The Long Night

by Jessica Scott

  Something caught his eye. He glanced over the edge of the sandbag.

  "No fucking way," he mumbled.

  The dog slipped onto the base, appearing from nowhere down the line of Jersey barriers. There had to be a hole in the perimeter. That was bad. If she could get through it, a small kid could get through it. The last thing they needed was a kid running around the base. That little girl from the street could fit through same as something the size of that dog. He never wanted to see another little kid in the middle of a firefight again. Ever.

  The pain in his hand subsided as he watched the dog slink down the line of the barriers, her body hugging the concrete. He could have sworn he saw the bone white of her ribs against her fur. Her snout was to the ground, her tail tucked between her legs. Her ears, though—her ears were perked up, one twitching one way, the other straight forward. She was alert even if she was pathetic.

  How the fuck was this dog still alive? There was no reason for her to live. She was suffering in the heat and the drought and the lack of food. It was a goddamned shame to leave her alive. Sam lifted his weapon, drawing a bead on her ribs, just over her front leg.

  He flicked his selector switch from “safe” to “semi”.

  It would be a mercy to put her out of her misery.

  He shifted and the packet of crackers in his pocket crinkled.

  He could feed her. But it would only prolong her misery. Better to shoot her and keep any puppies from being born and dying in the dry, hungry heat.

  He bent his knee. The package crinkled again.

  He paused, then flicked the selector switch back to “safe” and slung his weapon across his chest. He pulled out his knife and tore the cheese packet open from end to end. The cheese oozed like glue as he peeled the package apart, opening it to give her easy access to the yellow gold goo.

  He looked down as she approached the guard tower. If he dropped the cheese, it could land face down in the dirt. It felt wrong to feed her the cheese coated with dirt and sand.

  His stomach rumbled as he looked down at the cheese. The guard shift should end soon. He could get more food at the chow hall. When would she eat next?

  He swallowed and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He sighed as he reached for his weapon. Technically he wasn't abandoning his post. He was just going to climb down, set the damn cheese down and let the dog eat, then climb back up and hope someone showed up to relieve him before he died from lack of water.

  He felt like a dumb shit for not having his CamelBak. He should have known better. It wasn't like this was his first deployment.

  He folded the cheese closed, then awkwardly climbed down the wobbly ladder.

  His boot hit the ground and he damn near jumped out of his skin. The dog was right beneath the guard tower, less than five feet from him. He dropped the cheese, fumbling for his weapon as her hackles rose like spikes along her back. Her teeth were pristine white, and glistened with the only moisture around. One paw hung suspended in the air as she growled, the sound low in her throat. Mud matted her fur along the prominent bone of her hip.

  Sam's hands shook as he raised the weapon, charging a round into the chamber and flicking it to “semi” in a single gesture.

  He slipped his finger over the trigger, sighting in on her forehead. He couldn't believe he'd come down to feed the fucking mutt and she was about to attack him.

  He shifted his weight, balancing with his feet shoulder-width apart.

  Her paw connected with the ground and she lowered her body into a crouch. Her body trembled. His finger tightened on the trigger.

  She lifted her paw.

  The report of his rifle echoed off the barriers, mixed with her pain-filled yelp.

  And that was how the nightmare began.

  * * *

  "What the fuck are you doing?" Tick's voice came from very far away, echoing from the end of a long tunnel.

  A hand moved slowly into Sam's field of vision, dragging his weapon down off his shoulder then farther, out of his hand. He reached for it, but was too slow.

  Tick braced one hand on his shoulder, keeping him still. "Answer me, Brown. What the fuck are you doing shooting inside the perimeter?"

  Sam twisted, looking at the spot where the dog had been.

  Shock, like tiny bolts of lightning, prickled over his skin.

  Nothing was there. Oh Jesus, there was nothing there.

  He looked back at Tick. His mouth opened but nothing came out.

  This was. . .

  He looked back where the dog had been, then shrugged off Tick's hand. He lunged toward the spot.

  It was a small dust-blown depression beneath the tower. No paw prints. No sign of blood.

  Nothing to indicate that a feral dog had just been about to attack him for fucking feeding her.

  He turned slowly back to Tick and the two soldiers standing behind him.

  Three people had seen him fire his weapon.

  Inside the perimeter.

  Holy fuck, he'd had a negligent discharge.

  Reality was a bitch and she’d slapped him in the face, hard.

  His guts twisted. His fingers twitched for a weapon no longer in his hands.

  "I need you to come with me to the TOC."

  * * *

  Sam didn't say anything for the majority of the walk. He trudged quietly behind his first sergeant, shame and embarrassment wrestling for supremacy inside his colon. He’d thought he was going to shit himself when he realized he'd fired at nothing.

  But she'd been there. He'd heard her. He'd seen her.

  Tick stopped. They were nowhere near the TOC. Alone. And Sam's weapon was in Tick's hand. Shame burned in him.

  "What happened?" A quiet condemnation for breaking their rules.

  "There was a dog." He managed to meet Tick's dispassionate eyes.

  "What dog?" Tick hadn't seen her. He'd seen Sam fire his weapon but he hadn't seen the skinny, miserable bitch that had come out of nowhere. He didn't believe Sam.

  Hell, Sam didn't know if he believed Sam.

  "She was walking toward the guard tower. I didn't have a good shot at her from up there, so I climbed down.”

  "Why?"

  "Why what?"

  "Why did you climb down?"

  The cheese. He'd forgotten about the cheese. He must have dropped it at some point, because it was no longer in his hands.

  But he couldn't admit to that. Add in feeding the damn dog to firing his weapon inside the perimeter, and he was either going to be declared fucking nuts or worse. He'd simply cement the record against him.

  "I needed a better shot." The lie slid easily along his tongue, but left a bitter aftertaste. Something fetid and sour. "I didn't want to wound her."

  "You shoot dogs for fun?" There was judgment in Tick's voice. Funny, Sam had never thought of him as an animal lover.

  "We're supposed to shoot them, right?"

  "You're supposed to call vector control."

  Sam shrugged and stuffed his hands in his pockets. He couldn't look Tick in the eye. Not when he was lying his ass off. A cloud of shame hung over his head, thick and heavy. Worse, it clung to his skin.

  "Too far away." I just want to go to sleep. But he didn't say that out loud.

  Tick sighed and started walking again, clearly expecting Sam to fall into step with him. Sam obeyed, falling in on Tick's left because Tick outranked him.

  "I'll do what I can," Tick said after a long moment. "But I've got to tell the commander. And now is not a good time for an negligent discharge. We've had six in the brigade. The brigade commander is thinking about withholding punishment to his level."

  Sam's stomach flipped. Withholding punishment to the O6 level? That meant Sam could kiss any hope of a career in the military good-bye. His record would be flagged. He'd get a negative evaluation report.

  He was finished.

  He had no idea what to say in the aching silence so he marched on. At some point he realized he'd hunched his shoulders. He'd gi
ven up on some fundamental level, and he hadn't even been judged yet. Or at least, he hadn't been convicted yet.

  He wanted to straighten his back, to show the fucking war that it hadn't beaten him yet. But his shoulders were heavy. His boots dragged with every step. His thighs protested every single step that took him closer to the commander and the reckoning he faced in the command cell.

  The wind picked up. It blew tiny bits of sand into his skin, sanding off the layer of shame and disappointment and leaving him raw and ragged and teetering on the edge of an abyss.

  21

  Sam was alone in his trailer. The air conditioner hummed over his head. He stared at the smeared dust on the bottom of it, evidence of someone's failed attempt to clean it.

  He hadn't taken his boots off. His feet rested on the dusty black bed frame, his hands were folded behind his head. His body was covered with a thin sheen of dirt and sweat, but he couldn't find the energy to get up and move to the shower.

  He needed to do something. Soon. The longer he lay there, the harder it would be to break free from the miasma that pulled him down into the darkness, the crushing sadness that had been nipping at his heels for days since he'd shot the dog.

  His mind refused to accept that he'd fired at nothing. Over and over it repeated the events that led up to him firing his weapon. Over and over, he saw the whites in her eyes, the glistening pallor of her canines. He'd lifted his weapon. Taken aim.

  He wondered now if he could have backed away slowly. Climbed the ladder and gotten away from her.

  But then she'd still be walking around the base. And she was dangerous. A threat to his soldiers and every soldier on the base. He’d done the right thing.

  Except that now his weapon was back in the ops tent. And the commander had given him a direct order to stay away from work for the next 48 hours.

  What the hell was Sam supposed to do for 48 hours, trapped in his trailer? He couldn't go anywhere on the base without his weapon except the shitter and the shower. Any place that had people was bound to have a sergeant major who would kick his ass for not having his weapon on him. Which meant he couldn't call Faith. He couldn't get on a computer and check his email for a note from her.

  He felt trapped and helpless and bitter. That fucking dog had been there. He had nothing to do but wait it out, while the bitterness clawed at him. It was an ugly thing to be trapped with one’s thoughts, wondering if you were going crazy. Had he seen the dog? Had she really been there?

  Why didn't he fucking know anymore?

  He closed his eyes, shutting out the smear of dirt on the bottom of the air conditioner. His eyes felt gritty and dirty. Dry. He wanted to sleep. So fucking badly. But every time he closed his eyes, he felt his rifle in his shoulder pocket again. Saw that fucking mutt with her too white teeth.

  Nothing about her had said “hallucination”. Maybe if she'd had saber tooth tiger teeth, he'd have realized she wasn't real. Maybe if she'd been larger than a real dog, he might have thought twice about shooting at a figment of his imagination.

  But he couldn't deny the truth of it. He'd shot at a shadow, something only he could see. And now, their company was short a key leader because his first sergeant and commander hadn't made up their minds what to do about the negligent discharge.

  Frustration was a stink on his skin. He sat up with a muffled curse and dragged his hand over the sweat on his face.

  He'd shot that fucking dog. He wasn't goddamned crazy.

  He grabbed his headgear and stomped out of his trailer. There was one place he could go on this base that didn't involve getting his ass handed to him.

  He headed out through the barriers beyond the latrines and the showers and down the dusty trail that led away from civilization to that guard tower.

  It was a long walk, unnerving in the swirling dust that blocked out the sun with a grey haze. The heat was oppressive, like standing in a hair dryer on full blast and adding sandpaper to his exposed skin.

  He dropped his head down and walked. Something had to have been there. Even though two days had passed, he couldn't have lost his mind. That dog had been there. Maybe he'd winged her and she'd taken off before any blood had hit the ground. Maybe the wind had blown away her footprints before he'd walked over.

  There had to be a rational fucking explanation other than Sam was losing his mind. Because that reality wasn't something he wanted to consider. That reality would keep him from going home to Faith. It would keep him from holding his baby or making another one with the woman who meant more than life to him.

  He was going home, damn it.

  He stuffed his hands into his pockets as he walked along the t-walls toward the guard tower. He looked up and saw two shadows, who looked like they were doing anything but guard duty. Fucking in the guard tower. Some people would do anything for a piece of ass.

  Knowing he wouldn't be seen as long as they were distracted, he made his way beneath the tower. He could still see the depression beneath the tower. Deeper now, blown by the wind. He ran his hand over the smooth sand. It tickled his palm, reminding him of the time he'd taken Faith to Sand Beach in Bar Harbor. It had been the middle of the winter. The wind had blown in cold off the North Atlantic, but they'd sat on the beach and let the wind pound against the blanket that covered them while Sam's hands had wandered over her body.

  He remembered the whisper of her breath against his cheek. The feel of her body moving sweet and silky against his fingers.

  He swallowed and jerked himself back to the present. He wasn't going to find what he needed wandering down Memory Lane. He looked up as the tower over his head creaked and groaned. Or maybe that was one of the tower's occupants.

  His gaze traveled down the wooden beams, hoping to see a splatter of blood. A tuft of fur.

  Goddamn it, he wanted to find something that proved he wasn't fucking nuts.

  He looked down the line of t-walls. A shadow slipped against the grey concrete and his blood quickened in his throat. That was where she'd come from the other day.

  He didn't realize he was holding his breath until his lungs ached and his hands shook.

  He walked down the line of barriers, running his fingers down the burning concrete.

  There, in the shadowed space between the two barriers: a tiny gap. And on the edge of that gap was a smear of blood that reminded him of the smear of dust on the bottom of his air conditioner. A haphazard streak.

  Something had run away.

  It should have been relief that washed over his dirty skin. It should have been something cold, refreshing. Reassurance that no, he wasn't losing his mind.

  Instead, he felt a sick guilt twist around his heart.

  * * *

  He'd stayed too long, looking at that smear of blood and the validation it offered his sanity.

  He stayed until the sun sank behind the Jersey barriers and shadows crawled along the concrete.

  It was only the nightly call to prayer that jerked him out of his reverie. Jolting him that he'd been gone too long and that his commander and first sergeant might be looking for him. No one wanted the crazy kid wandering around the base at night unsupervised.

  But the blood. Proof was in the blood on that barrier.

  He shoved aside the guilt and headed toward the TOC, walking quickly through the dark shadows between the barriers.

  With the shadows came the silence. With the silence came the fear. A creepy presence trickling down his spine told him that he was being followed. That some whispering death was sliding its fingers over the back of his neck.

  He stopped. A claw. He had heard a claw scraping over concrete, a screeching, cutting sound.

  Sam whirled, his blood pounding as he reached for his weapon.

  It wasn't there.

  Fear danced over his spine and dried the spit in his mouth. His bladder clenched tight.

  The shadows behind him didn't move. Stillness answered his questioning look. He breathed deeply and turned away, running from one darkness into anot
her. The feeling was something primitive and wild and deeply unsettling.

  He was unarmed against the night.

  He picked up his pace, running his hands along the barriers as night fell suddenly and completely, wiping out any daylight.

  In the distance, at the edge of the barrier maze, lights beckoned like a savior. Offering warmth and safety. Offering shelter from the night.

  He fought the urge to run. Then he heard it again. Closer this time. Near his ear. Above his hand on the wall.

  He spun.

  "Who's there?" His voice broke over the fear, crackling like a splintered cracker falling out of its sleeve.

  The wind swooped down over the top of the barrier, spitting sand over his face and neck. Sam closed his eyes and felt like something had just stolen a piece of his soul.

  He froze as the sound sliced by his face. He spun.

  "What the fuck?" He sucked in a deep breath, felt the air trapped in his lungs. He needed to move but couldn't shake the feeling that he was surrounded. Trapped. His breath came in quick, frozen huffs. His fingers scraped along the barrier, reminding him that he was real. That this wasn't something out of a twisted fucking nightmare.

  He bolted, racing through the darkness, fleeing the shadows that hunted him, that made him feel like fucking prey.

  He burst out of the edge of the maze and crashed into a mass of people and noise and light.

  The buzz of activity had never been so fucking welcome in his life. He stood for a moment, letting the feeling of people wash over him and chase away the hunted feeling.

  Tick stepped out of the company ops, scanning, always scanning the faces and people around him.

  He could show Tick the blood. Tick would believe him.

  He could get his weapon back. He could prove to Tick, to his commander, to himself, that he wasn't crazy.

  He crossed the wide-open space and moved toward his company ops. Tick's eyes widened. Just enough that Sam noticed.

  And his excitement ebbed. Just a little. But it was enough.