by JC Braswell
“Maybe…maybe if we move fast enough, we can get him to that camp. We can at least try,” Williams pleaded but knew better.
“Not sure if I can move my arm.” Donovan’s palm remained open and faced the sky. His middle finger twitched and drained to a light shade of purple. “Yeah, can’t move it.”
“We’re going to need to carry you out of here. You may not be able to feel anything, but—”
“No.” Donovan grabbed Williams’s shoulder with his other hand. His grip barely held. Williams did not want to pull away, but Donovan’s eyes pleaded with him not to go any further. There was little fight left.
“Come on.”
“I know the deal, man. I just wish I had a pack of smokes to make this all better. Go out in style.” Donovan’s happy-go-lucky attitude surfaced once again.
“You need to understand what kind of position I’m in here.” Williams knew he was fighting a losing battle.
“It ain’t worth it. All I’m going to do is drag y’all down. I’ve made my peace with you all. I can go out happy now.”
Loneliness. Williams knew that feeling. He couldn’t help but notice the irony of the situation. Donovan wanted to live, fighting for everything that he was worth, while Williams wanted to die. He had to fight for Donovan.
“And neither do I. If there’s anything left, I guarantee salvation is at the end of this. We all saw it. Clear as daylight. It wants to see you, Donnie. Our boys are on the other end of this mess.” Williams dug his arms around Donovan’s waist. The private’s back felt like stone, his muscles tightening as the effects of the krait’s neurotoxin circulated throughout his body. Williams pulled back, trying to lift past the pain in his leg, Jackson joining the futile attempt.
“Stop,” Donovan slurred. He managed a subtle smirk as Jackson and Williams released their grip. “Why won’t you all listen? I’m fine right here. Consider this my swan song. Going out in style. At least I had one last good girl, one last fling.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Was too embarrassed to say anything. She was different. Small little Vietnamese prostitute. Spent a few nights with her a few weeks ago. Wouldn’t you know, she was talking about marriage.”
“That’s right, man,” Williams said. “You have a girl who wants you regardless of your past.” It was the same old story. They all talked about marriage, trying to find a way out of the hell they lived in.
It pulled Williams head up, the damned presence that wouldn’t let go. A slight rustle in the undergrowth across the river spelled its arrival. Williams traced the moss-covered tree trunk to the opposite bank. It stared back at them through its now familiar platinum gaze. The jungle manifested its herald once again, and it had come to claim its next soul.
“Enough fooling around, Donovan.” Williams scrambled, pushing past the nausea as he grabbed Donovan. “We need to go.” He looked back over. The leaves parted as the orange, black and white cranium emerged. Its daggers for claws dug into the tree trunk, shifting its weight on top. Its pupilless eyes locked on to Donovan.
“Stop it, man. Stop it.” Donovan laughed. “I’m going to wait right here.”
“I’m serious.” The tiger’s belly hugged the trunk as it crept across the ravine. “We need to go now.”
“We’re all that we have left, Donnie. You got to go with us,” Jackson pleaded.
“No, you guys need to move. Let me go with dignity. Please.”
“That’s not a choice. Not at all.” Williams couldn’t let another one die. He braced his heel against one of the branches and pulled back again, his injured leg betrayed his efforts. It was fool’s gold.
Williams glanced at their ghost. The tiger stopped halfway and sat down, its tail waving in the air, observing the scene unfold like a spectator at a movie.
“It’s there. Isn’t it?” Donovan knew. “I hear it purring. How badass is that? To go out by a tiger attack. That’s something you don’t hear every day.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, chief.” Williams maintained his focus on the tiger. “Ain’t no animal out there.”
“Anybody ever tell you you’re a horrible liar? It’s so obvious.” Donovan rolled his eyes to the right, attempting to find his executioner. “Lying to me isn’t going to help matters.”
“You saw what it did to Harris. You saw what it did to Simmons. You don’t want that, brother,” Williams said.
“No, and even if that thing comes, it ain’t gonna take me.” He twiddled his only functioning fingers along the trigger. “And it ain’t a tiger. You know that. It ain’t a tiger at all. You said it yourself. It’s something else. Spirits, you said.” Donovan dropped his hand to his holster and withdrew his gun. “Well, I’ll have my final dance, but it’s going to be my song to select.”
“Dude, I’m not the most religious man, but you know what suicide means.” Williams pulled back, knowing Donovan’s intentions.
“Does it? Does it mean that I’m going to Hell? I’m afraid it won’t matter. Already have plenty of experience. Just look around.”
The log shifted as the tiger crawled a few feet closer.
“It don’t work that way,” Jackson chimed in. “That’s what redemption is all about. You can’t just give up like that. The past is the past. You just gotta look to the future.”
“Jackson, my man. Always there for the pep talk.” Donovan’s eyes fluttered as the venom sapped the last of his strength. “You’re ok for a brother. Thanks for saving my ass a few times.”
“Pleasure was all mine.” Jackson’s eyes welled up as he squeezed Donovan’s right hand.
“It’s time for the both of you to go.” Donovan tapped the barrel of his gun against his dog tags. “Do me a favor, would you? Take these to my parents. Tell them I said I was sorry. Tell me that I”—he choked up—“tell them that I love them, and I’m sorry for what happened.”
“Sure.” Williams resigned himself to Donovan’s truth. Jackson nodded to Williams, who in turn reached around and removed Donovan’s dog tags.
“Promise me you’ll both survive this. As you said, we’re almost there.”
Williams hugged the man like a brother.
“Sorry, Donnie,” Jackson said, wiping his cheeks.
“It’s ok.” Donovan smiled. “Now get out of here.”
Williams looked up. The tiger hunched down three-quarters of the way across the tree. It growled as if to signal Williams and Jackson to leave.
“See you on the flipside, Donnie,” Jackson’s voice cracked.
“You do that.” Donovan answered with his trademark smile.
“I’ll tell your parents. I promise.”
“I’m sorry that I doubted you, Chris. I should’ve never listened to that guerilla. So I’m sorry. Sorry.” Donovan’s eyes closed as he began to hum a sung Williams didn’t know. “I love you guys.”
“Sure, brother. No problem,” Williams said before turning. Fueled by the primordial desire to survive, the remaining pair stumbled through the jungle.
Behind them, Williams heard the tiger snarl. A single gunshot fired. The tiger growled again, this time in a lower, almost understanding tone.
THIRTY ONE
The horizon was as majestic as any landscape that Williams had seen in Nam. Even in the harshest of environments one could discover beauty. The sky was layered in a tapestry of colors fit for a king, but ill suited for a simple soldier like himself to admire. The sight allowed Williams and Jackson a temporary reprieve, a welcome serenity that had evaded them since the massacre.
He knew better. It all was an illusion. The land was waiting for them, waiting for the night to come. Donovan’s fate rested heavy on his conscience. Looking into a man’s soul was one thing; to look into the eyes of a man who was about to meet his end was another. Williams wouldn’t deny the dire odds they faced. Hope remained a fleeting thought, but a thought nonetheless.
Plumes of smoke continued to spiral above the treetops and towards the heavens he
would never visit. The beacon was closer, maybe a mile through the jungle. Behind them, the beast tracked their movements, not bothering to mask its efforts. The apex predator remained tucked in the foliage, waiting for the time to strike.
“If I could just take a drink from that damned river,” Jackson groaned, trailing slightly behind Williams. “It teasing me.”
“If only, but we’re so close. So close.” Williams doubled over. He wanted to rip his shirt off, to be rid of the symbol that had led him to this place.
“How’s the leg? Need a rest?”
“Not good, but it doesn’t matter. If I stop, I’m as good as dead anyway.” Williams glanced behind him. “Don’t you be falling behind me. Not you.”
“You got some guts. I got some respect for you, Cap.”
“No need for the respect.”
They breathed hard in a rhythmic chorus.
“What do you think is out there?” Jackson slouched to one knee. “If we find it, do you think it’ll be our salvation?”
“I’m not thinking about it that way. We don’t have a choice. We’ll take our chances in a POW camp.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about, brother,” Jackson said. “I’m talking about out there. You know, out there.” Jackson nodded towards the horizon. “We talk about it at my church, about forgiveness and all. I always wondered myself. All the suffering, all this war. What’s it all for if we’re meant to hate each other?”
“You’re starting to sound like Garcia. It’s the dehydration that’s—”
“No, I’m serious. Think about what happened back there with Donovan, about how that tiger just stopped and waited. It was judgment. That tiger knew.”
“So you don’t think I’m crazy anymore?”
“I think you’re right. Some of us pulled the trigger. Some of us didn’t. Take Donovan, for example. As gung-ho as Donnie was, he didn’t fire a single shot at those people and that beast tracked him down, but he didn’t attack him like he did Harris. No, the tiger came at Harris when he tried to free Simmons. And Harris killed those people back in the village. McEvoy raped a girl back in the village, and look what happened to him. Boy lost his head. It’s like…it’s like the jungle knows.”
“And Garcia, he was spared in a way.”
“I’ve been thinking about it all since we left Donovan. Makes all the sense in the world to me right now, but it shouldn’t. We haven’t even seen a trace of the VC or the NVC since they first picked Anuska off. Whole time we were wondering who could’ve strung Anuska, Longhorn, and Jones to the tree. All the while, it was—”
“The ghosts. Trying not to think about it.”
“But, can it be real? Or are we just losing our minds?”
“No, it’s real.” Williams looked past Jackson to the beast’s silhouette. It stopped as they stopped. Thinking. Knowing. Understanding. It wasn’t simply a tiger, but a manifestation of something more, something they couldn’t possibly understand. “We’ll have plenty of time to look back at things after we find our way out of here.” Williams mapped their way around the river in his head. He didn’t want to think about the beast, his ghost.
“Just trying to make sense of it all. That’s all. That stuff about your family. You never mentioned it before. Why?”
“Because.” Williams hobbled close to the edge of the ravine, wondering if Karen’s specter would make another appearance. “I was trying to forget. Bringing it up does nothing.”
“Momma always told me that it’s only through our past that we grow. That’s what she said when I went to jail. Scolded me for not making an honest living like our ancestors, at least those who are free. The easy way out is to forget and never learn from them mistakes.” Jackson strained to talk.
“I didn’t realize you were a warrior-poet.” Williams braced himself against two trees that jutted out from the precipice. He could have dove in right there, baptism by cliff diving.
“It was my grandfather. Most everybody thought I was stupid, but my grandfather had me reading at an early age. He was the one I really disappointed. He’s probably rolling over in his grave right now, but I’m sure he wants to see me again.”
“As in Heaven?”
“Exactly. I just hope I get that golden ticket. I want to find my way there, make up for all them wrongs.”
“I don’t think you’ll have a problem with that. Whatever your beliefs are, you’re a good man. Said it yourself. You can’t let one mistake haunt you for the rest of your life like that.”
“Then why do you let your mistake haunt you?” Jackson’s choice of words could not have been more appropriate.
“I can’t answer that.” With one final survey of the river, Williams pulled back, kicking a few pebbles to the rapids below. Jackson had a point, but it was different. He’d failed too many people in the past.
“Sure you can,” Jackson insisted as he plopped on his tail. Williams studied the man, understanding the he could never appreciate the turmoil someone of Jackson’s station suffered throughout his life. As much as their lives were worlds apart, they also became brothers through conflict, something the world could learn from.
“Maybe.” Williams guided himself over to Jackson and encouraged him with a feeble tug of the sleeve. “For now, there’s no time to relax. Get on your feet. Gotta keep moving. That’s what you been telling me.”
Jackson huffed, reaching up for Williams, who helped pull him to his feet.
“That still doesn’t get you out of answering my question.” Jackson latched on to the nearest vine. “Why do you let it haunt you?”
Williams realized there was no use in dodging Jackson.
“If you could imagine a girl so perfect, so loving, with no imperfections, that was her. She put her dreams aside for me. If there was ever an anchor, she was it. What did I do in return? I killed her. I destroyed her family. Man, the look on her dad’s face. Never seen anything like it.”
“Did he blame you?”
“That’d be an understatement. Her mother. God, was she devastated. Said that it was their only chance at a grandchild. You know how you can say things out of anger? That was her. She said some things that I could never…forget about.”
“How’d you manage to avoid jail, especially if you killed somebody?”
“That’s the thing I don’t remember. I…I blacked out seconds before the other guy T-boned me. Police questioned me about it, so I just went along. Ended up blaming it on the other guy. Ran a stop light or something. I don’t really remember.”
“You ever think that maybe you were just tired?”
“If I thought I was innocent, I wouldn’t have signed up for this mess.” Williams twirled his finger around the jungle as they trudged forward.
“That’s why you stare off into the night, how you go off on your walks when you think we’re all asleep. You think all that running you’re doing is going to save you from your conscience? Trust me, don’t work.”
Jackson made his point. As much as Williams ran, he always found himself looping around to the truth. Whether it is the constant nightmares of that day or the endless daydreams of the child and the boat, he would never be free. Even half a world away his past caught up with him.
“This entire time I’ve wanted to wake up from these nightmares.” Williams stifled a tear like he would when he was called out in middle school gym class. “Like I was baptized, absolved of my sins. It was never about this concept of forgiveness. It was always about wanting them to have the life that I’ve been given.”
“And here you are, squandering it away.”
Jackson’s words hit harder than any bullet.
“For someone who came from the ghetto, you sure make a hell of a lot of sense.”
“As I said, had a good grandfather. Good man like you, Chris.”
“There we go. Finally calling me by my name without me asking you.”
“Seriously, answer me. Do you think your girl would have wanted you to waste away?”
; Williams froze. A few hours ago he had seen her reflection. The same thoughts came to mind. Then he heard the grunt.
“Did you…?” Williams turned around as it happened. He smelled him.
A second later, the un-caged animal was upon them, but it wasn’t the jungle’s tiger. Simmons swooped in; the dusk sky’s purple hue accented the ripples in his bare chest. He swung with as much fury as Williams had ever seen a man harness. The haymaker landed with wicked force, slamming into Jackson’s jaw with a crack.
Jackson stumbled backwards. His eyes crossed as he flailed to his side, inadvertently tangling himself within a vine.
Simmons turned toward Williams, his scarred face twisted to resemble an animal’s, his left hand holding the glint of his knife.
“Here we go, boy. Just you and me.” His black teeth flashed with anger. His chest, bleeding from a hundred scratch marks, tightened. Williams smelled blood and vengeance.
Williams tumbled backwards. His head whipped against rock as Simmons’s weight smothered him. The monster brought his right fist down while squeezing his thighs around Williams’s ribs like a vise. Each blow landed without impediment, snapping the back Williams’s against an errant root. Soon he felt moisture. Blood.
“Tying me up like some wild animal. Got news for you. Ain’t no animals here. Nobody to save your ass anymore. You should’ve let me lead, you know.” The barbarian juggled his knife between both hands. Black saliva dripped down from Simmons’s chin to Williams’s face. His eyes glowed with lunacy. “I’m gonna carve you, boy. Gonna gut you like the weak turncoat you are. Been looking forward to this for far too long.”
Williams stared in disbelief. It couldn’t be Simmons. The burning corpse in the clearing… It didn’t make sense.
“You hear me, boy? Or am I talking to a mute?” Simmons swiped the tip of the blade across Williams’s face. Madness steered his mind.
“Jackson,” Williams called, reaching out on both sides for a loose branch or rock. Then he remembered. He still had an ace, and not the kind the Death Dealers employed. He just needed to get to his sidearm. To his dismay, Simmons sheathed his knife and plucked Williams’s gun from the ground.