by John Shors
Akira had done his best to stop the madness. He’d moved his unit to the outskirts of the city and made his men dig trenches until they were too weak to stand. He’d warned them that if anyone hurt a civilian he’d kill that man on the spot. He’d been tested twice, he’d killed twice, and after the second death his men had dug trenches and done little else. But the rest of the Japanese army had mutated into some monstrous being—some fire-breathing dragon of the past. This dragon had raped and tortured and killed until few of the victims even bothered to scream.
As he swam in the warm water, Akira relived those terrible days as he had so many times before. He’d wanted to save the women, but everyone he saved was soon killed by someone else. He himself had almost been shot when he’d tried to intervene one time too many, stepping between a group of murderous soldiers and a young girl. If Akira had been brave and noble like his father, he’d have helped the girl to her feet and he’d have died holding her hand. He’d have never seen his mother again, never watched cherry blossoms tumble down the tile roof of his home. Yet how infinitely better that death would have been to the alternative he chose—turning his back on the girl to save himself.
Her face haunted him now as it often did. He tried to watch the stars, tried to remember that something of solace remained before him. But the stars were only beautiful when they illuminated a beautiful world. And Akira’s world was hideous, and the stars only reminded him of that ugliness. To him they were the tears of those he’d seen murdered.
Willing himself to focus on the present, Akira kicked harder and lifted his head from the water. The island was closer, but not close enough. He knew that Annie wouldn’t make it. She was sobbing—aware that death was coming for her and that she could do nothing to stop it. Her weeping sister tried to drag her through the waves, which often rose and then buried them. Annie started to beg Isabelle to let her drown so that they both wouldn’t die. “One of us . . . has to live,” she muttered, “for Mother . . . and Father.”
“Swim, Annie! For the love of God, please swim! You can’t . . . you just can’t leave me.”
“Don’t . . . tell them . . . about this. I didn’t die . . . like this.”
“No! Please, God. Oh, please help us.”
Annie dropped beneath the surface. When she reappeared, she glanced toward Isabelle. “I love you,” she said weakly, her lips trembling.
“No! No, Annie, no! You need to fight!”
“It’s . . . too . . . far.”
“Oh, God, please don’t let this happen! Please, please, please! Please don’t take my sister!”
Akira kicked to them. “I am a strong swimmer. Very strong. Please put your arms around my neck and lie on my back.” Annie hesitated only for a heartbeat, and Akira felt her weight press him into the water. “We will swim now, yes?” he said. “No more talking.”
And so they swam. At first it wasn’t hard for Akira to carry Annie. At first she tried to kick with him and he felt the strength of her kicks. But then she had nothing left to offer and the weight of her nearly naked body bore him down. Akira had spent his childhood near a mountain-fed river and knew how to swim with tired legs, knew how to conserve his energy and air. Alone, he could have swum in this sea all night. But with the nurse atop him, he wasn’t sure if he could reach the island.
As time slowed and then seemed to stop, Akira continued to weaken. He tried to remember the little girl he had failed. Her face filled him with sorrow and misery and rage, and the rage prompted him to kick harder. How he wanted to run back into time and save her. He’d gladly give his life to again be offered the chance to lift her up into his arms and let the bullet take them both. She’d have felt no pain. She’d have known that he was there to protect her. And her terror would have fled and her death would have been merciful.
Thinking of her precious face—which had been battered and swollen and tormented with her sufferings—Akira began to cry. The sea mixed with his tears and stung his eyes, though he didn’t bother to wipe them. Instead, he asked the little girl for forgiveness. He’d never asked for her mercy before, because he knew his cowardice was unforgivable. Yet at that moment, with the nurse pressing him deeper into the water and his wounded and weakening leg bleeding his life away into the sea, he begged for the girl’s forgiveness. As his stitches ripped from his flesh and all warmth drained from him, he beseeched her to listen to him say that he was sorry.
And a miracle happened then—for he saw her. And she was not in torn and disheveled rags, but in a lovely white dress. Her hair, long and sinuous, bore several flowers above her ear. She stood next to a stone bridge, picking flowers and carefully positioning them within her tresses. She smiled and spoke with someone he could not see. Was she speaking to him? Was she saying his name? Though he failed to understand her words, the way in which her mouth moved comforted him. She was happy. She was happy and safe and her face was at peace.
The little girl’s eyes met his and she reached out to him—and in her hand was one of the flowers she had found. Weeping like a child, Akira opened his palm and let her place the flower in it. She smiled when he took her gift, nodding to him. He told her that he was so terribly sorry, and she placed a small finger to her lips. She then pointed behind her and he saw a land of immense, enchanting beauty. He wanted to follow her into this lush land, and so he kicked harder as she drew back. He did not want her to leave him. And she did not leave him.
When his feet struck sand, he started to sob. The little girl moved closer to him, and as his body convulsed, he reached for her. And then there were others. Women were suddenly shouting and three figures rushed through the shallows to drag him toward a beach. The figures were embracing and crying and Akira wondered if they saw the little girl too. Had she saved them as well? Had she told them that she was safe and sheltered and that she did not fear?
Akira crawled toward her, wanting to hold her against his heart, wanting to feel the warmth and joy and hope of her. He felt her for a moment, felt all of those things he so longed to feel. And when she told him of her forgiveness, he went limp in her arms and for the first time in years he was at peace.
DAY TWO
Waves march like soldiers,
To bleed upon sun-bleached shores.
I long for old moss.
Friends and Foes
As far as could be discerned, nine survivors had endured the sinking of Benevolence and made it to the island. At first light, those able had made a simple shelter beneath a massive banyan tree, which rose from a tank-sized boulder that looked to have been thrown inland by a god of the sea. The trunk of the tree rested atop the boulder, with scores of thick roots following the contours of the stone into the ground below. The boulder was trapped within the roots in the same way that a dead wasp is cocooned in a spider’s web. Other roots fell vertically from the tree’s giant branches. These roots, which resembled slender saplings, were so frequent and spread apart that the one tree almost seemed like its own forest.
The banyan tree emerged from the border between the sand and the jungle. The sand comprised a curved beach that might take ten minutes to walk from end to end. Beyond the beach, which resembled a half-moon, stretched a protected and docile harbor. From the beach, it almost looked as if the harbor was a lake surrounded on three sides by land. Only a slice of the sea was visible, waves pounding against distant reefs.
Unconscious atop a bed of palm fronds was Akira. His wound had completely opened during the swim, and the loss of blood had almost killed him. Kneeling above their patient were Isabelle and Annie. The nurses, who now wore the shirts of Joshua and Jake, had bound his wound with fabric they’d torn from Joshua’s pants. They’d spent the night lying on either side of Akira in an effort to keep him warm.
Talking a few feet away were the other survivors, who all had minor cuts and burns but were otherwise unharmed. Joshua squinted toward the sea, believing that his eyes were passing over Benevolence’s grave. Jake and Ratu had been inseparable since the attack and now
shared the milk of a coconut. Standing next to them was a middle-aged nurse, Scarlet, whose name was apt, as even the sand and salt couldn’t dull her crimson hair. Beside her were Nathan and Roger—two of Benevolence’s officers. Though Nathan didn’t look like a sailor, Roger did. In fact, his features seemed to have been chiseled out of stone by the sea and wind. His face was gaunt, his gray eyes restless, his arms as muscled and bulging as a thick rope. Though Roger was only in his early twenties, he already looked as if he’d seen the worst that life had to offer.
“No matter what anyone else believes, I still don’t see how the pilot could have mistaken our ship,” Scarlet said, looking from face to face. “I don’t think that the setting sun blinded him. I don’t—”
“It doesn’t matter what any of us think,” Joshua quietly interrupted, trying to will himself to lead, knowing that he had to lead no matter how much he wanted to be led. Though grateful that Isabelle and Annie had survived, he felt terribly betrayed—by both God and his own shortcomings. “We’re here,” he continued wearily, “and now that we’re here, we’d better do something about it. We’d better improve our shelter. And collect food and water. And we should walk the beach and see if anything floated here from Benevolence.”
“There’s an empty lifeboat, Captain,” Ratu said, pointing far down the beach to where the sea had a direct passage to land. “Stuck on some rocks. Big Jake and I were going to move it but decided to come here first.”
Joshua looked at Jake, who was broad chested and half a head taller than anyone else. His eyes and short hair were a shade darker than his skin. His face seemed as wide and round as a bowling ball. Despite a large gap between his front teeth, a smile seemed to be an almost permanent fixture on the oversized engineer. “Is it empty?” Joshua asked.
“Just of people, Captain,” Jake replied. “Looks like someone chucked some supplies into it. A few life jackets. Some other odds and ends. Ain’t much rhyme or reason to it.”
Joshua glanced at the sea, wishing the lifeboat had been filled with survivors, wondering why God had let so many good men and women die. “Can you two bring it ashore?” he finally asked Jake.
“I reckon, Captain, that another set of hands would be mighty helpful.”
Joshua nodded toward Roger. “Please give them that extra set of hands. And bring everything in the boat back here. I’d like a detailed accounting.”
The burly sailor nodded. “You’ll get it.”
“Do you have orders for me, Captain?” Ratu asked, his slightly British accent making him sound older than his eleven years. He held his hands against his hips, standing as tall as his small frame permitted.
Though his horror at the loss of Benevolence made him want to disappear from the world, to walk out into the water and not return, Joshua forced himself to consider the boy. “Again, tell me, Ratu, how you got aboard Benevolence,” he said, the fingers of his right hand rubbing together as if he held his favorite rosary.
“It wasn’t bloody hard, Captain. I swam out and climbed up the anchor chain.”
“Climbed up the anchor chain?”
“Yes, Captain. As I already said, you should have put another guard at the top. The bloke up there was half asleep.”
Behind Ratu, Jake cleared his throat. “Well, Ratu,” Joshua replied, “why don’t you put those climbing skills of yours to work? After you help with the lifeboat, please go with Jake and gather as many coconuts and fruits as you can.”
“I’m a cracking good fisherman, too.”
“Let’s start with the coconuts, Ratu. We can all live without meat for a day.”
“Yes, Captain,” Ratu said. “Thank you, my captain.”
Joshua edged past Scarlet, knelt beside his wife, and eyed the Japanese patient. “What does he need, Izzy?”
“If his wound becomes infected, he’ll die,” Isabelle said, swatting away flies from the bloody cloth about Akira’s leg. “We need medical supplies.”
“Well, let’s find some,” he said, rising to address the group again. His bloodshot eyes darted uneasily from face to face. His fingers continued to move as if they twirled the rosary beads that once brought him peace of mind—the solace that he so desperately needed now. “A lot of those bottles float,” he said, “and there are bound to be some ashore. We’re going to look for them. We’re going to look for everything we’ll need, and then we’ll get a good shelter built.” Joshua paused, pointing inland toward a surprisingly large and steep hill that was dominated by what seemed to be an infinite number of trees. “For the next hour, I’ll be up on that rise. I want to get the lay of the land and to see if other ships are about.”
After Joshua gave each survivor specific instructions, he strode from the beach, fleeing the stares of those he’d so miserably failed. Beyond the beach, the island was extremely dense with vegetation. Trees twisted and reached skyward, fighting for sunlight. Vines dropped from the canopy above and spread atop the soil. Ferns and flowers and knee-high grass seemed to cover every inch of the jungle floor.
Unfamiliar sounds rose and lingered in the jungle, reverberating eerily, as if trying to escape the labyrinth of trees. A recurring hoot seemed to follow Joshua’s footsteps. Insects of all colors, shapes, and sizes buzzed in the canopy. Birds fled his approach, while rustling leaves revealed lizards and hermit crabs as they scurried about.
Heat and humidity dominated the unmoving air. Sweat glistened on Joshua’s bare chest as he climbed the rise before him. Though he’d grown up exploring the Rocky Mountains, he felt insecure in the jungle. He was used to either open spaces or the comforting steel of ships. He was a stranger to this land, and though he felt no malice from it, he sensed its overwhelming indifference.
Joshua climbed to the top of the hill, which provided him with an unrestricted view of every direction but north. As far as he could tell, the island was shaped like a fishhook. The beach on which they’d landed was located on the inside part of the hook. The large harbor bordering their camp appeared to be deep.
The blue-green water of the harbor faded into a darker blue that ultimately merged with the sky. Not a single cloud hung above the sea, and its waters were unblemished by shadows or waves. In another life, Joshua would have appreciated the beauty of the scene. Instead, he looked to where Benevolence sank, and once his eyes settled upon the area he shook his head in profound sadness and made no effort to wipe away his sudden tears. On the evening that she’d been torpedoed, Benevolence carried five hundred and sixteen souls. And Joshua had failed all of these people—even the very few who managed to survive. As he thought about the unburied corpses at sea, he leaned against a tree, trying to steady himself.
“Why, Lord, did you . . . did you take them?” he whispered, feeling nauseous and empty. He closed his eyes as memories of their deaths flooded into his mind much the way the sea had consumed Benevolence. He had tried to save those unable to save themselves, but his ship had sunk too swiftly.
“It wasn’t your fault.”
The voice caused Joshua’s heart to skip, and he turned toward its source. “You . . . you followed me?”
Isabelle stepped forward, wrapping her arms around him. “I’m so sorry.”
His tears began anew as she drew him closer. He was reminded of the previous night, of running through the shallows to pull her from the water, of his body trembling with relief at the feel of her against him. The elation of discovering her alive had been the only thing that had kept him from swimming out into the blackness and never returning. “I was . . . I was their captain,” he finally replied. “I was supposed to take care of them.”
“And you did, Josh. You did.” When he only shook his head, she placed a hand against his face, which was thin but bore a somewhat oversized nose and ears that protruded slightly too far from his head. His curly brown hair was damp with sweat and stuck against his long forehead. Isabelle wiped his brow. “You did take care of them,” she repeated, all too familiar with the vacant look of his eyes. She’d seen such looks
on hundreds of her patients—soldiers who’d been numbed to the present by memories of the past.
“No,” he softly replied. “No, I didn’t.”
“Don’t be—”
“I didn’t . . . take care of them, Izzy. Please . . . please don’t tell me that I did. Don’t tell me that.”
“But how could you have known?”
He pulled away from her, shaking his head, unwilling to meet her gaze. “How could I have known? It’s my job to know.”
“But you can’t see the future. How could you possibly have—”
“Scarlet’s right,” he said, looking again to where Benevolence rested. “She was on deck and she saw what I saw. We were sunk deliberately.”
“Sunk deliberately? But that doesn’t make any sense. Why would the Japanese sink a hospital ship?”
“I don’t know. Something in our hold, maybe. Something that was there that shouldn’t have been. Ammunition or fuel. Probably fuel. That explosion was far, far too massive to have come from a single torpedo. For the love of God, it ripped Benevolence in two. That’s why she went down so fast, why hardly anyone survived.”
“But we’re a hospital ship. We can’t carry ammunition or extra fuel.”
“And why not? You think things like that haven’t been done in this godforsaken war? The Germans and Japanese and Italians have done them. So have the Russians and the British. We’re not above it. Not by a long shot. I promise you, something other than hospital beds and a single torpedo caused Benevolence to blow up like that.”
Isabelle tried to recall the explosion. “It was large,” she admitted, unconsciously rubbing the side of her sore hip.
“We’re at the end of our supply lines out here,” Joshua said softly, almost as if talking with himself. “We’re thousands of miles from home or even Pearl Harbor. And I’m not surprised that some fool decided to have Benevolence loaded with . . . whatever blew her up. Maybe that same fool betrayed us to the Japs. Someone did.”
