, then, we can run.”
“I’m in,” Lash said. “Haven’t had a nice run since we went down range.”
“I’ll go,” Reed said.
“Don’t be ridiculous, dude,” Lash said with a twinkle in his eye. “You can’t go fast enough or far enough to keep up with real Frogmen,” he said with a wink at Ben.
“Fuck you,” Reed said with a laugh. “I mean, you may be right, but fuck you.”
A few minutes later, Ben headed off in the direction of the camp clinic where he could talk to the surgeon and check on his little girl. She had been asleep when he saw her last night, curled up on a stack of blankets at the top of a cot. He had stroked her face and left, not wanting to wake her and not knowing what he really had to offer her anyway. Now, he hoped she would be awake, and he felt confused at his excitement to see her.
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