by Nikki Lewen
“Quit dickin’ around already! Get her!” Yells his Splitter comrade.
She lands a kick to the side of his knee, causing a good deal of pain.
“Son of a BITCH!” he yells, looking even more fearsome.
“Come on. You gonna need help? Wha’s the matter…can’t handle dis little one?” His buddy laughs at his own joke, pissing off his partner further.
“Shut da fuck up! There’s gonna be,” he strikes at her head and she’s unable to deflect the blow, “no problem here.” Before she can recover, he’s upon her again.
As she tries to kick, he catches her legs, and she thrashes at his face with her hands.
“Git ‘er arms, already!” he yells frustrated.
His partner, eager to help, leaps into action, ready to join the fun. Within moments, both her arms are held together overhead and a gun is pressed into her temple.
“Now…we’re gonna have a little fun and...yer gonna play nice. Got it?” he murmurs, taping the gun against her temple.
Fright fills her entire being, and tears stream down her cheeks. “Pppp wease…wompt,” she tries to plead, unable to move her jaw.
Suddenly, the boy appears at their side.
“Hey boy, guess you weren’t lyin’ after all. Musta been this nice-lookin’ piece of ass.” He tears open her shirt, exposing her breasts.
She screams again and gets backhanded across the mouth. It splits her lip open and sends another shock wave of pain through her jaw.
The boy, unable to take watching it anymore, screams. “STOP!”
“Oh, is mom‐mees’ little boy not okay?” He starts yanking off her pants. “Wha’s da madder, you don’t like pussy, boy.”
The other Splitter laughs, while watching and pressing his gun into her forehead. His accomplice starts undoing his pants.
“I said STOP!” The kid fires a bullet into the air, shocking them all.
There’s a brief silence, then both Splitters start laughing.
“Really? You think you can shoot us? You think you got wha’ it takes?
The youngster’s hand shakes as he points the gun directly at the man posed ready to take his victim. The boy’s close enough that he can’t miss, and they both know it, what’s uncertain is whether he’s capable of pulling the trigger. The silence lasts only momentarily.
“That’s what I thought.” The Splitter turns back to the woman, finishes undoing his pants, grabs her hips, and thrusts.
Before he can complete his move, an arrow pierces his head, and a single shot fires. Two things occur. The man with an arrow through his head falls in perfectly timed slow motion, and blood pools around the woman’s head. The boy stares in shock, unsure of what has just happened. Realizing she’s dead, the kid’s gaze turns from the victim up to her killer. They stare at each other, then, the man slowly raises his gun, and the boy follows suit.
They stand only a few feet apart from one another, locked in a dual of uncertainties; both trying to decide if the other will fire. Seconds pass, then, suddenly, movement is detected in the nearby brush. As it gets louder—and closer—a young girl bursts from the woods firing a rifle while running towards them.
“Mama! Mama! Ma-ma!!” She aims, fires, and is upon them, as the man falls, holding both hands against his bloody abdomen.
The boy rolls over onto his side, sits up, and puts his hands in the air. The girl, confused and disorientated at the site of her mother exposed and shot point blank in the head, is inconsolable. She drops to her knees, and her hands tremble uncontrollably. They hover above the body darting from area to area, unsure of what to do, and where to touch. She fumbles, trying to cover her mother’s body.
Managing to almost cover her mother’s torso, she’s unable to function further. She sobs in massive waves of sorrow, as bubbles form around her mouth, and her eyes swell shut. Mucus builds and collects, creating a web of wetness between her nose, mouth, and hands, as she balls her fists and bites them. In her terror, she forgets everything; her surroundings, her situation, herself. When the girl’s eyes finally reopen, her mother’s bare lower body fills her with rage. Suddenly, remembering she’s not alone, she grabs for the rifle lying next to her and winging it around, points it at the boy.
His eyes are swollen, too, but she doesn’t notice. He stares blankly, overwhelmed with emotion. He put the gun down long ago, but it’s a detail the girl’s missed. He raises his empty hands, but doesn’t speak. Suddenly, he realizes that if he doesn’t, he’s dead. She’ll pull the trigger. Actually, he’s surprised she hasn’t yet, and reacts quickly, before it’s too late.
“Please! Please! PLEASE!! I tried…I tried to help!” He pleads.
None of his words register with the girl. Thinking fast, he tries another tactic.
“Look my gun’s over there,” he says, nodding towards the weapon sitting closer to her than to him.
She looks down, only to see her murdered mother, as pain and terror erupt within her again. She turns, prepared to kill, when the rifle is abruptly ripped from her hands. Neither of them noticed Sadie, who now, stands over them holding the girl’s rifle, the boy’s gun, and a crossbow. Both kids stare blankly. The girl falters, and then breaks down, sobbing; she can’t take any more.
“They killed her! They killed her!” She continues screaming.
Suddenly, she realizes that her mother is still exposed and tries covering her with the pants still caught on one of her ankles. The struggling girl can’t pull them up, or off, and stuck, the pants don’t reach far enough to cover anything. Getting frantic, she tugs at the material. Sadie kneels down and gently removes the clothing from around the ankle to help the girl. She turns to the boy.
“Get something…to cover her,” she demands.
He stares back at Sadie.
“Go!” Sadie yells, staying next to the girl.
“Those men…they-they…they…” she can’t finish her sentence, but Sadie knows what the girls is trying to say.
“No,” Sadie looks directly into her eyes, “they didn’t.” She states it so matter-of-factly that the young girl only stares back, hoping it’s so. Holding her crossbow, Sadie kicks the Splitter who’d been shot through the head. “Your mom fought hard. I saw, and I stopped him before he could.” Sadie’s voice fades into a whisper, “They didn’t rape her.”
Hearing the words, the girl trembles and collapses into Sadie, who catches the poor thing in her arms.
Holding tight, Sadie gently speaks, “They didn’t get her. Sshh…ssssshhhhh…I’m sorry…I couldn’t save her.”
Still hugging the girl, Sadie watches the boy return with a blanket. She releases one arm from holding the distraught girl, to accept it and communicate with him. He places the blanket in Sadie’s hand, backs away, and sits where directed.
Sadie whispers again. “Let’s cover her.”
Sadie releases her grip to show the young girl the blanket. Without speaking, the two of them open it and carefully place it over the woman’s body. They finish smoothing out the wrinkles, and Sadie takes a small step back. The girl falls to her knees and places her head on her mother’s stomach, sobbing in full mourning.
Giving her more space, Sadie steps further away and signals to the boy. The two of them drag away the men’s bodies. The man shot in the gut is alive and moans in pain. Setting his body down, Sadie looks at his wound. There’s no way to save him and if there was, Sadie isn’t sure she’d even try. He’s a terrible man, dying a painful death. As he begins fluttering his eyes and opening them briefly to look at Sadie, she responds by leaning in closer so only he can hear what she says.
“You’ve done horrible things and…your time has come. The pain you feel now serves as a reminder of what you’ve inflicted…” she pauses then finishes, “you should pray for forgiveness…if there’s any to be had.”
With these words, Sadie leaves his side, makes eye contact with the boy, asks him one question, and returns to the girl. She’s cried herself quiet and is nestled up with the b
ody. Sadie puts her arms around the child and lightly helps her sit up. She gives the girl a moment and then takes her hands.
“Can you get your mom’s room ready?” Sadie speaks calmly. “Let’s rest her there. Then, later, when you’re ready, we can bury her. Okay?”
The girl nods a slow motion yes, carefully stands, and walks back to her home.
Sadie motions to the boy. “Help me wrap the body. When she’s ready,” Sadie nods in the girl’s direction, “I’m gonna need your help.”
He doesn’t speak, but nods in agreement. They finish their task in silence and with it completed; Sadie locks eyes with the youngster, who swallows nervously.
“Now…we talk,” she says, with authority.
TWENTY-THREE
Checking on the boy, Sadie takes a shovel to continue helping with the dig. The abuse he’s suffered is clearly evident, and she’s surprised the boy’s even functional. He looks nearly starved to death and badly beaten. Surprisingly though, his spirit is quite jovial, and Sadie’s been enjoying his company during the past day and a half.
Sadie digs out the last rock and tosses it in the pile. When the remaining loose dirt gets shoveled out, she climbs from the grave. They’re almost done with this task, and both look forward to getting rid of the two dead Splitters. Their bodies lie nearby, wrapped in old worn tarps. The man Sadie shot with an arrow died immediately. The other ignorant militant wasn’t so lucky. His was a slow, painful death that met him sometime during the night.
“Jose, help me,” she says, looking to the boy. “Let’s roll ’em in.”
They get the first body to the edge of the hole, pause for a moment, and then push it in. They do the same with the second.
“Dang it.” Sadie murmurs.
One of bodies doesn’t land perfectly, and it needs to be adjusted. Jose climbs in, and Sadie helps from her knees. Once they get it settled, both grab shovels and begin filling dirt back in. It goes rather quickly between the two of them and when the dirt is gone, they finish by piling on the rocks they dug up. As they place the last stone, there’s a long pause while they stare at the mound.
Sadie breaks the silence. “I didn’t know ’em,” she starts, not really sure what to say, or if they even deserve any parting words, “and the only thing I saw from them, was…cruelty.” She feels her anger rising and tries to control it. Turning to the grave, she says, “I hope, for both of your sakes, it wasn’t always that way. May God have mercy on your souls.” She turns to Jose. “You knew ’em for years. Is there anything you want…or…need to say?”
He stares blankly at Sadie then back at the grave. What can he say? These two made him suffer. They’d beaten, tormented, and humiliated him every chance they could. They took advantage of his youth and weakness and never looked out for his well-being or even offered to help along the way. His mind replays horror after horror, all at their hands, and Jose can’t find a single good memory. While taking a deep breath, the sadness of their existence hits him.
“I…forgive you,” he says, barely above a whisper.
Sadie is surprised, then overwhelmingly touched. Already, at such a young age, he’s able to be the better man. She puts an arm over his shoulder and pulls him closer. They stay, standing together in silence, for a couple more minutes, and then Sadie speaks.
“Come on.” She smiles, looking at Jose, “it’s time for my tour. I wanna see your boat.”
The words, “your boat,” do something for Jose that he isn’t yet able to conceptualize.
“Okay!” he says, enthusiastically turning about and leading the way.
Ten minutes down a well-worn trail, the scenery completely shifts. The forest thins, and a small, rocky cove appears, with deep and glassy smooth water. At its mouth, a sea stack blocks the view out into the ocean and it’s entirely outlined by steep cliffs.
Sadie, even more surprised, gasps, “Oooh…I…I didn’t realize it…was…so…big. I pictured something…smaller.”
Jose smiles ear-to-ear.
“I can’t believe it fit in here,” she adds, looking over the vessel.
The boat, anchored only feet from shore, is nestled along the shortest cliff edge. From the mast platform, a cargo net runs to the cliff, where’s it’s secured to a nearby tree. On the ground lies an old wooden plank that Jose picks up.
“Here, at high tide, this works better.” He sets the board across the span between the boat and the shore, creating a bridge to the platform. Jose pauses at the edge of the plank, turns to Sadie, and finds amusement in her astonishment.
Sadie still can’t believe what she’s seeing.
“If it wasn’t for the high tide, the boat would never have made it,” the boy says, proudly.
“I think more than tides were on your side,” Sadie replies, while carefully walking across the makeshift bridge.
From her vantage point, she detects a faded emblem, along with a partial registration number, on the forward half of the boat’s bow. Once onboard, Jose’s manner changes—he’s a kid again, probably for the first time in years. While storing the plank walkway, he rattles off information and the vessels specs.
“Welcome to the Intrepid II,” he begins proudly. “She was the Coast Guard’s primary heavy-weather boat…designed to weather hurricane force winds and heavy seas. If she capsizes…she’ll self-right in less than thirty seconds…with all equipment functional, and…she has a forty-passenger capacity. The intrepid II was out deep to sea during the tsunami and survived. After…she ran rescue missions longer than any other vessel.” He pats the boat’s side. “I think, she’s the last of ‘er kind.”
They make their way down from the platform and to the bridge where Jose’s focus shifts to the controls.
“We employ a fly-by-wire system that can be operated from four different locations. Two out here and two from inside.” He points to the enclosed bridge as they enter.
His excitement and fondness for the watercraft is refreshing. The boy’s knowledgeable and appears fully capable of operating the vessel and repairing a great deal of it, too. Sadie finds comfort in seeing him light up with each description, detail, and story. It’s such a drastic change from their previous chats about his injuries, how he ended up with the Splitters, and the terror he’s lived with.
As he continues giving his tour, Sadie notices the damages inflicted by the two Splitters. They tore his possessions into shreds, and the few books he owns are ripped to pieces. He’s neatly recollected them, and what remains is organized into piles. From each pile, he’s apparently attempting to piece together the pages. Some are finished, while others lie in varying stages of organization.
Sadie bends down, lifting the cover of one book torn in half. It’s worn, and the spine is cracked, but the title is clearable legible. It’s “A Christmas Carol,” by Charles Dickens. Still undetected in her snooping, she peeks at the others. There’s a bible, a children’s storybook in Spanish, and an old beaten-up copy of National Geographic. Checking the last pile, she can tell it’s a technical manual and upon closer inspection, she discovers it’s the lifeboat’s operators’ handbook. Those idiots didn’t even realize they’d ruined reference materials necessary for the very boat they wanted fixed. Shaking her head at the mere stupidity of it, Sadie shifts her attention back to Jose, better understanding how he knows all the precise specs of the vessel.
Listening to him talk about the forward compartment and the seventeen vertical bulkheads composing the frame, Sadie finds it hard to believe several things: first, that he’s survived this long, and second, how gifted Jose is. It’s hard to grasp the fact that he’s only fourteen, has never attended school—at least, in the traditional way Sadie did all those years ago—and has an obviously budding intellect. They head back to the main deck as the boy wraps up the tour. It gives Sadie an opportunity to ask another question, but before doing so, she compliments the boy—after all, she’s very impressed.
“Jose you’ve done an excellent job.” She ruffles the hair on the top
of his head with one hand. “Everything looks really good.”
His grin widens, and Sadie moves on to what she’s curious about.
“What caused the boat to break down?” she asks.
He looks a little surprised, scared, and proud, all at the same moment. Combined, they make for one strange look, but he’s very candid with Sadie and tells the truth.
“Well…it didn’t exactly…break down. I…temporally stalled the engine and…let it drift.”
Sadie raises her eyebrows.
Jose, shrugging his shoulders, explains more, “The wind direction, timing, and tides were perfect. It was my chance…my chance to stop ’em. Or at least…slow ’em down.” Jose drops his shoulders and lowers his head. “It was luck...the currents kept us from crashing on the rocks. Somehow, we safely drifted by the sea stack and right into this cove. We dropped anchor and…with the corresponding tides…manipulated it…until we could maneuver closer to land.” He sounds disappointed with their success. “I didn’t think we’d make it ashore. But, as you can see…they figured that out, too.”
He remembers being forced, dangerously along, making sure to secure their access, so they could cross ready to plunder and murder.
“Seeing what they do...I mean did...to people is…eerrr…ahhhh…was…” he pauses. Words, can’t convey how witnessing and hearing all the abuse, affected him. He’d been helpless, and all he could do was pray for their victims. He recovers his voice, “I never stopped ’em. So many people got hurt. I thought...that…if we were stranded…at least others wouldn’t suffer.” Jose grows quiet.
Sadie, surprised yet again, is taken by his unselfishness, courage, and actions. They should have crashed upon the rocky shore and died. This young boy was willing to sacrifice his own life for the safety of others he’d never even met. He isn’t simply, a better man—he’s a better person. Putting her arm back around him for the second time this afternoon, Sadie finds herself believing their paths were meant to cross. She doesn’t know why life brought him here, but she’s glad he survived. Tilting her head to lean against his, Sadie squeezes his arm, reinforcing the excellence of his actions.