Story Time: It's Time for War
“Catch!” Olivia giggled, dropping an apple from the top of the tree.
I ran to it, but the bruised fruit bounced off of my palms and into the carpet of leaves and twigs.
I stuck my tongue out at her as she laughed, her rough, brown feet kicking wildly from the leafy branches. I added the apple to the sack I carried as she shimmed down the trunk of the stout apple tree. She dropped into a roll on the forest floor, coming to a stop in a graceful heap.
She smiled up at me from her back, spreading her arms wide in a ‘ta-dah’ moment. I shook my head, grinning all the while. She took my offered hand and I pulled the barefoot girl to her feet. Tumbling dramatically into my arms, she planted a quick kiss on the white skin of my neck.
“You certainly did a fantastic job catching those apples you goofball,” she joked, nudging me with her elbow and ducking away from my playful push.
I stepped out from beneath the apple tree, following her between maples, oaks and cherry. The once bright ferns were beginning to curl and turn a crisp, golden brown. I brushed through them, glancing back at the lone apple tree.
Kicking at leaves, Liv leapt from rock to rock, leading the way through the sun dappled wood. I grinned up at the warm, green canopy that hung over us, breathing in the light and scents of the day. Her overalls hugged her hips in a most appealing way as she danced about in patches of light. I trudged behind quietly in my ragged jeans and hiking boots, watching the way light and shadow played across her sun-kissed skin. She wore nothing beneath the overalls and after the heat of the summer, her tan was flawless.
“I just want to check my snare before we go back,” I thought aloud, the idea shaking me out of a peaceful reverie.
“Those poor bunnies,” she pouted as we followed the burbling stream back out to the open fields.
She plopped obediently down on a mossy rock, paddling her feet in the creek.
“Well, those poor bunnies keep your stomach nice and full,” I replied as I left her there, picking wildflowers in the sunlight.
I knew she didn’t like this part of the whole hunting and gathering thing, so I let her have moments to herself in the woods. Sometimes that was what I needed as well, a moment to myself.
The trap, on a well-used game run a quarter of a mile away, rewarded me with dinner. A hare had wandered into my snare. I knew these weren’t technically legal, but in this lawless world, nothing was really illegal.
The cord hadn’t done its job correctly though, and the hare was breathing shallow and ragged, twitching about in the dirt. I knelt on the ground beside the animal, twigs crunching under my knees as I did. My leg ached, the pains epicenter a wound that hadn’t quite healed properly, but I didn’t do more than grunt. The wound in my leg had healed, but the one inside of my own head was still scabbing and raw.
I drew my belt knife from its sheath and placed a firm hand on the rabbit. There was once a time when I couldn’t hunt, because killing things made me uncomfortable, but things changed, and so did people. I slit the hare’s throat, holding it down as it bled out, ruby liquid feeding the forest floor. As weak as it was, it didn’t struggle; it was almost ready to go. Sometimes I felt that way, but I didn’t want to go out like that rabbit.
I reset the snare and carried the hare by its hind legs back to Liv.
“Sorry little guy,” I whispered halfheartedly as I plodded between the trees. “It’s a dog-eat-dog world out there.”
Liv pouted again as I returned, swinging the rabbit in my lumbering hands. The bleeding had stopped, and the brown fur about its neck was stained and crusted in a red-brown sludge.
Olivia had rolled up her overalls and was wading knee-deep in the water. She leaned down, stretching those long, tan arms into the rippling waters. The surface bent her arm in the most unusual way as she picked something up from the sandy bottom. With a yelp of glee, her handed splashed back out of the water holding a crayfish behind its pincers.
“Remember when we caught dozens of these and cooked them up? They’re a lot less cute than a bunny,” she said, giving me a hopeful smile.
“Why don’t we wait for more to come around, then we can do it again,” I promised her.
She always seemed to need a warm reminder of the past. She was a flower, almost always happy, but she needed sun to grow. It was a dark world out there, and those reminders of happy moments kept her grounded, kept her whole.
I, on the other hand, was a rain cloud, moody and sullen, with the occasional patch of golden sun streaming through.
We may have both lived in the present, but we were on different wavelengths. She saw this life as a game, or a story book that would end happily.
I didn't.
I knew what lurked just down the river from us, slithering up the Hudson in waves. That knowledge weighed heavily on me, but she tried everything she could to forget.
I had dragged her out of the fire and into a frying pan, and she thought acted like we were on a vacation. My view on this life was real, dedicated to survival and keeping those I cared about warm, well-fed and happy. The last was a chore, growing harder and harder as winter grew near.
My reoccurring sense of discomfort wasn’t the lack of love and warmth I had for Olivia, or the others, but for the situation I was forced to live in. I felt like I was being selfish, surviving here while others barely could get by beyond the war line. I took care of my little family, but for my own interests. I hunted, foraged, fished, and farmed for me. I protected my family for me. I forgot about the world out there for me. It was a world that was being put through a grinder. That world needed attention, it needed help.
When the bombs had started falling, when foreign troops began to invade native soils, I took Olivia away from it all. Despite the cries for help, the calls of war, I fled. As time progressed, the desperation in those radio announcements increased, while my resolve frayed.
In the areas that had been attacked, chaos ruled, and in the neighboring buffer zones where I now resided, life was a challenge. Even in places where war had not touched it, things had changed. Kids still went to school, factories still pumped out merchandise, plants still produced electricity, and even movie theatres ran their films as if the world was not afire, but that was all surface level. Beneath all of that was the fear, the fear that the fighting would never end, that the weaponry crafted by the new factories would have to be wielded by those workers who made it.
I couldn’t go there, to those safe places, it was too brittle, too fake. I was already living beneath a mask, I couldn’t add another to it.
I was happy here, but I didn’t feel whole. Not even when I was with Liv, who I would do innumerable, terrible things for. She skipped out of the forest ahead of me, out joyously into the golden sunlight.
The grass, cut short from the grazing cattle, sheep and goats that dotted the fields, was a painted green that few nations could still brag about. Most other areas, even nearby our little oasis, were brown and burned. If I climbed the tallest hill on the farm I could see the plume of smoke that rose in a perpetual column from the city. It was over a hundred miles away, but it might as well have been only a stone’s throw.
I ground my teeth at the thought and took a deep breath. Instead of worrying I just enjoyed the beauty of the late summer. Carrying the rucksack of fruit and the dead hare in both my hands, I watched vacantly as Olivia ran about the meadow, chasing butterflies and petting the goats, feeding them clovers from her hands. In no time she had a small horde of animals surrounding her. Only the cows stayed away chewing their cud beneath a beach tree.
The farmer who had once owned this place, this paradise of green and gold, had left seven months ago when the first attacks had stacked bodies in the streets of our homeland. The war, the last war that this world would probably ever see, began as planes rained terror down upon our cities.
Somehow that fire, and the river of blood that had followed, had failed to reach this place. That was true only in part; blood and bullets had stained this soil once, not too long ago. I grunted and shoved the thoughts from my head. It was a beautiful day, for sunny thoughts.
We trekked back through the fields, over stone fences and beneath shady trees. In the brilliance of the afternoon, I let the fog over my head dissipate, just enough for me to pretend to enjoy myself. At least for Liv’s sake.
She was as happy as she ever was, as she ever pretended to be, picking wildflowers, planning sweet kisses on my lips. It almost made me forget, almost put a skip in my step. A small smile quirked at the corner of my lips, and she winked slyly at me, pleased in the reaction. I couldn’t help it with her, she was the fire in my veins, the sun on my skin.
Before the farmhouse itself came into view, we saw the old, whirring windmill. The white and blue building felt like a true home, filled with comforts and warmth. We waved to Tara as she shucked sweet corn on the porch. She smiled and pointed to the barn where Jake was finishing milking.
Handing Liv the bag of fruit, I walked past the small pond that lay between the house and barn. The inside of the barn was dusky, despite the sunlight that poured through the windows and the open doors. The building wasn’t as filled as it could be; there were only five Holsteins, a number of chickens clucking about, and two pigs. Dust and hay trickled from the loft above, making my nose twitch.
“Eyo Jake,” I greeted loudly over the noise of the animals. “You almost done?”
“Yeah, I just have to feed the chickens. Nice rabbit. You making soup?” The refugee asked.
His gruff voice, still rough form the smoke and fire he had barely escaped, was less noticeable than his lack of a left ear and the burns upon his face.
“I was thinking pie. Tara mentioned it the other day,” I replied.
“How British of her,” he grunted, straightening up from beneath the last cow.
He, a dock worker from the city, and she, a correspondent for BBC, got along more than his rough demeanor let on.
“I’ll meet you inside,” he grunted.
I left, walking around the barn until I reached my stump behind the garden. I sat, shielded from the house by the rows of beans, towers of sunflowers, and stalks of corn, so I could skin the rabbit. We had been lucky to find this place so out of the blue. If we hadn’t, I would be in the woods day in and day out, scavenging for food.
Liv had followed a trail of dripping blood through the thickets of trees until we had come across Tara and Jake, total strangers to each other. Tara had been trying to stem the blood from his wounds, whispering softly to him in her light, English accent. That was when we noticed the farm, nestled between the hills and forests. That was when our lives had taken a turn for the better. That was when we had left the chaos behind us.
No longer did we have to sleep amidst the burnt-out shells of others homes, listening to the whine of bullets slicing through the night. No longer did we have to wait until the moon was new to slip between lines of troops, trading gunshots like laughter. No longer did we have to pick through the remains of crushed cans and forgotten MRE’s, left behind by cracked corpses.
How Olivia hadn’t lost her sunny demeanor after all of the filth I had brought her through was beyond me. I had done my best to shield her from the blood and gore and horror that had befallen our home, but no matter how hard I worked, some always slipped through.
I sliced the pelt around the legs and neck, peeling the fur right off of the rabbit. I set the inside-out pelt on the ground at my feet and cut off the hare’s neck and paws. War, or lack thereof in my life, had made me hard.
I relished paradise, but I also despised sitting around waiting for something to happen. I always had.
When my feet itched, I went out adventuring in the time before the invasion. Even when the war had touched down in our land I didn’t wait to be told what to do. I had taken Olivia by the hand, and dragged her out into the countryside, sticking one step ahead of the fires and the bullets for a time. I had thought we had escaped, until the bombs had blown our safety to smithereens.
Society had tamed me once upon a time, suppressing my basic instincts, but when chaos reigned I had been set free. At least I had been partially. That was why the war called to me in almost irresistible ways, despite Olivia, despite my safe life here.
I finished up and went inside the back way, kicking off my boots inside the door. I joined the girls in the kitchen, where Liv was singing along to her favorite record. She swayed to the beat as she chopped up homemade cheese and vegetables from the garden. I began to cut up the rabbit as Tara finished with the corn and began to make the pie crust. She winked at me and blew flour in my face, wiggling her body in time with the music. I laughed and shook my head as her short, dark hair swished back and forth across her pale neck.
Olivia swat me in the butt when she caught me watching Tara dance, then she planted a kiss on my lips. I stuck my tongue out at her, feeling more at home now that that I was inside with the one’s I loved. It was the stuff outside that was depressing.
I put the raw meat in a bowl, mixed it with brine I had made a week before, and then took the carcass outside for disposal. I tickled Liv's side on my way past her, making her squirm and giggle, sending her knife clattering to the countertop. I kissed the back of her neck and walked outside, feet as tired as my mind.
I took my sweet time burying the bones in the thicket behind the house, enjoying the dying of the day. The sun sank behind the hills, casting a vibrant orange and pink hue in its last-ditch attempt to stay afloat in the sky. I leaned against a maple, twirling a clover between my fingers.
As I breathed in sweet air, the scents of distant animals and the earthy loam of the garden caught in my nose. It smelled like freedom here, not of death, cordite, rubble, and blood. The only problem was that this type of freedom was a glass house; it could be shattered as it had once been before.
I trudged back towards the farmhouse. Through the window I could see Jake had joined the girls in the kitchen. He washed his large, strong hands in the sink, rubbing dirt from his dark skin. Olivia was everything I wanted in life, and this simple home was all I needed. This was where I wanted to be, just the timing wasn’t right. Was I being selfish? Was it that I never felt satisfied? Or was it something else, some unfinished business that was dragging me away.
I went inside the back door again, heading straight for the bathroom. I washed my hands and face, staring into the mirror, meeting my own hard eyes. They were eyes that hadn’t seen enough but had seen just enough to make them curious. I moved upstairs to change my clothes and clean my knife. The mouthwatering smells of baking meat and corn on the cob infused the house with a warm scent.
It was a homey smell, mixed with the sweat of hard, honest labor, and love. This house was saturated in it, from occupants both past and present. Was I the only one who felt the slight warped void, or the false sense of security? It was hard to figure out why there was such a feeling of discontentment in a house of wonderful people I loved and cared for, but I was finally able to voice the feelings in my own head. That was a start. They had been a long-time building, despite my devotion to my family. I had been drifting through days unsure of where I was going, and now I knew that I needed to go somewhere.
I couldn’t see a future without Olivia in it, but I also couldn’t see a future with what was happening in the world.
I sighed to the room, as empty as my soul, pulled on a soft sweater, and trekked downstairs. My body, sore from the long day outside, settled with a groan of relief into a dining room chair. I poured myself a glass of water and lit the candles that were strewn about as Jake and the girls entered from the kitchen, carrying steaming platters of food. My stomach gurgled happily.
Olivia plopped down in the chair beside me, dropping her hand into my lap. I shifted slightly as she brushed against my tired body. She noticed and turned to me, her hand halfway towards grabbing a slice of bread.
“Are you okay? Is it your leg again?” She asked, worried.
“No, its fine,” I replied with a smile, cutting myself a massive slice of the pie.
In truth I was tired as all hell, especially my leg. I’d gotten up before dawn to chase down the goats that had escaped over the fence, fed the animals, weeded the garden, and then spent the majority of the afternoon scrounging around the forest for apples and places to set up a new snare. I kneaded the still healing wound in my leg. The bullet had chipped my bone, but had passed through. The knife wound on the other hand was a thick, pink scar that stretched across my oblique.
She squeezed my hand and then filled her plate. I followed suit, moving through a hearty meal of corn, pie, bread and raw carrots. When my stomach was full enough, I pushed myself back from the table, resting my arm on the back of Liv’s chair. The flickering light of the candles ended in dim shapes beyond the circle of our table. If I hadn't known what was beyond that ring of light, I would have been content never leaving. The same could be said of the farm, it was a candle in the night.
The moment that had really changed my view on our life was the day two foreign paratroopers had blown off course, landing in our field. I had been on the porch when I saw them, drifting uncontrollably in the strong wind.
I hadn’t believed my eyes as our sanctuary, virgin to war, was about to have its first taste of blood. I yelled for Jake and ran inside to get the shotgun from the cabinet. I couldn’t let my mind grow clogged with fear, instead I let the adrenaline flood me with false courage.
Heart beating uncontrollably fast, I sprinted back out into the field. The two paratroopers were touching down just past a stone fence. I didn’t know if they were friendlies or not, but I didn't wait to find out. I was in mama bear mode, and filled with terrifying, thoughtless anger.
As soon as I hurdled the fence, there was a thunderous crack, unmistakable for anything but the retort of a rifle. The sound hit me with a physical blow, twisting my body in the wrong direction so when I landed, my legs went out from under me.
I tumbled to the grass, pain flaring in waves from my leg. My shoulder hit first, and I rolled in a tangle of arms and legs. The shotgun bucked and roared beneath me, scraping my hip. It discharged into the meadow, towards the soldiers.
A couple of pellets must have caught one of the men, his smoking rifle pointed my way, for he stumbled, tripping over the cords of his parachute. The chute fanned behind him like black angel wings, framing his body against the sunlit paddock.
Fingers twitching in spasms, ears ringing from the roar of the guns, I squirmed to my elbows, untangling the shotgun from beneath my chest. I didn’t think before I pointed and pulled the trigger, I didn’t have to. All I saw before the second solider was upon me, was the head of the first disintegrate into a pulpy mess.
The solider still left alive kicked me in the side of my head, knocking my gun away. The blow rolled me onto my back, sending explosions of midnight flowers across my vision. Head reeling, leg bursting in pain, I saw the dizzying revolution of the rifle pointed at my head. What happened next was more of a reaction than knowing what I was doing. I reached up and grabbed the barrel of his rifle, and pulling as hard as I could, I wrenched the gun from the soldier’s hands. He didn’t stumble for more than a second; he knew what he was doing.
The man kicked me in the side of the head again and knelt on my chest. Even as he stabbed me, he pushed my head to the side. The pain was like a bolt of lightning, burning through my gut. Blood splattered from my lips as I coughed and jerked in pain.
I bit his hand; he didn’t see it coming. The soldier reeled backwards, tumbling over onto his back, clutching the bleeding stump where his pointer finder used to be. I followed him, the knife still protruding from my side, and went to work.
The pain fueled my anger and I drove my fists into his face, again and again and again. Before I had passed out, his skull had caved in, putty beneath my felling blows. My hands were battered and bruised, almost motionless in their pain. Exhausted and bleeding, my dizziness sent creeping, black curtains stealing across my vision. I collapsed beside the corpse and slipped out of existence.
I had woken, changed, and wrapped up like a mummy. I saw life differently after that. Pain meant little to me and sacrificing anything for those I cared about had no limits. The war was on my home front now, and two enemy soldiers were buried out in the orchard. Life had all been a game right up until that moment, but after the incident, the war had become reality.
Over time the wounds healed, the physical ones at least. The others ate at my mind like rats. I still remembered how it felt to kill, to take a bullet, and I missed how real that felt. I loved Olivia, I loved this place, but a fantasy could only last so long.
Paradise couldn’t sate a restless soul; neither could running from the inevitable.
How long would it be before the full force of the war moved into our oasis? I couldn’t deal with that, with sitting around playing house while we were slaughtered. The feelings of uncertainty and the lack of fulfillment in my life were too great to ignore. The food, once mouthwatering and delicious, now made me squeamish. It smelled of ashes and dust. I didn’t know what these feelings were, but they were forming in my mind as a concrete idea. It was real, and it was big.
I felt that I needed to do something more than sit about on my thumbs, surviving just long enough to be overrun. Boys my age needed help pushing back the tide of shadow that trickled out from its point of assault. I may have been able to protect this family of mine from brief incursions like the paratroopers, but for how long?
How long before the fight surrounded us? I couldn't keep running away from the truth that things would just get better if I waited. I couldn't wait any longer, knowing that one day that the world would settle down and I would be left strung out, forever a runner
Dinner was almost finished, and the food was almost gone when Jake noticed my unease. He looked at me, knowing that I had something to say. I figured that he had felt the tug of war as well, but he owed a debt, to Tara and to me, and his place was here.
I looked up from my plate, hands shaking in my lap. I couldn’t contain these thoughts any longer; they were ready to burst out from me and destroy everything I cared for.
“I love all of you more than you know. That’s why this decision has been so hard to make, but I think it is the right one,” I croaked, my voice tight and shaking.
Chaos was my Siren, and its song was overwhelming.
Olivia slowly turned to me, eyes widening in shock and fear. The piece of bread she held fell from her limp fingers, scattering crumbs across the tabletop. Her eyes pleaded now, and shadows crept across her face. I had never before seen the darkness of fear in those kind lips, and gentle sculpture of her face. She had never left me, never faltered as I had led her through bullets and burning buildings. She had hidden it behind that façade of happiness, of excitement all along.
Which duty was greater? To her? Or to our future?
I cleared my throat.
“It’s time for me to take some responsibility…I think it’s time for me to go to war.”
And, after that, the silence was infinite.