They’d tried for so long. So very long. And now Gabriel was here and wonderful and everything they’d wanted, and yet — she felt like the stranger. She felt like she didn’t belong. She’d hurried away on another tour straight away, because … well.
She felt like this boy wasn’t her son.
Still, they’d said that this could happen. She had to be patient. She was okay with that — they had time.
The spring air was warm, and Bobby gave the screen door a shake. There was something in his eyes, a yearning, and she heard it in his voice when he spoke. “C’mon babe. It’s steaks tonight. I know they don’t feed you right when you’re in Romania.” It wasn’t his cooking she craved — although that was good — but the touch of his hand. The feel of his body, next to hers. The smell of him. His heart, by her heart.
Jessica took a step forward, limpet — Gabriel — still attached. He’d stepped on one of her boots, and she swung that leg forward, causing a squeal of delight. She could feel the tension starting to release from her shoulders as she walked up the path to the familiar shingle-walled home they shared. There was a bike on the lawn, a soccer ball next to it. She felt herself grinning like a fool and didn’t care.
Every time she left, she wasn’t sure how she’d feel when she got home. Would they remember her? Would she remember them? As she walked past Bobby, the smell of him — the man she loved — hit her hard and she almost stopped. This is why it was worthwhile. Going away, that’s what she wanted to keep her country safe. Coming home, that’s what she needed to keep her soul safe.
• • •
The dinner had been excellent. Bobby was a satisfactory cook, didn’t pretend otherwise, but he seemed to pour his heart into it. There wasn’t any specialist that had come out of the Food Service Training School who knew more about how her heart worked. The kitchen where they ate had that new linoleum on the floor — Bobby had laid that down while she was away, one of his “continuous improvement projects” that kept the house from looking old. She had thought it would be brighter, but maybe that was just the way he’d talked about it. The photos never told the story.
It was their home. They didn’t live on base, because they’d both decided that wasn’t where they wanted to raise their son. She fought, so he wouldn’t have to. That was the plan.
Gabriel had started school while she’d been away, that gentle child she’d left still there but now bursting with curious energy. “Mom! Do you know that our sun is a star? It’s really really big, bigger than all the planets even if you mushed them together.”
She’d laughed. “Is that so?”
“Did you know,” he said, eyes wide, “that it will blow up?”
Jessica had knelt down in mock concern. “I hadn’t heard. Should I be worried?”
“No, Mom. It won’t happen for years.” And with that, he’d started to head back outside, to a new bike, and a new ball. She wanted to let him go play. She wanted him to stay here with her.
“Honey,” she said, reaching after Gabriel. “Time for your bath.”
He’d nodded at her. Bath time was play time, an easy trade for bike or ball. She drew the bath, warm water filling a tub that was white and clean, simple, not a line of military precision in its design. No metal shower heads, no lines of mirrors. Joy, and laughter, and — of course — bubbles. She sat at the edge of the bath while Gabriel played, building a tower of those bubbles with his hands. He had a plastic toy — it looked like the kind of thing you’d get from a Happy Meal — and he kept trying to balance it on top of the bubbles. Gravity won, and it kept falling back. Any excuse for more bubbles. More water, too — it was everywhere. She’d been deployed in places it had rained for six months at a time and she’d never got this wet. Her hair was matted to her head, the shirt she’d pulled on soaked through.
Maybe this was what it felt like to have a son. Maybe.
When Gabriel got out of the bath, she wrestled him mostly dry with a towel before he ran — shrieking with joy — back into the rest of the house.
There was a bedtime story, and the soft scent of his hair as he fell into a drowsy sleep. She left his door open a crack, the light in the hall on, and found Bobby’s arms waiting for her. They talked, and kissed, and talked more, until the night turned black around them as they fell into rediscovering each other. He found the new scar on her arm where she’d been cut during a training exercise. She kissed his fingers away, finding the callouses under his fingertips from his work on the house. He felt the kinks in her back, rubbing the stress away. His touches became more insistent, urgent, their kisses fierce with remembered joy.
Later: contentment.
She drifted off to sleep knowing she had a five-year-old son, and next time she was back, she’d promised she’d get to know him better. They had time. All the time in the world.
Didn’t they?
• • •
Jessica faced the laptop, the small faces of her husband and son staring back at her, half a world away. Thank God for Skype. “I wish I was with you guys.” Gabriel was big now, the quiet curiosity of childhood about to be pushed aside by the brash, gangling advent of becoming a teenager. His dark eyes and dark lashes would turn heads and when he worked that out … but not yet.
Not yet. Ten was too soon to be breaking hearts.
Ten was too late to get to know him.
“I got a new bike,” Gabriel was saying. “Dad said it was from him, but I knew it was from Santa.”
Bobby laughed, the sound smaller than it felt in her heart. “There’s something wrong with our kid. He still believes in Santa Claus, and the Tooth Fairy.”
Gabriel shrugged, the motion blurred by a hiss of data corruption, the link to Qatar functional but civilian comms shuffled around military needs. “They keep leaving me stuff. They must be real.”
“That’s your Dad,” said Jessica, her fingers touching the screen’s edge. Wanting to touch them. Wanting to know them. “He’s always trying to take the credit. Why, he told me he did the floor in the bathroom himself.”
“I helped!” said Gabriel.
“You drank all the Coke,” said Bobby.
“That’s helping,” said Gabriel. The smile stayed on his face as he looked closer at the camera. “Where are you today, Mom?”
She couldn’t say, of course. Couldn’t even take a holiday photo for fear that something would get onto Facebook, and some Al-Quaeda asshole would use a message to her son as a weapon against the men to the left of her, and the women to the right. The people in her command. They’d said this was her last deployment. Said this was the last time she’d be up to her armpits in sand. She pushed a tired hand through close-cropped hair, then said. “Somewhere with a lot of sun.”
“Oh!” said Gabriel. “Bring back a tan.”
Jessica smiled at the screen. There’d be no trouble with that. Her shoulders were a little burnt from the impromptu game of basketball they’d played earlier, something to work the stress out before the action started. Too much sun and laughter, but it was okay. Shaved a little off the divide she wanted to maintain between her command and her soldiers, but everyone was on edge.
No one knew why the fuck they were in Qatar.
No one would tell her why she was here, instead of back home for Christmas. Back with her family. That had been the deal — finish the last one, get a decent holiday at home. But then they’d asked her how important her career was. Said that being a woman in a man’s job was hard enough, said that she’d best step up to the plate if she wanted to win.
They hadn’t said that, of course. But she’d heard it in their every word.
Someone cleared their throat behind her. She turned, taking in Gibson and that damn tablet that always brought more trouble. “Just a minute.”
“Ma’am.” Gibson stood still as a post.
Jessica sighed. The man was efficient, but had the EQ of a stone. She turned back to the little screen. “I’ve got to go.”
“We miss you,” said Bobb
y.
“Will you be here next Christmas?” said Gabriel. “I’d like to give you a present instead of mailing it.”
“Yes, honey,” she said. It wouldn’t be long before Gabriel didn’t believe in Santa. It wouldn’t be long before he stopped wanting to be with her. It wouldn’t be long before she lost her chance to get to know her son. “I promise.” Next Christmas, or she was out.
• • •
The plane shook and trembled around her, the big transport’s turbines churning their way back Stateside. Jessica looked at the empty bay around her. Nothing but a crate swaddled in cargo webbing, empty benches around the edges of the plane, the bay big and cold and harsh.
She felt inside her for something, found only an empty sort of desperation. She nudged her duffel with a boot, her eyes moving towards the front. She wanted to stalk across the metal floor, pound on the door to the cabin, demand with all the privilege of rank that they get there faster.
Make the plane get to where her son, not quite fifteen, was dying.
The crew were doing it anyway. The plane pushed hard through the air, then engines running hard. They knew why she wanted to get home. It wasn’t their fault the only bird on the ground was a hauler, built for capacity, not comfort — or speed. There would be a change of aircraft soon, something faster to get her Stateside before it was too late.
But it was already too late. She knew it in her heart. There was a price for broken promises, and her son was paying it.
• • •
It didn’t matter. None of it. The doctor was looking up at her face. “Do you understand what I’ve said, Mrs. Pearce?”
She understood, all right. She was looking at a closed door to an OR. Civilian, not military, but it still had the same damn smell. Blood, under the disinfectant, she knew that smell as the price for sending men and women to die. There wasn’t the usual sound though — the machines that monitored life were silent, the bustle and pace of surgeons at work was missing.
She wanted to go in there, scream at them to turn the machines back on. To move like they had a purpose. She turned to the doctor. “No.”
“We tried as hard as we—”
“No,” said Jessica. “You didn’t. It was a car crash, wasn’t it?”
“There was a … there was a truck,” said the doctor. He was a small man with glasses that framed eyes tired beyond measure.
“I’ve seen men hit by artillery fire put back together, Doctor,” she said. “You’re telling me a road accident can’t be fixed?”
The doctor looked at her for a few moments, then pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Is there someone we can call?”
She thought of Bobby, lying cold and dead on a table. Her son, beside him. Their bodies a ruin, but their hearts broken long ago by a wife and a mother who’d never been home. So they’d left home too, Gabriel riding another new bike that Santa had brought while Bobby pedaled beside him. Building memories without her.
That bike was another one she’d bought to make the guilt go away. She’d paid with money earned by her service. By being away from them.
“Can you call God?” Jessica took a step towards the man, then clenched her teeth. It wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t his fault. She relaxed the hands that had balled into fists, straightened her uniform. Her eyes were dry, her face was hard. “Can you?”
The doctor licked his lips. “No.”
“Then what good are you?” She turned on her heel, boots taking her away from that terrible room of death. She saved her tears, feeling something clench inside her chest. Something that wouldn’t let go, that held the pain locked away inside.
What a way to learn that — after all these years — she really did love her son.
• • •
“Oh,” said Adalia. She could feel the tears wet on her face. “Oh.” She let go of Jessica’s hands.
“How—” Jessica recoiled from her. “What—”
“What’s going on?” said Carlisle. “This isn’t a super good time, if I’m being honest.”
“You have shared a part of your story,” said Ajay. “You have shared the part about how you got here.”
“You … you saw that?” said Adalia.
“No,” said Ajay. “I saw your face. Your eyes, mistress.”
“Someone,” said Carlisle, “needs to say what the fuck is going on. I’m driving a truck in the wake of a werewolf to a city full of zombies, okay, and this is about as real as shit gets.”
“I wish you hadn’t done that,” said the boy. His eyes shone, bright with remembered tears.
Adalia looked at Jessica’s eyes, saw the hardness there. It completely covered the pain, you’d never know unless … you knew. She reached out her hand again, but stopped as Jessica tried to pull further away. It would have been comical, this Warrior afraid of a girl in the back seat of a Yukon, except for what she’d seen. Where she’d been. What she was.
Letting her hand fall to her lap, Adalia looked to the front. “It’s okay, Melissa. I did something I shouldn’t have.”
“Right,” said Carlisle. After a moment, she said, “And what was that?”
“I don’t know,” said Adalia.
“I do,” said Gabriel, his voice sad beyond measure.
CHAPTER EIGHTY
“We’re running low on beer,” said John. Val had watched him staring into the refrigerator for a good long minute. “We need to do a beer run.”
“How about food?” Rex was standing by the window, staring into the street.
“We’ve got food,” said John. “I put it on the counter.”
“You put,” said Rex, “peanut butter and coconut water on the counter.”
“Right,” said John. “Food.”
“That shit,” said Val, “and don’t take this personally because I love you like a brother, but that shit isn’t food. Not for normal people.”
“Hey,” said Sky. “I start the day with a tablespoon of peanut butter and a glass of coconut water.”
“New diet?” said Val.
“You’re a freak,” said Just James. He held up his hands in defense at Sky’s glacier stare. “Breakfast is Frosted Flakes.”
“Huh,” said Val. “That’s weird.” He was thinking about another young person he knew who liked Frosted Flakes. “Tiger?”
“Tiger,” said Just James. “Also, there’s a lot of sugar in it.”
“I would eat a bowl of Frosted Flakes,” said Rex, turning back to the window. “I think we should get some food.”
“Right,” said John. “I’m on it.”
“No,” said Sky.
“What?” said John.
“When you go shopping, you come back with beer and fitness magazines. The man said food.”
“Two things,” said John. “First, beer is a food. Second, I’m not going shopping. I’m going looting.” He turned on the Miles Megawatt Smile. “I’ve never been looting before. Expanding my horizons. Seriously, it’s on my bucket list.”
A tired old sigh came from Rex. “I’ll go. At least it’ll get done.”
“Hell with you, old man,” said John. “You trying to steal stuff from my bucket list? How often am I going to get a legitimate, state-sponsored opportunity to loot?”
“I … I don’t think the state is sponsoring this,” said Rex. “In fact…” His voice trailed off.
“What?” said Val. He could feel the ache in his bones, something inside not right. That damn virus was going to be the death of him.
“Cavalry,” said Rex, “or damnation.”
Val could hear it now, the low thud of rotors slicing the air. He moved to the window, seeing the black shapes of helicopters in the air. One scudded low enough to make out the numbers on the tail, a man perched by a chain gun at the open door. “Fuck me.”
“It could be an evacuation,” said Sky. “Couldn’t it?”
“It could be that they want to drop boxes of money on us too,” said Just James.
“Kid, you ain’t gonna live to be 20,” said Sky.
“At least he’ll die pretty,” said Val. “I don’t think it changes anything.”
“How you figure?” said John.
“Because he’s young. Stands to reason if he dies he’ll be pretty.” Val shrugged. “You’re right though, I’m not a good judge. Sky? Is he going to die pretty?”
“Could be,” said Sky, giving Just James a critical look, “if some girl doesn’t mark up his face.”
“No,” said John, “I mean, how you figure it doesn’t change anything?”
“Right,” said Val. “Well, whether we go outside for food, or to be rescued, we need to go outside. I think if we call it a ‘food’ mission—”
“Looting,” said John.
“If we’re looting,” said Val, “we’ll probably get shot.”
“Christ, man,” said John. “We’re not wearing T-shirts that say, ‘Team Looter.’ We’re going to be subtle.”
“You are probably the least subtle person I’ve ever met,” said Rex.
“Thanks,” said John.
“Wasn’t a compliment,” said Rex.
“So we’re out on our food mission,” said Val. “And if we see these guys setting down, lifting off survivors, setting up aid tents, and generally doing a Mother Teresa thing, we’re copacetic.”
“Copawhat?” said Just James.
“And if we see them shooting everyone,” said Val, “then I have another plan.”
“We’re all going to die,” said Just James.
“Thinking the same thing,” said Rex. “Can you spell it out, son?” He looked over at Val. “It’s not like I don’t trust you, but last time you saved my life, by your own account, you were juiced up on magic fairy dust. Today, you’re dying of a killer virus.”
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