by Lisa Bingham
Another explosion rocked the air, then another, and another. Then, with one last burst of machine gun fire, the Zeros climbed high, banked, and were lost from view behind the canopy of the trees.
Rosemary’s limbs trembled as she pushed herself away from the ground. After glancing at the other women huddled in the bushes, she rolled to her back.
At first, she couldn’t bring any sense to the world around her. Her hearing was curiously muffled and tinny, and her eyes couldn’t pierce the strange blackness that met them. But then, as she blinked, she realized that it wasn’t her eyes that failed her. It was smoke. Thick, black smoke.
“No,” she muttered to herself. “No, no, no!”
Pushing herself to her feet, she ran out to the beach, scarcely crediting that this idyll could so quickly be changed.
Writhing figures were scattered across the ground. Like her, some of them were able to push themselves to their feet. Others had grasped their weapons and were pointing them upwards in case another set of Zeros flew overhead. But these images barely touched her mind as Rosemary staggered through the sand to the beach, her mouth opening in horror.
“No!”
The splintered remains of the ferry had become a raging inferno. The water bubbled and hissed as the heavily laden ship split in the middle with a horrendous crack. Then, amid smoke and shooting flames, it sank beneath the churning water with such speed that Rosemary could scarcely believe the credence of her own eyes.
Gone. It was all gone. Food, medical supplies, fuel. All of the supplies that they so desperately needed were now heading to the bottom of the bay.
Then, just as quickly, the water grew still again, flaming bits of wreckage bobbing on the surface, moving concentrically away from the ferry’s watery grave.
• • •
Glory Bee woke with a start, then moaned as every muscle in her body protested. Hell itself could not have devised a more torturous bed than the bamboo shelf. If she hadn’t been more afraid of the bugs that made their paths across the floor, she probably would have slept there.
Easing herself into a sitting position, she winced as her sunburned skin screamed in protest. Glancing down, she nearly moaned aloud when she saw that she closely resembled the hue of a boiled lobster.
Moving as gingerly as she could, she applied another coating of aftershave, hissing in relief at its cool sting. Then she donned her brassiere and a fresh shirt. Slipping her legs into her trousers, she frowned as she struggled with the fasteners. It wouldn’t be long before she wouldn’t be able to wear them at all. Please, please, let the Japanese be routed before she had to admit to John that she needed to go in search of maternity wear.
Jamming her feet into socks and then her shoes, she ignored the sting of yesterday’s blisters and tried her best to hobble outside.
She had expected the compound to be a hotbed of activity. Judging by the slant of the sun through the window in the hut, she’d known that she’d been allowed to sleep late. But there was no sign of the children or the cargadores. There was only John who sat by the well, carefully oiling one of the pistols he’d stashed into his pack.
“Where is everyone?” she asked as she walked toward him.
He looked up, obviously choosing his words with care. “Gone.”
“Gone?”
He sighed, returning the pistol to his pack. “The cargadores left during the middle of the night, claiming that the woods were haunted. Esteban and his family moved out early this morning.”
Glory Bee couldn’t account for the rush of loss that she felt. “Why?”
“Maria has family nearby. They’ve gone to join them.”
“So why didn’t we go with them? Why didn’t you wake me?”
John stood and walked toward her, taking her elbows. “Because the presence of white people in their camp would endanger their whole family. I couldn’t let them take that risk.”
Glory Bee shuddered, and he must have felt the telltale tremor because he wrapped his arms around her waist and drew her close.
“You understand, don’t you?”
She nodded against his chest, gripping his shirt in her fists. For a moment, she felt so alone, so vulnerable, that she could barely breathe.
“We’re going to head into the woods. Esteban thought there was a stream a few miles in. If we can find a source of fresh water, then we can build a shelter and wait out the next few weeks. It’s probably one of the safest places on the island for us.”
We. He’d said we.
She wasn’t alone. She had John to help her.
“Are you up for this, Glory Bee?”
“I guess I have to be.”
“I can take you to Esteban if you want.”
She tipped her head to meet his gaze. “No. I wouldn’t want to do anything that could hurt Maria or the children. As long as I’m with you, I’ll be all right.”
• • •
It was nearly noon before John and Glory Bee left the village. John had loaded their packs and one of the suitcases with as many tins of food as they could carry, then had hidden everything else beneath a tarpaulin just inside the tree line.
“I’ll find a place for us to make a shelter, then I’ll come back for the rest of our supplies later,” he said.
Glory Bee could only nod. Her disquiet about being in the empty village hadn’t eased with the daylight hours. The bamboo around them seemed to be full of eyes, and she would be glad to leave this place behind. So far, they’d seen no fires or smoke behind them, but she didn’t trust the Japanese not to be lying in wait.
John filled the last of the canteens with water, slinging one of them on a string around her neck. Then he took her hand and pulled her forward.
“Let’s go.”
Slowly, they followed the tree line down a natural slope to where the thick of the forest began less than two miles away.
At first, Glory Bee doubted that she would be able to walk even that far. The blisters on her feet screamed in protest and her muscles were stiff, her sunburn raw. But soon, she was able to push through the pain with a dogged sense of will. She would not disappoint John. She would not let him down.
Once at the edge of the forest, John was forced the let go of her hand.
“I’ll go first, you follow right behind me, yeah?”
“Yes.”
Stepping into the thick forest was unlike anything Glory Bee had ever experienced. She felt as if she were being swallowed whole as the heat of the sun disappeared and they plunged into a green, primordial world.
Trees and tangled roots vied for space with choking vines. The ground beneath their feet became softer, sucking at their shoes as they moved. Where before they had been able to cover several miles in an hour, now they fought for each precious yard of ground. Soon, John was forced to pass the suitcase to her so that he could use his machete to hack at the undergrowth in order to give them enough room to pass.
At first, Glory Bee was nervous about the way they were forced to cut a path, sure that if a Japanese soldier were to see it, they would surely follow. But when she glanced behind them, it was as if they had never been there. The jungle sprang up around them, obscuring all evidence of their passage.
As they plunged deeper and deeper, Glory Bee could see why John had thought this would be an ideal hiding place. Visibility was less than a few yards. And if a person were to huddle low in the vines, she doubted they would ever be noticed.
Glory Bee couldn’t have told how long they fought their way into the interior. Time had been swallowed up as completely as the sun. Soon, she began to believe that she was locked in a never-ending loop.
Hack, hack, climb, crouch, slog.
Where before, she’d been overcome with the sense of being watched, now the jungle was closing in on her, threatening to suck the very air from her lungs with its moist dankness.
“Not much farther,” John said, glancing over his shoulder.
He’d become her anchor in this sea of green and she la
tched onto his familiar frame as if it were a beacon in the wilderness. Dear God, if he somehow got too far ahead of her to see, she knew she would never find her way out of this place again.
Without warning, the jungle suddenly parted. Glory Bee would have stumbled headfirst into the clearing if it weren’t for John’s steadying hand.
In front of them lay a small trickling stream lined with rocks, and while they were still in the thick of the woods, weak sunlight filtered down through the trees overhead. Flat boulders led up a small slope back into the heart of the jungle. But here, the bamboo was thinned out enough that they could make a shelter without too much trouble.
“We’ll set up a structure over there, against the hill. There’s probably enough space between those boulders that we can fashion a hut to sleep in. The stream will provide us with water and the foliage should give enough cover that we can build a small fire if necessary.
John set the suitcase on one of the rocks, then slung his rucksack to the ground where he began unpacking.
“What are you doing?” she asked as she sank wearily onto one of the boulders.
“I can probably make two…maybe three more trips before darkness sets in. I’d like to bring back as many of our supplies as I can. Especially the ammunition.”
Glory Bee stared at him uncomprehendingly. “You’re going back to the village?”
“Yes.”
“But…” When she thought of making the journey yet another time, Glory Bee could have wept. She’d made the last few hundred yards through sheer grit alone. She didn’t think she could do it again…and again…
Although she steeled herself against her despair, her chin wobbled, betraying her.
John moved to crouch in front of her. “You’re going to stay here, Glory Bee.”
“No! I—”
He stopped her with a finger on her lips. “Glory Bee, you’ve been a trooper. Really. I’m proud of how you’ve met every task head-on. But you can’t push yourself much farther and we both know it.”
Tears flooded her eyes but she resolutely blinked them away.
“If I go on my own, I can move more quickly, and let’s face it, right now, time is of the essence.”
“I-I can do it. I won’t be a burden.”
He slid his hand around her neck, sweeping his thumb gently across her cheek.
“I know that. I know you’ll give me your all. But I need you to stay behind.”
The thought of being here alone without John was even more terrifying than pushing herself to take a journey she knew she wasn’t physically capable of making.
“No, I—”
“You’ll be fine. Really.”
“But—”
“You’re going to stay here and set up our camp. We need a ring of stones to contain our fire and somewhere to stash our foodstuffs. Clear out the area between those two boulders there and use the last tarpaulin we have to form a roof. You can probably stretch it across the gap and weigh it down with rocks. Can you do all that for me?”
She was well aware that he was giving her busy work to keep her occupied, but staring into his deep coffee-colored gaze, she also knew that he would not let her come with him. She would have to find the courage to remain here on her own.
“Promise me you won’t get lost.”
His smile was so sudden, so sweet, that it took her breath away.
“I promise.”
Then, before she knew what he meant to do, he bent to place a quick kiss on her lips.
“I’ll be back soon.”
She was still reeling for that brief, unexpected caress—one that he had been the one to instigate—when he stood, grabbed the empty rucksacks, and disappeared back into the jungle.
• • •
Gilhouley pushed his men hard and fast, taking only a few breaks for rest and water. Although he was sure the Japanese would look for them along the road, now that the sun was high, he was also sure that they would have found the car. Although they’d scaled the face of the mountain at one of its steepest points, he didn’t doubt that the Japs could follow them just as easily.
They had climbed high enough that the foliage was thinning, and with it, their cover, so Gilhouley altered their course to the south where he could see a rocky outcropping. With a little luck, they could take a longer break there, wait out the heat of the day, then begin moving again once darkness fell. Even more importantly, if the Japanese happened to track them, the rocks would give them cover to make a stand.
“Over there,” he panted, pausing at the side of the trail and allowing his men to pass. In doing so, he noticed for the first time that a dark stain was beginning to soak through Baptiste’s fatigues from a spot at the top of his shoulder.
“Baptiste! Why didn’t you say something?” Gilhouley grasped the man’s arm and pulled him aside.
“I’m okay, Lieutenant. The bastards winged me.”
“As soon as we get to those rocks, you get patched up, you hear?”
“Yes, sir.”
They slogged the last few yards, and then hoisted themselves and the equipment up into the lee of the rocks. Then they hunkered down, panting.
For long moments, none of them moved. Then, bit-by-bit, they slid out of their packs and reached for canteens.
“Berman, Kilgore, I want you on watch first. Petey, you and I will take the second shift.” He glanced at his watch. “We’ve got about six hours until the sun starts to go down. I want everyone to grab something to eat, then get as much rest as you can.”
Keeping low, Gilhouley scrambled closer to Baptiste.
“Let’s see what’s under your shirt, Baptiste.”
The men glanced at Baptiste curiously. Then Petey groaned when the other man shrugged out of his sleeve. A ragged gash ran across the top of his shoulder. It was now caked with dried blood and dirt.
“Shit, Baptiste,” Petey exclaimed. “Why didn’t you say something?”
Baptiste hissed when Gilhouley probed the wound. Just as he’d suspected, the bullet had winged him rather than lodging into bone or muscle.
“Damn, damn, damn!” Baptiste cursed as Gilhouley checked the depth of the wound.
“You’ll need stitching,” Gilhouley announced.
“Shit, damn, and hell! You’ve gotta be kidding!” Baptiste blurted, his skin growing pale.
“Relax. I was taught by a professional.” Gilhouley dug into his pack, removing a first aid kit that he’d stashed inside as well as his small grooming kit. After washing the wound as best as he could with water, Gilhouley doused the area with Mercurochrome.
Baptiste hissed, slapping his hands against the rocks.
Petey dug into his pack. “Here, drink some of this.”
He handed Baptiste a silver flask.
Baptiste took a sip, two.
“Drain it. This is going to hurt like hell,” Gilhouley said as he removed a needle and a length of thread from the sewing kit tucked next to his comb and razor.
Baptiste’s eyes widened and he tipped the flask back, taking deep gulps of the liquor.
“What you got in there?” Gilhouley asked Petey.
“Some of my bunkmate’s homemade stuff. It tastes like shit, but it packs a wallop.”
“That oughtta do the trick.”
Gilhouley waited until Baptiste had passed the empty flask back to Petey. Then he motioned to Berman and Kilgore. “Help hold him down. The last thing I need is for Baptiste to be bucking against the needle.”
The two men nodded, taking his knees while Petey grasped Baptiste’s good shoulder.
Gilhouley took a lighter from his pocket and held the flame to the tip of the needle for long seconds.
“Ready?”
Baptiste nodded, but his eyes were wide and dark, like a spooked horse.
“Here we go.”
Bending low over the wound, Gilhouley tried to remember everything that Rosemary had done when she’d stitched up his own gashes. As gently as he could, he pushed the gaping flesh togeth
er, then plunged the needle into Baptiste’s flesh.
Baptiste hissed, instinctively bucking against the pain, but his buddies held him tight, so Gilhouley plunged the needle through the opposite side of the wound, then pulled the thread taut.
Again and again, he repeated the procedure, moving as quickly as he dared. The needle soon grew slippery with blood and his fingers fumbled with the unfamiliar task. He was sure that if Rosemary saw his efforts, she would be horrified since his stitches were ragged and uneven. But at least he’d managed to close the gaping wound. And here, in the forest, infection and insects could cause much more havoc than an open wound.
Finally, he reached the end. After fashioning a semblance of a knot, Gilhouley leaned down and bit the thread free. As he straightened, he felt his muscles suddenly relax, trembling. His breath emerged in a shuddering whoosh.
Done. All done.
Looking up for the first time, he saw that Baptiste’s head lolled to one side and his eyes were closed.
“What the hell?” he asked.
Petey laughed. “He was out by the second stroke of the needle.”
Gilhouley pushed himself away, leaning his back against a boulder and dragging air into his lungs. In the space of a few hours, he’d been confronted with one SNAFU after another. He’d been frustrated, shot at, and marooned behind enemy lines. But nothing had taken as much out of him as sewing up another man’s flesh.
Around him, the other men eased into position. Berman and Kilgore settled their rifles against the boulders, one of them grabbing a pair of binoculars from his pack to sweep the forest below for any sign of movement. Petey arranged a folded up shirt beneath Baptiste’s head, then settled down on the ground next to them.
After taking a swig from his canteen, Gilhouley braced his hands against the ground to rise, but Petey opened one eye and pointed a finger at him. “No, sir. I don’t mean to be disrespectful, Lieutenant, but Berman and Kilgore have got things covered. You’ve already got the next shift with me.” His lips spread into a wide grin. “As for him?” He hooked a thumb in Baptiste’s direction. “Hell, we’ll be lucky if Baptiste is conscious by nightfall tomorrow after drinking all of that rotgut.”