Collateral

by Ellen Hopkins

  No one. The sidewalk is empty. Silent.

  Where am I? I’m hungry, and looking

  for the marketplace. Did I take a wrong

  turn? I walk faster but don’t know

  which way to go, and there’s no one

  here to ask for help. Suddenly, I hear

  yelling. Dogs barking. Laughter. The noise

  is to my right. I follow it down a deserted

  avenue. And now I see kennels. Men.

  Soldiers. Standing in front of wire

  enclosures. Laughing. “Hello?” I call,

  but they can’t hear me past the barking.

  Snapping. And now, someone is crying.

  Praying. I reach the first pen. Two soldiers

  stand back, let me look inside. A boy

  is chained there, on his knees. Naked.

  A huge Doberman is mounting him.

  And the soldiers laugh. “Bastards!”

  I run along the chain link, eyes in front

  of me. Suddenly, a German shepherd

  lunges at its gate. When I turn, I see

  it has something in its mouth. Red

  drool drips, and the dog bites down,

  crunching bones. “Drop it!” I scream,

  and the shepherd obeys. What falls

  to the ground is a hand. A lady’s hand.

  On its third finger is a diamond ring.

  “No, no, no, no!” The keen of my own

  voice yanks me from the nightmare.

  Pale light leaks in through the window.

  Evening? Morning? I lie, panting like

  the dogs in my dream. My stomach

  growls and I reach for my cell to check

  the time. Seven eighteen. Morning.

  I slept for fifteen hours. No wonder

  I’m starving. I put the phone back on

  the table and when I do, the glint

  of a two-carat diamond catches my eyes.

  All of a sudden, I don’t feel so hungry.

  BUT BY THE TIME

  I clean up, get dressed, and start

  to pack, I’m famished again.

  Checkout is eleven. My flight,

  barring delays, is a little after one.

  I’ve got time for room service.

  I think about steak and eggs.

  Order an omelet instead. Cheese.

  Spinach. Onions. Bell peppers.

  No meat. While I wait, I organize

  my suitcase. Cosmetics in the middle.

  Running shoes at the bottom. Tank tops,

  shifts, and shorts, folded in fourths,

  placed around the sides. Flat over

  all, the sweater I brought, just in case.

  I’ve never needed to use it here.

  But what if I did, and didn’t have it?

  Breakfast arrives and I eat it

  out on the lanai, watching white-

  tipped Pacific waves break gently

  in the distance. That same ocean

  is breaking against California

  cliffs and sand. Connecting here

  and there. Connecting Cole and me,

  at least until he leaves for Afghanistan.

  And then, the sky is what we’ll share,

  the earth’s spin, forward movement

  of time. That, and the love that makes

  all things seem forgivable. Most of the time.

  I AM IN THE CAB

  On my way to the airport before I check

  my cell for messages. The first is from Cole.

  WOULD HAVE CALLED BUT

  DIDN’T WANT TO WAKE YOU.

  I LET MOM KNOW ABOUT

  THE ENGAGEMENT. SHE SAID

  TO GET IN TOUCH IF YOU NEED

  HELP PLANNING. IT’S THE BEST

  I’VE HEARD HER SOUND SINCE

  BEFORE SHE GOT SICK. WEDDINGS

  ARE GOOD MEDICINE, I THINK.

  FLY SAFE AND LET ME KNOW

  WHEN YOU GET THERE. I ALWAYS

  WORRY UNTIL YOU’RE OVER THE

  OCEAN AND STANDING ON SOLID

  GROUND. SPEAKING OF OVER THE

  OCEAN, WE LEAVE ON FRIDAY.

  DON’T TELL THE TALIBAN WE’RE

  COMING. I WANT IT TO BE A SURPRISE.

  I LOVE YOU ASHLEY, GIRL. ALWAYS.

  He told his mom. Guess I’ll have to tell my

  parents, too, which will make the idea legit.

  I need a few days. The second text is from Dar.

  WHEN WILL YOU BE HOME?

  I NEED YOU, ASH. IT’S SPENCE.

  THERE WAS AN ACCIDENT.

  HE MIGHT NOT MAKE IT.

  Rewind

  LANCE CORPORAL GLEASON

  Returned early from his second tour

  in Iraq, and he did qualify for sniper

  school. Cole was a crack shot. No

  brag. Just fact. What I didn’t know

  then is that all those silent weeks,

  he was off on voluntary patrols with

  the sniper platoon and had impressed

  the right people. Just how remains

  a mystery. I keep tiptoeing around

  asking for details. Maybe one day

  I’ll find the courage. Maybe it’s better

  not to know. They say U.S. Marine

  scout-snipers are the cream, and I

  don’t doubt it at all. I’ve seen videos

  documenting what Cole went through

  in his eight and a half weeks of training.

  It’s intense. Those soldiers must be in

  top physical condition. More even than

  that, they have to be prepared mentally

  to run miles, swim with heavy weights,

  crawl through smelly, slimy muck, then

  get to their feet, run some more, drop

  to their bellies, sight in and hit targets

  spot-on at awe-inspiring distances.

  Attrition is something like sixty percent.

  Cole, of course, made the cut and

  became a member of an elite squad

  of single-shot kill marksmen. Woot.

  I DIDN’T SEE HIM

  Until after his training was complete.

  I was okay with that. I’d just started

  my senior year and wanted to focus

  on my classes without distraction.

  Plus, I was still shaken over the idea

  that Jaden had made me question

  my relationship with Cole. Was it pure

  loneliness, or did I have some moral

  defect I’d never realized existed before?

  I was afraid if I saw Cole too soon,

  the guilt in my eyes would give me away.

  After several weeks, it did start to fade.

  So I was happy enough to find out

  that Cole was taking leave to help

  celebrate my twenty-third birthday.

  Not only that, but Spence was coming

  home, too. He, Darian, Cole, and I

  would be together for the first time

  in almost three years. It was a reunion

  we’d talked about and hoped for,

  but only coincidence could make it

  actually happen. Darian and I worked

  hard to plan something special—

  an overnight trip to Disneyland.

  Neither of us had visited since we

  were teens. Cole and Spence were

  Disney virgins. It sounded like fun.

  A real celebration, reminding us

  that we were still young. The problem

  was, despite our relatively youthful ages,

  in too many ways, we were no longer

  young. Cole had just graduated

  from a school that taught him to be

  a better—no, the best—killer. Spence

  had recently seen three of his buddies

  wiped out by a suicide bomber. Oh,

  and he should have been right there

  with
them in the same vehicle, but

  for a providential case of dysentery.

  Survivor’s guilt adds figurative years.

  As for Dar and me, well, we still

  believed in our youth. But face it, forever

  commitment—whether sanctioned by

  a license or not—when you’ve barely

  entered your third decade of life

  makes you older than your friends

  who are still out there playing the field.

  It’s play that keeps you young.

  PLAY

  Is what we had in mind.

  It sort of started out that way.

  I asked my Mom for mad money

  to book a room on property.

  “That’s all I want for my birthday,”

  I told her. She seemed to understand,

  although I found out later

  she also added funds to my

  savings account. Moms. You have

  to love them, or at least appreciate

  how they care for you covertly, despite

  your pulling away. Overtly, she sent

  enough for adjoining rooms

  at the Grand Californian Hotel,

  a spectacular resort adjacent California

  Adventure. Disneyland, Phase Two.

  Sometimes my birthday abuts

  the busy Thanksgiving weekend.

  This was one of those years, so it

  took some planning to make it happen.

  Cole flew directly into Orange County.

  I maneuvered the obnoxious freeways

  alone, picked him up at the airport,

  and we checked in late Saturday

  afternoon. Dar and Spence drove

  up together. The plan was to meet

  for dinner, enjoy the evening,

  then do the parks the following day,

  when hopefully most of the crowds

  would be on their way home.

  I WAS SO LOOKING FORWARD

  To seeing Spencer again. My first

  thought, when I spotted him and Dar,

  waiting at the restaurant entrance

  was, “Is he sick or something?”

  I saw no sign of Spence’s signature

  swagger. In its place was . . . I don’t

  know. Caution, I guess. Where once

  he held Darian with downright prideful

  possessiveness, that evening,

  the way his arm rested around

  her shoulder seemed needful, like

  if he let go, his knees might buckle.

  Cole took a good, long look at Spence.

  I haven’t talked to him in a while,

  he commented. But he does look

  a little unenthusiastic, doesn’t he?

  “Maybe he’s just scared of giant

  Mickey Mouses? Or would that be

  Mickey Mice?” We both snickered

  at my stupid joke, but straightened

  up before Spence noticed our

  inappropriate laughter. I didn’t think

  he’d appreciate our acting all concerned,

  either, so I found just the right kind

  of smile and offered him a long,

  affectionate hug, which he returned.

  “God, it’s great to see you. How have

  you been?” Innocent enough.

  Spence pulled back. Ah, you know,

  I’ve been better. But being home

  for a while is bound to help. I missed

  my girl. He leaned over and kissed Dar.

  She kissed back enthusiastically,

  but when she glanced over at me,

  her eyes held apprehension.

  The hostess came to seat us for our

  seven p.m. reservation. And, even

  though we had just come from upstairs,

  the first thing I did was excuse myself

  to use the ladies’ room, hoping Darian

  would follow. She did. I went straight

  to the sink to wash my hands. Dar did

  the same. I looked at her in the mirror.

  “What’s up with Spence? Is he okay?”

  She shook her head. I’m not really

  sure. He’s had a weird cough since

  he’s been back. Says it’s walking

  pneumonia. Whatever it is, he’s not

  eating right and he’s skinny as hell.

  And I think he’s depressed. I hope

  this trip picks him up a little. At home,

  he just sits around, playing Xbox.

  “Has he been to the doctor?”

  I asked, knowing her answer.

  “Any way you can get him to go?”

  I knew the answer to that one, too.

  HE DID COUGH AT DINNER

  A deep rattle that could, in fact,

  be pneumonia. But Marines—real

  men—don’t need doctors unless

  they’re bleeding out. And after

  dinner, he went straight outside

  for a smoke, claiming it would help

  dry out his chest. Cole went with

  him while Dar and I headed for

  the lounge for prebirthday drinks.

  We ordered a round for the four

  of us before I said, “I’ve never

  seen Spence so quiet. If you can’t

  get him to go in on his own, isn’t

  there someone at the base you

  can call?” Depression is common

  among soldiers, and those with

  too little to keep them busy often

  act out in not-so-good ways.

  I’m on it. But with all the Iraqi

  returnees, they’re really busy.

  Spouses take a backseat, and

  he isn’t asking for help. I’ve got

  an appointment in three weeks.

  “Shush. Here they come.”

  Amazingly, Spence’s cough

  seemed a little better. Maybe

  tobacco was good for walking

  pneumonia. What did I know? Still,

  he directed most of his attention

  inward. It was a pleasant evening,

  regardless. We all kept conversation

  light. No talk of war or torture except

  for some commentary about Sea

  Stallion helicopters wearing out from

  use, and what kind of replacements

  might be coming. I might have

  been totally bored, except Spence

  lit up, jabbering excitedly about

  his area of expertise. Just watching

  him pull himself out of whatever dark

  place he’d been stuck in made me

  smile and pretend my total attention.

  Dar, I could tell, felt the same way.

  It was like old times. The four of us,

  drinking and laughing and cementing

  our friendship. Spencer only coughed

  a couple of times, and he barely leaned

  on Darian at all. By the evening’s

  end, while I was still worried about

  Spence, his problems, whatever

  they were, didn’t seem quite as

  distressing. Until the next day.

  IT STARTED OUT FINE

  We did California Adventure first,

  and we got there just past opening.

  There were no crowds to speak of.

  No major lines. I loved Soarin’ Over

  California, a simulated hang glider ride.

  Cole was partial to the big coaster,

  which blasts you one hundred-plus

  vertical feet before accelerating into

  a loop-the-loop. Dar wanted to do

  the Tower of Terror twice, but straight

  drops give me a headache. Cole rode it

  with her the second time. Spence waited

  with me. I could really use a smoke

  right about now, he said sincerely.

&nbs
p; “Think maybe you should lay off

  those things until you see a doctor?”

  Thanks for caring, Mom. But I’ll be

  fine. I’m better today, you know?

  As if on cue, a fresh round of hacking

  punctuated the sentence. “If you say so.”

  He put his arm around me. Squeezed.

  I meant when I said thanks for caring.

  HE LEFT SOMETHING UNSAID

  And I knew it. But just then, Cole

  and Dar appeared, arm in arm,

  laughing. Spencer tensed. Softly

  pushed me away. We claimed

  our partners, finished park number

  one, skipping the water rides. Who

  gets wet in November? After lunch

  we walked over to Disneyland proper

  and by then people had definitely

  arrived. Down Main Street, walking

  was elbow to elbow. People yelling.

  Kids laughing. Babies crying. The noise

  level just kept rising, the deeper

  we pushed into the park. “Let’s get

  Fast Passes for Indiana Jones, then

  go do Thunder Mountain Railroad,”

  I suggested. Fast Passes let you come

  back within a certain window of time

  and use a quicker line. You have to

  know how to maneuver, but if you work

  them right, they’re awesome, especially

  when the park is as crowded as it was

  that day. The problem was, the Thunder

  Mountain line was crazy long, too.

  Between working our way through

  that queue, doing the ride, locating

  a designated smoking spot for Spencer,

  waiting for him to indulge—twice—

  then finding our way back to Indiana

  Jones, our Fast Passes had expired.

  SPENCE WENT BALLISTIC

  Had he been in uniform, or at the very

  least been decent to the Fast Pass Line

  guy, things would probably have worked

  out very differently. Instead, when the guy

  tried to turn us away, Spence shoved him.

  What the fuck do you mean, expired?

  You want us to wait in the other line,

  just because we’re a couple of minutes

  late? You’d better think again, asshole.

  People started moving away. Spence

  grabbed the guy by the collar, and I looked

  at Cole, expecting him to pull Spence off.

  Instead, he stood there with an amused

  grin on his face. “Cole. Please.” Before

  he could react, Security arrived. Bad

  became worse when two uniformed

  men tried to pull Spencer off Fast Pass