by Francis Bate
It was already morning when Patricia woke them up. Stan went out to the wild to look for food while the two of them were left in the camp. The swamp wasn’t like the previous wetland he saw back in Lamont. But it was wider. He came back bringing nothing so they just decided to open another canned goods.
Before they could have a breakfast, Stan heard the rustling of dried leaves followed by footsteps. He ordered Patricia and Jarvis to get ready and get armed. He saw four people approaching their direction. His hindsight caught a glimpse of shining metals. The sun reflected through the steel dazzling in the air. They clasped tightly on it.
Stan packed his things and placed a bag on his shoulders. Jarvis took the other bag and wore it. Silently muffling the two, fear came crowding Patricia’s face but Stan calmed her down. “Remember what we’ve talked about. Use your weapon only when danger arises. Have a good grip on it, aim the muzzle to the enemy and pull the trigger. Do you understand?” Stan held her shoulders and shook her. “Are we clear?” He asked again. She nodded.
Stan held her gun and checked the magazine well, it has been loaded.
They positioned behind a tree near the camp, hiding from them. Stan watched as the men searched the area when a familiar face came into his view.
“Stephen,” he whispered. He gripped his gun and pointed towards their direction.
Slowly and carefully assessing the swamp, Stephen grunted when they could not find Stan and his group. He was losing patience and control. But his comrades tried to shush him. Stan couldn’t hear them but he assumed that they came back for revenge. Stephen stepped off trying to find useful traces. They were at the field where they met Stan yesterday.
Stan glanced at Jarvis who hid in a tree beside him and to Patricia behind him. She was shaking out of nervousness and fear. In her hands was the gun Stan gave her. Stan looked back to where Stephen was. He studied the three men he brought and they seemed to be hungry for a clash.
Slowly moving in their direction, the intruders slumped as if they have lost a match. They were about to leave when Stephen bent to the ground and brushed the soil. It has a boot print. He called out to his companions and gradually followed the boot prints on the ground.
Rancor depicted Stephen’s features. He hid his smirk as his eyebrows met. It was pure anger mouthing for revenge.
Nearing the camp, Jarvis began to open fire and Stan followed suit. Two figures dropped into the ground. Stan hit another man’s leg as it cried in excruciating pain. Jarvis was able to hit the last man on the ground. They both exchanged looks. But just after the last gunshot, Stan fell to the ground with a heavy thud that seems like someone hammered him right behind his head.
Trying to keep him awake, he heard Patricia screaming and Jarvis was shouting at him. She doesn’t know what to do. Tears started pouring down her face as she shouted his name. Jarvis removed the pack on Stan’s back and placed it on his. They dragged him out of the swamp and into the field near the post office. She was crying helplessly. Tinges of blood from him are oozing out making her sick. But her adrenaline was working it out for her.
“Stay with us, Stan. Please stay with us,” she yelled while they were dragging him.
Stan was blankly staring at the sky. His eyes were droopy and something in his mind is telling him to close his eyes. It was hypnotizing as if he was anesthetized for the pain. He closed his eyes and it felt good. He thought about his family. From the day before he left to the day he last saw their smiles, it clearly came back rushing to him. Echoes of their voices were playing in his mind.
His wife was smiling sweetly at him; he could hear his children playing with their dollhouse.
“I want to be a doctor someday,” one of her daughters said, dressing their dolls and combing their hair. She donned her doll a white garb representing the coat of medical professionals. She looked at her younger sister and showed her doll.
“I want to be just like daddy,” she beamed tilting her head with pride. Grabbing an overall, she put it on her doll and showed it to her sister.
“Why? Do you want to leave your family for work?” Her older sister asked, glancing at her. She placed the bag onto the arms of the doll and swung it in motion.
“Nope,” she answered. She placed her doll on the table and rearranged the furniture of the dollhouse. “I want to help people fix their equipment so they wouldn’t keep buying new things. It would cost them lesser, right? Dad said we must learn to appreciate things.”
Stan and his wife chuckled at them. They were listening from the other door as they exchange thoughts and dreams. He watched himself as he recalled the memory of yesterday. He watched as his family slowly faded away. Searching for them, he kept shouting for their names. The names that he used to call them but no one seemed to listen. They were gone and he passed out.
“I’m sorry, Stan. I’m sorry,” Stan opened his eyes to see Patricia repeating those words to him. She was crying a river when she saw him open his eyes. “Shh, you don’t have to speak,” she added when she saw him trying to open his mouth.
Patricia reached for a bandage from Jarvis’s hands and loosened it. Grabbing the end of the strip, he wrapped his head around it. Jarvis has been silent but he couldn’t stop thinking of blaming her for what happened. The pain was excruciating and he could barely move. The ground was slowly eating him alive.
Feeling the heavy throbbing in his head, his eyelids closed as he drifted back to oblivion. An unrecognizable image stood before him. He could not recognize it but it led him to reminiscence. It told him to follow her.
Scanning the area, it looked familiar but empty. He walked through the stairs and into the hallway. There was nothing but a neutral color of sadness. The end room was half-closed. Walking towards the door, he heard tiny sobs from inside. He stepped in remembering that it was his daughters’ bedroom. The room spoke of solitary and melancholy. In an enclosed room where darkness bloomed, he watched as the room brightened and flashbacks went chasing him back.
Stan saw his oldest daughter sobbing on a pillow. He went closer to her stroking her hair.
“Daddy’s here, sweetheart. You can tell me what happened?” He sat on the side of the bed and held her shoulders. She faced him, her face was drenched in tears and her eyes were red. Sniffing, she hugged her dad and clung onto him.
“What’s wrong, sweetie?” He asked, calming her down. He carried her into his arms and he leaned on the bed wall carefully laying her on his arms cradling her like a little baby.
She looked up to him sniffing her nose and rubbing her eyes with her wrist. He dabbed her face with his thumb and freed it with tears. “I missed you, daddy.” She muttered and buried her face on his chest. Hugging him tight, he paid the gesture back and kissed her forehead.
“Daddy missed you too, sweetie. Don’t cry,” he hushed her. Stan recalled that moment, the first time he left them for an out-of-town work.
“The other kids in school said you won’t be coming back,” she cried, hugging her tight. Stan tilted her face and smiled at her. He cupped her cheeks and kissed her forehead again.
“Aren’t you hugging daddy now, my sweet?” He tickled her and tiny sweet laughter filled the room. After quite some time, the laughter died down. “Don’t listen to what others say because most of the time, they will go beyond their limits just to pull you down.”
Stan’s daughter stared at her furrowing her eyebrows in confusion. Her red nose says she was too young to understand what he was implying. But no one was ever too young to understand life.
Patricia shook Stan but he remained unconscious. Thinking of what to do, she went to the post office where she saw an old truck parked beside it. She looked inside seeing the key left in the ignition. After opening the door, she tried to start the engine but it won’t start. Glancing back at the two men through the rear view mirror, she called out for Jarvis and watched him running towards her. Jarvis checked the car and tried to connect wires to the battery. When he restarted it, it roared to life. He went b
ack to carry Stan deciding that she will drive.
While driving, she was silently crying still mumbling the word ‘sorry’ for how many times in a row. She wasn’t sure where to go but she just followed the road. Maneuvering to the right, it seemed like she knows where she was heading to. But she was wrong. She entered a narrow route speeding up to eighty. Loads of memories clouded in her mind as she sobbed during the drive. Her adrenaline shot up and probably making her hyperactive. She glanced at the rear passenger’s seat to see Stan lying down. She quickly turned back to the road when she heard Jarvis yelp.
A loud screeching sound from the tires succeeded by a crashing sound echoed through the open. Hitting her head on the steering wheel, a loud and long honk blew throughout the open air.
Chapter Five: Old Hat
“Where am I?” Stan opened his eyes to an unfamiliar view. He had lain in bed for a few minutes trying to remember what happened. He rapidly stirred off the bed but he was too weak to move.
“Stan? Stan! Stan, you’re awake!” He heard Patricia’s voice, crying out to him. She bent to the side of the bed and hugged him. “I’m sorry, Stan. I’m sorry for what happened.”
“What happened?” He tapped her back and she squirmed back away from the bed.
“You were shot right back in your right ear,” a man wearing a camouflage spoke. Stan stared at him; his insignia spoke of his first sergeant rank in the army. “How are you feeling now?”
“I’m good, never been better,” he muttered. “Where am I?”
“In my house,” the uniformed man said. “You’re outside Old Town.”
The nurse sitting beside him on the bed wrapped the cuff around his arm. She positioned the chest piece of the stethoscope over the crease of his arm after palpating it. Pressing the pump, she watched as the cuff inflates and slowly released the valve observing the dial speed down. She listened carefully and scribbled a note on her chart board.
“You need some more rest,” she ordered before standing and checked his intravenous drip. Carrying her board on hand, she edged to the door leaving them in the room.
“How did we get here, Patricia?” He asked, directing the question to her. He looked at her. Bowing her head, she pursed her lips.
“I- I-” Patricia stuttered, holding back her tears. “I saw a truck in the post office and Jarvis tried to repair it. I told him I will drive while he carried you inside the back seat. I was looking at you when he yelled at me. And I hit a tree but it wasn’t that severe. I can’t remember what happened next because I passed out.”
“How did you find us?” Stan asked the man standing on the other side of the bed. He looked down at him with his hands placed behind his back.
“The car horn blew loud and long that it was almost deafening. It stayed for about a minute and we thought we were a few distance from the accident. My group went out to the road to search where it was coming from. Voila! It seemed like you’re almost near our gate,” he started. Four eyes were directed to him with all ears out. “We found you there. It wasn’t severe, just like what Patricia said; she just passed out due to hyperventilation.”
“What about Jarvis?” Stan asked, stirring slightly off the bed. “Where’s Jarvis?”
“Don’t move, Stan. You aren’t well yet,” Patricia pleaded holding him still in prevention to what he was trying to do. A bandage was thoroughly placed on her forehead. Good thing, she didn’t develop aftereffects of her concussion.
“He’s fine. He’s outside with Chris and the others,” Patricia spoke for the other man. There was relief on his face as he sighed heavily.
“Anyway, I’m Ezra Firestone,” the uniformed man introduced himself. “First Sergeant Ezra Firestone. And I’ve learned that you’re Stan Harris.” Stan accepted his hand and shook hands with him. “You can stay here until you’re fully recovered. After which, we can provide your supplies and we can get you home in an instant. But first, we will leave you so you can have complete bed rest.”
Stan thanked him. After Ezra tapped his shoulder, they headed out to the door and left Stan alone in his room. He tried to recall the accident but a headache troubled him even more. He paid a glance around the room, every corner of it. His eyes began to feel heavy, his breathing sounded like music to his ears. He closed his eyes and slept it off.
The following day, Stan woke up with an empty stomach. His stomach growled at the same time the door opened. It expelled Patricia carrying a food tray.
“Good morning,” she greeted, placing the tray on the bedside table and unfolded a portable bed table. After helping him lean on the bed wall, she placed the portable on his bed along with his food, water, and medicine.
“I know you’re hungry so I brought you some food to eat. You haven’t eaten since yesterday,” she added. Stan reached for the spoon and dug in his food. “How are you feeling, Stan?”
They prepared him porridge and some slices of assorted fruits. Stan slowly blew every spoonful of porridge before putting it in his mouth.
“I feel better now,” he muttered in between cycle.
“I’m really sorry for what happened. I was shaking and my vision blurred when I pulled the trigger. It wasn’t intentional, it was an accident,” she bowed her head casting sincerity in her voice.
“It is fine, Patricia. Everything’s fine between us,” he assured her, smiling faintly. Patricia straightened her head and met his gaze.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Have you eaten already? You should have brought food and joined me here,” he glanced at her and grinned. His head has still bandage on it but the IV has not been removed yet.
“Yeah, I already had breakfast. Ezra said you can have a tour of the house if you wish to, Stan. That’s if you feel much better than better. You just have to wait until you finish that drip.”
“I can manage. I’m stronger than the strong so I could likely manage to walk on my own,” he answered. The worry on her face has not yet still fully vanished. Smiling faintly, she studied his features. He has grown stubble on his face, his hair has become longer.
“Don’t you feel nauseated?” Stan shook his head. “You can rest and wash when you feel like it. I’ll see you outside when you want to come out,” she added. She left Stan on his bed and faded through the door.
Stan edged out to his room and had a tour of the house. The house was tall-fenced and the backyard was spacious. Strolling around the house, he went to the backyard and saw Jarvis talking to a sturdy man with his back facing Stan.
“Stan!” Jarvis cried running to meet him. Breathing heavily, he interlocked his hand onto his and they leaned together patting the back of each other. “How are you, my man?”
“Hey! I’ve never been better. It seems a long time,” he muttered, laughing at each other. The sturdy man he was talking to approached them. Standing beside Jarvis, he examined Stan crossing his arms.
“So, you’re awake,” he said, staring at him. It was clear air. They locked their gazes and felt the tension hovering the air. “I’m Chris.”
“Stan,” he said accepting his handshake. Before they could speak, two more men joined their circle.
“This is Malcolm and this is Markel,” Chris added, introducing them to him.
“Just call me Mark,” Markel cut him off. Stan high-fived the two new men and smiled at them.
“I’m Stan Harris,” he repeated.
“Where’s Nick?” Chris asked the two. They both shrugged and pointed towards the house.
“Anyway, we can help you go to your own destination once you are ready to leave,” Chris exclaimed, looking at the new man in front. “But for the meantime, you can stay here.”
The yard is expansive. There were shooting ranges installed at a distance and different types of vehicles. It was well-maintained and secluded from outsiders. Both side corners have lookout towers and there was a man watching out the area.
“I’ll have to leave you here. I have an errand to attend to,” Chris tapped the men’s shou
lders and head off to the back door. They watched as the empty door slid back.
Stan left the other men in the backyard and went inside the house to look for Patricia. She was in the kitchen helping another woman whom she introduced to Stan.
Dinner was called at last. Stan waltzed away from the bedroom window to the door. He has been watching the swans on the pond sweetly dancing under the moonlight. Down he strolled, down to the lone staircase and straight to the tedious, dimmed corridor. Chris and the others have found themselves together, but they have left a chair for him close to the door. He glanced around the table, seeing Patricia and Jarvis. Gazing back to the room, it was classy invoking minimal art, yet manifested the modernity of the outside world. The candelabra hanging above the elongated and heavy wood added up the exiguous ambiance of the room.
At the end of the long table, Stan was facing the camouflaged man from before. He called himself the first sergeant as his badge told him so. They watched as the garcons poured some wine into their tall wine glasses. Ezra raised his glass and spoke, “for fraternity!”
Everyone raised theirs and voices echoed throughout the room succeeded by clicking of glasses. He took a sip and felt the alcohol run down through his spine. It was as though he has never tasted it before. The bittersweet-strong taste kicked in his gut as he gulped the glass wine empty. Wanting for more, he called out for more wine but was stopped when their food arrived.
“Tomorrow, Chris will train you for vehicle security and combat first aid before we let you out on your journey,” Ezra announced while they were eating. “This will be helpful in case something will happen on your way.”
They nodded in agreement. The dinner went well as well as the food. But before they went to bed, they were advised to condition themselves for tomorrow. He opened the bedroom door and streams of the moonlight welcomed him in. Edging to the rusty wide window, the sky was decorated with plenitude, twinkling dots and the moon sparkled over the dark blue sky. That night, he slept with a promising heart that he could reach home and, have a good start.