Country At Heart

by Mandy Magro

  Feeling like she had hit the lowest point in her life, Summer threw herself backwards and pulled the doona over her head, wishing she could crawl into a hole and die. If this test was positive, it was going to change the rest of her life, including maybe losing the only man she had ever loved and who loved her equally. There was no way in hell she could tell Dean she was pregnant and then take away his joy by telling him that it might not be his – she would rather throw herself into a pool of great white sharks than do that.

  Fiona returned and, pulling the doona back, waved the pee stick at Summer. ‘Here we go my friend. Chop chop. Do you need me to help you back to the toilet?’

  Summer took it from her, her hands shaking. ‘Thanks, but I should be right.’

  Fiona cupped her face. ‘If it is positive, let’s try to be positive too, okay? You and Dean would make wonderful parents.’

  ‘Toots, I don’t think you’ve really thought about this – if I’m pregnant, this baby could be Marcus’s.’

  Fiona’s face turned pale. ‘Oh shit, I’m so sorry, Sums, I just assumed it’d be Dean’s, I hadn’t really stopped to do the maths.’ She gave Summer’s arm a squeeze. ‘Let’s not worry about that for now, though, until you know the outcome of the test.’

  ‘Okay,’ Summer said as she wearily climbed from the covers. She made her way to the toilet, following the instructions on the packet methodically. Then, making sure she left it on the top of the cistern so she didn’t have to sit and watch, Summer closed the toilet lid and slumped down on it. It was the longest three minutes of her life as she waited for the result.

  The time up, she turned slowly and grabbed the stick. It was a definite positive. The seriousness of the situation hit her like a freight train as her hand fluttered to her belly. She was going to have a baby. And until it was born, there was no way of knowing who the father was. She had no choice. She was going to have to email Dean to tell him it was over, and then dig the knife even further by not telling him why. Deep, gut-wrenching sobs gripped her and she buckled over, the commotion bringing Fi to her side in seconds.

  ‘Oh, Sums, I gather it’s positive?’

  Summer nodded, her head in her lap as she howled.

  ‘Oh fuck!’ Fiona said as she ran her hands through her hair.

  Lifting her eyes to Fiona’s, Summer tried to speak through her soul-aching pain. ‘I don’t want anyone to know about this just yet, okay? I’ll let Phillip know, but that’s it.’

  Fiona knelt down and took Summer by the hands. ‘Until you are ready for people to know, your secret is safe with me.’

  While the boys were at the hospital getting the bottle tested, Summer and Fiona sat snuggled up bed. Tissues were strewn all over the place, since Fiona had cried almost as much as Summer.

  ‘Oh, Sums, I’m so sorry you’ve gone through such a horrible thing, and now to find out you’re pregnant and don’t know who the father is. That fucking bastard needs to pay for what he has done, to you and Tasha.’

  Summer blew her nose. ‘Yeah, I know he does. But I don’t know if I want to put myself through such emotional upheaval now I’m pregnant, Fi. Can you imagine what I’d have to go through once it goes public, which it will, and also the shame it will cause my parents, and Vince and Sara?’

  ‘I understand you not wanting to go to the police right now, I really do. But you have to find the strength to go to the authorities at some point in the near future, otherwise it’ll eat you up. It doesn’t matter how it’s going to affect others, my dear mate, it’s about standing up for yourself and Tasha.’ Fiona gently rubbed Summer’s arm. ‘Do you honestly think you should break it off with Dean over this, and in an email?’

  Summer smiled sadly. ‘I know you think Dean and I are meant to be together forever, and so did I—’ She choked on her words; the thought of saying goodbye to Dean was devastating. ‘But, Fi, this baby is the most important thing right now, and I can’t stay with Dean when I don’t even know if he’s the father.’

  Staring at her words on the computer, Summer hovered the cursor over the send button, her tears dripping off her chin and onto the keyboard. She whispered the words, rereading the email for what felt like the hundredth time.

  Dear Dean,

  I know this is going to come as a shock to you, and I’m sorry I can’t tell you the reasons why, but I can’t continue on with our relationship. There is nothing you can do or say to change my mind. All I can say is my life is going off on a very different path to yours, and not by my own choosing. Please know I love you with all my heart, and I always will. I hope, in time, you can forgive me.

  Summer.

  This was it. She was going to break the one heart that meant everything to her. But what other choice did she have? Tony was going to be devastated too, and knowing she wasn’t going to be able to spend time with him any more added to her anguish. He was like a father to her. And then there was Kimmy and Max; what were they going to think of her, breaking Dean’s heart like this? Closing her eyes, she clicked send, at the same time feeling her world shatter around her as she made the most devastating decision of her life.

  CHAPTER

  23

  Walking down the alleyway, mud brick walls on either side, Dean stayed on high alert. Even though this was meant to be a peaceful mission, he was well aware that a fragmentation grenade could be lobbed over a wall at any second. He’d seen it happen from a distance many times before: the only warning would be a muffled thump before he was blown to smithereens; fragmentation grenades had a killing range of five metres and the ability to cause life-threatening wounds up to fifteen metres from detonation. Two fellow diggers had been killed this way a few months back. Laying his hand on his left pocket, he thought of Summer, the angel she’d had blessed for him in its usual place, against his heart. He was upset he hadn’t had time to check his emails before leaving this morning, and he wondered what wonderful words of love she had written to him in the last twenty-four hours. He couldn’t wait to get back to base tonight to find out.

  Reaching the newly erected school, he stopped to glance through the carved windows, impressed that the school had been cleverly positioned at the back of the village where the students could find refuge behind the walls if gunfire took place. He smiled at the fourteen or so children who had their heads buried in books. It was so satisfying to see that his work, along with that of thousands of other soldiers, had achieved something good in a war-ravaged country. His gaze travelling over the faces of the children, he searched for the girl he had met last time he was here, optimistic her parents would allow her to get an education. He’d remembered to bring the Caramello Koala for her, and hoped he’d be able to give it to her at the end of the school day.

  And there she was, at the back of the class, her bright green eyes twinkling as she spotted him and gave him a subtle wave, her lips jerking into the biggest smile. Dean waved back, flattered the girl remembered him. Holding up the chocolate he pointed to it, mouthing in Dari that he would give it to her later. Her eyes widened as she giggled. Stopping mid-sentence, the teacher turned to see where the girl was looking, frowning at Dean when she discovered the distraction. Tipping his hat to her, he quickly ambled away.

  Indy trotted contentedly a few metres ahead, following the path, a happy bounce to her step, her tail in the air and bobbing gently. Every now and then she’d look back, making sure he was still there and okay. He’d give her a smile, and then she’d continue on her merry way. Above, the bleak grey clouds were utterly miserable, the impending storm almost blotting out the sun. Heavy droplets of rain began to fall, but as quickly as it had started, the shower stopped. All around him Dean’s comrades went about their business, the medic civil action and humanitarian aid mission imperative for the survival of the civilians. It was where trained personnel provided basic medical care to Afghans in need, while supplies of rice, flour, prayer rugs, shoes and solar and hand-cranked radios – permanently tuned into a government station – were distributed among the vil
lagers. Dean and Indy’s job for the day was to search for IEDs in the compounds and houses near where the temporary clinic would be set up, just to make sure none of them were walking into a trap – or even worse, an ambush.

  Stepping through the open door of one of the mud-walled houses, Dean looked to the bare, hard-packed earth floor where the bed the entire family slept on was rolled up in the corner. He motioned towards it and Indy followed her command, giving no indication to Dean that there was anything out of the ordinary near the mattress or in the small space. Continuing his search, Dean eyed the ceiling and walls, where cooking utensils hung from hooks. Indy’s body language told him this home was free from IEDs. Stepping back outside, he carefully avoided the remains of a small charcoal cooking fire, the embers still hot enough to burn right through his boots, as he moved onto the next home.

  A group of men stood off to the side of the hut, something about them making Dean stop in his tracks. He watched as one of them dragged on the last of a cigarette and then tossed it onto the dusty street, eyes looking everywhere but at Dean. Something just wasn’t right – the men were trying too hard to act normal. The saliva dried instantly in his mouth as Dean’s instincts screamed that there was something amiss. Every one of his senses on high alert, his hands carefully gripped tighter to his F88 Styer rifle as he began to warily approach them.

  ‘Mortar round incoming!’ a voice shouted over the radio which was strapped to Dean’s shoulder and within a split second, all hell broke loose.

  A sharp zapping noise grabbed Dean’s attention and he looked down at Indy to see her nose twitching from side to side as bullets whizzed dangerously past them. He could hear the pop pop pop of AK-47s. Women and children began running from the village, their shrieking echoing off the alley walls. A young man dropped dead to the ground, a bullet passing straight through his chest. The men that Dean had been suspicious of had vanished in the commotion.

  ‘Troops in contact, troops in contact, but there’s civilians so watch out, men.’ Cool as a cucumber, Sergeant Harrison’s voice thundered over the radio, letting the men know a battle had begun.

  Far off booms resounded, followed by forty-metre grenade bursts, which looked like cotton wool balls blossoming into the landscape, dwarfed in both size and volume by the artillery shells and tracers that arced out like a meteorite storm through it all. His mind going a hundred k’s a minute, Dean turned to race back towards the school, the little girl’s face fresh in his mind. Whizzing bullets pinged off rocks and buildings. He had to get to the girl; he had to save her and the other children. He was acutely aware the insurgents would stop at nothing, including blowing up the school as revenge against those who tried to give the girls an education. He scooped Indy up, running with her over his shoulder. She knew the drill, her trembling body folding into him.

  An RPG missile whistled passed him and blew up the buildings further down the road, the force of the impact blowing him and Indy backwards, along with a ton of shrapnel. Aware he was airborne, the first thing Dean thought of was whether Indy was okay, his beloved dog no longer in his grip, but the thought left him for a split-second when his body slammed hard against a wall. Crumpling to the ground like a rag doll, he moaned as he clutched his chest, his lungs completely devoid of air. He fought to suck in a breath, his senses all over the place, every inch of his body in intense pain. His ears were ringing and his head felt as though it was about to explode. Rolling to his side, he coughed up blood and his left arm bled from where a piece of glass was embedded in his skin. There was more glass in his legs. Another jolt of pain coursed through him and stabbed at his heart. A quick check of all his limbs confirmed he was intact, but to what extent was he injured internally?

  After taking a minute to centre himself, Dean fought to stand, but found he couldn’t, his legs refusing to hold his weight. Blood dripped down his face and into his eyes, blurring his vision. Dazed and in total agony, he blinked, trying to wipe it away, at the same time wondering just how bad his injuries were. He had to find Indy.

  A whimper at his side caught his attention, and he scrambled on all fours to where she lay. Blood oozed out of her ears and nose, and the tip of her nose was studded with shards of glass. Upon seeing Dean, she tried to lift her head but failed. He touched her face gently.

  ‘You hang in there girl, you just hang in there. I’m not losing you today.’ Dirty tears dripped down his cheeks. ‘I can’t lose you too, Indy. You hear me? You are not dying today!’ Gunfire blazed out from the rooftop of a building across the road, the bullets missing him and Indy by mere centimetres. Covering her body with his, Dean buried his face in her fur and sobbed, the thought of losing her tearing him to pieces.

  Snapping back to the moment, he realised he had to pull himself together or they were both going to die out here. He had to get Indy back to the Bushmaster they’d travelled in; it was the only way he could save her, and although he would be a perfect moving target, weighed down by her limp body, he would rather die trying than leave her to die out in this fucking shit hole. She had saved his life on countless occasions, now it was his turn to do the same for her, at any cost.

  With a rush of adrenaline, Dean’s physical pain faded away, his own injuries the last thing on his mind right now. Sliding his arms beneath Indy, he lifted her up and placed her over his neck like a scarf, holding her legs to keep her safely in place while he ran. He would have to backtrack now, straight into the line of fire, the path in front of him completely blocked, and once he got Indy to safety and medical care, he would go around the outskirts of the village to get to the school on the other side.

  Making sure to stick close to the buildings for cover, Dean raced to the entrance of the village, where he knew his team would be in combat. He radioed forward, informing them of his position so he didn’t get shot by one of his own, at the same time advising that Indy was in dire need of medical intervention. The voice at the other end told him that the medics would be ready and waiting. Bullet rounds cracked and thumped through the air above and behind him, but Dean ignored them and concentrated on running. If a bullet hit him, so be it, but a moving target was definitely harder to hit then a stationary one. He just had to make it to safety, for Indy.

  Heading up a long and very steep incline, Dean finally reached the entrance and once again radioed in, announcing he was approaching. The medic team met him and ushered him towards a makeshift tent, all the while dodging incoming bullets. Taking Indy from his shoulders, they laid him on one stretcher and Indy on another, immediately getting to work. Eight minutes was all it took for Dean’s injuries to be checked over and attended to, and once given the all clear, he leapt from his bed and took hold of one of Indy’s paws. She had been knocked out by anaesthetic, and Dean watched on helplessly as the medics shouted orders to one another, treating Indy as if she was a human, and rightly so. The eldest of the three medics gave him a reassuring smile as he stitched up a gaping wound on the dog’s cheek.

  ‘I reckon she’s going to be all right, mate, although I don’t think she’ll ever be able to hear properly again – both her eardrums have been perforated from the blast.’ A too-close-for-comfort explosion echoed outside and the medic motioned to the doorway of the tent with his head. ‘We’ll take care of her. You better get yourself back out there. Sounds like they need all the help they can get.’

  Thanking the medic, Dean headed outside and bolted towards the gun trucks, at the same time praying with everything he had that Indy was going to pull through. She would never work as a gun dog again, and the thought almost broke him. But as long as she got to live out her days as a retired four-legged soldier, Dean would be happy. He would do his very best to see if she could retire back to Whispering Meadows. His dad would love her.

  An RPG whistled up and out of the village below, but sailed wide of the row of vehicles to blow a massive crevice in the mountain behind them. The gun trucks all fired back at once, the 105 bullets screaming and crashing into the buildings below and the Tal
iban insurgents retaliating. A strong hand grabbed Dean’s arm, pulling him down to safety on the ground behind an armoured truck. Grant. He passed Dean a helmet.

  ‘Fuck, man, that was fucking close. Put this on before you cop a bullet to the head, would ya! Fuck me!’

  Dean took the helmet and quickly fastened it to his chin. ‘Thanks, mate.’

  Grant nodded and then secured a rocket launcher to his shoulder, chugging 40mm grenades down to the village in the direction the RPG had come from. Dean heard the ka-chunk, ka-chunk, ka-chunk of a Dooshka firing from the village and spotted a tracer arcing through the sky. There was a roar as the gun truck at the end of the line was blown to smithereens. A fireball detonated into the sky as what was left of it flew out in all directions, a huge chunk of it barely missing Dean and Grant as it landed to the side of them.

  Dean fought to remain calm among bedlam. An image of Summer filled his mind as he remained lying down and positioned himself behind a M240 machine gun, rocks digging painfully into his bruised and bloodied body. ‘I love you, baby,’ he whispered. He had to survive this; he had to see her again. Yanking back on the cocking handle, he pulled the butt to his shoulder. Dean looked down over the iron sights and into the field of the village, surveying the buildings until he spotted where the bulk of the gunfire was coming from. He squeezed the trigger. Empty brass casings and then the black metal links that encased the bullets together lined up beside him as he held the trigger, walking the rounds towards the target by slightly raising the tip of the gun’s barrel. How in the hell was he going to get down to the school in this chaos?

  Urgency filling him, he tapped Grant on the shoulder, yelling over the deafening sound of the gunfire, ‘Mate, I’m going back in. I got to go and see if I can help the kids at the school before them Taliban bastards blow it to smithereens too.’