A Thousand Bridges

by Michael McKinney

  I stood cautiously and walked to the man in front of me, picked up his M-16 from the dirt and, in a crouch, spun until I saw the third man. The first soldier must've been thrown into him by the impact as I sped by, and he, in turn, slammed into the barbed wire fence with enough force to pull two of Mel's old fence posts from the earth.

  The wire was wrapped around him in a tight and deadly tangle, and he stared at me silently, helplessly, with so much blood seeping from his uniform to let us both know his fate. I ran past him to the house.

  The world was quiet but, by the carnage in Mel's front yard, I knew it had been a hell of a fight. The bodies of Sack-o and Van Zeti lay in a tangle of three dead soldiers beneath the pecan tree. Two more men lay crumpled just inside the line of azaleas. Hanging through the torn screen of Mel's front porch where we'd sat so many times, drinking tea and arguing, was the soldier who'd held the knife to Katherine's throat. By what remained of his face and chest, he must have caught both barrels of a shotgun at fairly close range.

  These ersatz soldiers in this new army seemed long on macho but, fortunately, short on experience, the one element that allows you to act on instinct. Give them a few more wars to be recruited from, and I could imagine a totally different kind of soldier.

  I didn't want to see what had happened inside Mel's home, but I couldn't put it off any longer. I stopped at the front door and lifted the pistol, then called out. "Mel?" I said. "Torrea?" Nothing. A cat growled in fright from under the porch.

  "Mel?" I listened for any sound. "It's me. McDonald Clay." I heard movement near the door, in the dark of the porch, and I stepped to the side, pistol up and ready.

  "McDonald?" I heard Torrea whisper. "Is that really you?"

  I dropped the pistol to my side and discarded the M-16, then raced up the steps to where Torrea stood in her well-worn cotton gown, its faded floral patterns spattered with blood. She leaned on a twelve-gauge shotgun and her hand was bloody, swollen and turning purple. I stepped inside the porch and put my arm around her.

  "Melvin's in here," she said. We walked into the kitchen where the bear-like old man lay between the table and the shattered window, his striped pajama top stained red. Torrea broke from me and knelt beside him, cradling his head in her plump arms. She looked into his sleepy eyes, then up at me.

  "This is what men do?" she said. "Why, McDonald? It's so stupid. So stupid.? She kissed Mel's forehead.

  "Mac?" His voice was like the wind. "Help Patricia, Mac. They'll kill her. Help her!"

  "He's been calling Candace 'Patricia' since the shooting started," Torrea said. "He sent her out back earlier and told her how to get to the boat landing, but I just watched some men going that way, too." She looked down at her husband, at her swollen hand.

  "I'll be all right, McDonald," she said, "and there's nothing you can do for Melvin. He's always loved you, you know." I felt tears of frustration, of rage.

  "Save Candace," Torrea said. "Do what you can, McDonald. I want to be alone with Melvin now."

  I touched her cheek with my fingers, then ran out the back door to the crest of the hill that overlooked Mel's beautiful land. It was bordered by the river as it made its casual turn through lush hardwoods and fertile farmland, then stretched out on its push to the west.

  I resisted the temptation to run toward the landing. I had been taught well by veterans who'd survived because they, too, had learned. In a land where you had to learn fast. The clumps of oaks and sprinklings of pines fell into a pattern of lines and colors and I waited, watching, until I saw a flash of white once, then again between the trees along the bottom land. Candace was running the wrong way, away from the boats.

  Several hundred yards west of Candace, two men crept toward her, but I don't think they knew she was there. Their arrogant moves negated the camouflage they wore. As I ran toward a middle ground I watched the tree line on either side and, almost too late, I saw two more men just as they came out of a thicket just behind the young woman. I cut across the clearing above them, and as one grabbed the back of her thin white gown and reached for her hair, I stopped, steadied myself, and shot him.

  I guess it was just poor aim, because he went down and came back up, so instead of being able to concentrate on the other guy, I was divided and they both shot back. I took out the second man before I emptied my clip, but by the time I slipped in the spare and cocked the pistol, Candy had run off into the woods toward the slough. The first soldier, his pants leg turning red at the thigh, was limping along behind her and closing the gap. The other two were shouting questions from the far end of the field like idiots. I wouldn't want them backing me up in a firefight.

  I knew the land sloped down to the east, so I took a chance and headed that way, hoping she'd run downhill and not up. I crashed through a ti-ti thicket and literally wound up on top of them.

  Candy was on her back in a clump of wire grass, and the soldier was sitting on her chest with his hands around her throat. His pants leg was drenched in blood, and he had a lost look in his eyes. Candy was fighting him, and as I raised my pistol and pointed it at his face, I heard her gasp, not in pain but in terror. Her eyes were wide and locked on the pistol. I couldn't do it. Not in front of this girl.

  I kicked at him and he deflected my foot, so I stomped hard on his bloody thigh. Then I kicked him. This time it worked and he fell from Candace, gripping his thigh and grunting in pain. I pulled her to her feet, stomped his thigh again as I lifted her to her feet and half dragged her back toward the landing.

  As we closed in on the river bank she stumbled, and when I reached out to steady her I saw her bare feet and legs were ripped and bleeding from running through the wild blackberry thickets. She hadn't said a word. I picked her up and clutched her to my chest, running as fast as I could toward the river, out of shape and wheezing, wanting to slow down just as I heard the other two men firing from a distance. The terrain was rough along the bank, and I was having trouble with my footing. It seemed that every step was uphill.

  I tried to skid down the bank on my heels but lost my balance and spun, hitting the water with her on top of me. I'd had enough of water, but we would never beat them to the landing. Besides, I was pretty sure Mel's boat engines were in about the same shape his tractor had been in before I got there.

  I gathered Candace up and reversed my direction, working back upstream toward the soldiers and listening for them. My eyes felt as if they were full of sand, and I kept blinking as I searched the bank, peering under each big tree until I found what I wanted.

  There, behind the tall grasses in the dark mud, was a black hole between a mass of thick roots and vines. A place where the river had gotten a toe-hold and dug patiently, sifting dirt and pebbles and carrying them away. Eventually, the big tree would ease down until it lay in the swift, relentless river, and someone would spend a long, miserable day cutting it up and getting it out of the way. That, however, would be in the future. At the moment, it seemed the perfect place to hide.

  I gripped one of the roots and eased Candace through the wet opening. Holding her waist, I guided her in to the muddy black cavern, musky and deep. The river's movement was a dull rumble, and ripples of light danced and sparkled on the water beyond the root, dazzling there in the darkness.

  "Oh," Candace said," you're bleeding."

  I thought she was talking about my forearm, but she touched my skin above the dirty, wrapped shirt, and when her fingers met my left shoulder it felt as though she had set me on fire. When my eyes adjusted to the dim light I glanced down at an angry red hole in my shoulder. I turned slowly to her.

  "What does it look like from back there?" I asked, leaning forward, ignoring the sharp pain. She touched it gingerly.

  "About the same, I guess," she said. "Not as big, though."

  "Good." I faced her again. "It went through."

  There wasn't time to consider the negative consequences, and besides, I'd always been a good healer, a pack mule. I ground my teeth as she used the hem of her gow
n to wet the bleeding wound with warm river water.

  "Where's my mother?" she said.

  "They have her."

  "No!" It was a devastating sound.

  "She's safe," I said. "As long as you are."

  "Oh, God," Candace said. She pulled herself into a sitting position in the shallow water and I lost my balance, plopping down in front of her and soaking us both again. I had tried to keep the pistol dry, but it was wet by the time I shook it and wedged it between two dangling roots.

  "What happened to the Shivers?" she asked, and I told her. She sighed. I wobbled a bit, and Candace pulled my head into her lap, covering my shoulder lightly with the gown then dipping water with her cupped hand. She sprinkled it over the wound. I felt dizzy.

  "My mother is in love with you," Candace said.

  "I love her, too," I mumbled. A dull pain had spread down to my fingers and up my neck. She didn't say anything else, so I closed my eyes and felt the rhythmic flow of water over me as she dipped and poured. Dipped, poured.

  "Are they going to kill her?" she said at last. "Are they going to kill my mom?"

  "No," I said. "It won't happen, Candace. Katherine is a survivor. You are, too," I added. "That's why you're here with me right now. That's why you made it home alive the night your friends were murdered." Her hand stopped dipping and the throbbing fire returned.

  "I shouldn't have," she said. "I should have done something. I just watched it happen. I should've done something." Her hand began dipping and pouring again.

  "If I had died there, none of this would be happening." Candace almost whispered the words. "My mother would be safe, now."

  "Uh-uh," I muttered into the silky material stretched over her thigh. "She wouldn't be the same woman. Besides, you can't play those kinds of games, pal. I've been doing it for years. Your mom finally convinced me that life goes on."

  We both heard the shouting, and her hand gripped the back of my neck. We sat very still, and I twisted my head around enough to see the dripping pistol. I raised my sore arm and pulled the gun to me, then fell back between her legs, my head on her stomach, the pistol against my chest.

  Someone was splashing through the water and coming steadily closer. Two men came in view between the tangle of roots. They walked within ten feet of us, cursing us for making their lives difficult. When their noises faded, Candace said, "Dying would be better than this."

  "No way," I said. "You don't believe that, and neither do I. You feel guilty because you couldn't save your friends, and I've been doing the same thing with Patty Sheevers."

  "Katherine's doing the same about you," I continued. "Who knows, maybe everyone in the world's going through the same crap. But dying's worse, and don't forget it."

  "Okay," she said softly, but didn't sound like she meant it.

  "I'm going to tell you something I've never told anyone." I pulled my arm tightly and lifted myself out of the water, stood unsteadily, then dropped down beside her. She was shaking, and I put my good arm around her shoulders.

  "I was in a place one time where everyone died but me. It was a sudden firefight in a jungle somewhere, a life time ago." I took my time, breathing deeply as I went back to a place I never wanted to imagine again.

  "All I remember of the first part was a lot of bright lights," I said. "Then I was lying in the mud with a bone sticking out of my leg. I didn't know where I was until I looked around and saw all those dead men. My friends.

  Candy moved closer to me. "People were screaming," I said, "and the explosions kept on, just like someone walking around in big shoes stomping on ants. I was so scared, I begged God to let me die, too."

  I leaned back slightly and remembered. "There were people shooting everywhere, and I stood up in the middle of it, I swear to you. I stood up, squeezed my eyes shut and started begging God to not let it hurt. I stood there like a dope and nobody shot me. When I finally got my panic under control and decided I wanted to live, I got shot. Twice."

  I could still feel the dead spots on my left side, still remember dragging a broken leg across a nasty piece of mountain side.

  "I made up my mind then. Nothing was going to stop me from getting back, from going home." I stopped and listened, but could hear only the sounds of the river.

  Candace was still shaking, but not as bad. I let it all out, after all these years, my confessional to a young girl as we hid in a river under a tree. "I set my leg with scraps of shirt, and I covered myself with sticks and mud and leaves. I became a golem, a troll. Then, I waited for someone to come by on this little path I found through the jungle. I think I was delirious.

  "I covered my whole body with mud, except for my hands." I said. "I stayed there all night beside that little trail and in the morning, when it was still mostly dark, a man came strolling by and I killed him. With my hands. I ate his measly food and I took his little pouch full of pills, and I ate them all. 'Didn't even look at them.

  "Then, I waited until another man came along and I killed him, too. It took me almost a week to find my way back to my own lines, and what I did, I did to survive. I thought Sheevers' death was the end of my life, but it wasn't. We're going to get Katherine back from those bastards, Candy." Here I was, bullshitting again. "I want you to stay under here and make a long list of all the things you want to do and see in your life. I'm going back now to find a way out of here for the two of us."

  It had always been my favorite game when I was a kid. I even got in trouble sometimes, just to see if I could get back out. Call me irresponsible. There were quite a few times that it didn't work. "You're going to get lonely and scared," I said to her, "and then you're going to start thinking something bad happened and that I'm not coming back, but don't believe it. I'll be back before dark. I need you, and so does Katherine.

  "Wait for me," I said. She nodded, and I thought, God, she looks like her mother.

  "Mac." She even sounded like her. I looked back. "I promised myself I wouldn't like you," she said, " but you're okay."

  "Thanks," I said, and when I turned back around to wade through the roots, a searing pain ripped through my shoulder and headed straight for my brain. The last thing I saw as I blacked out was bubbles of air coming out of my nose, and I thought, Oh, no. Not again.

  FIFTEEN

  It was a long and lousy night. I don't know where the day went, only that it was night and it lasted forever. I spent the entire time drowning. Water poured through my nose and my mouth, flowed through my ears. And, even though the water was ice cold, I was burning like a log in a fire. I thrashed around like a madman, trying to breathe, but every time I came to the surface Candace made me eat rocks until I sank again.

  Candace had become a monster, and I hated her. I feared and loathed her. She was dressed in black now, like the Viet Cong. Her grinning face leaned close to mine in the darkness. I begged her to help me, but she pried my mouth open each time and poured rocks down my throat until I went back under.

  When daylight came I was still in the crackling fire, and its harsh smoke stung my nostrils. Water still surrounded me. I could hear it gurgling, and when I put my hand to my face, the water poured from me. I was terrified. It kept getting hotter and hotter, and I felt the flesh peeling away from my bones, layer by layer, until I sat up and put a hand over my racing heart.

  "Mac?" Candace had been standing beside me, looking away from me through the tall pines, and she looked down. Her face was lined and impossibly pale. She knelt and put a cold hand on my face. I drew back.

  "No more rocks!" I said, and she wiped my neck and shoulders with a cool, wet cloth. She war a dark blue knit shirt and jeans, with worn white Reeboks on her feet. Her dark hair was pulled back and held in place with a navy blue ribbon.

  I stared at her angrily until the visions of the night faded and reality stepped in with a bag of questions. She didn't give me the chance to ask any. "They're burning Mr. Shiver's house," Candy said sadly. "It's almost over now."

  I could see ugly grey trails of smoke dr
ifting over me, and I tried hard to pull things together.

  "Please," I said. "Start over. Where did you get those clothes? Where are we? What time is it?"

  She never stopped dipping the cloth into a bowl of water and wiping the sticky sweat from my upper body. She looked older than Torrea. "We're on the river bank," she said. "Beside the tree we were hiding under. I almost didn't get you up here."

  I thought of her struggling with an unconscious man in the water, somehow getting me up that rugged bank. There were scrapes and bruises on her arms, and I was embarrassed that I'd been hating her in my delirium. She looked at her watch.

  "It's seven-thirty a.m.," she said. "and you've been out since yesterday morning." I tried to comprehend that.

  "Yesterday afternoon, I decided to go to Mr. Shiver's house to get clothes and medicine and stuff..."

  "Wait a minute!" I said, shaking my head, trying to clear my mind. "You went back to the house?" She nodded.

  "Jesus Christ, Candy," I said, "Weren't you afraid they'd catch you?"

  "Mac," She said with a hint of a smile on her dirty face, "I have to tell you. If anyone had been within a mile of us yesterday, they would've found us easily. You've been yelling and talking nonstop for just about eighteen hours."

  "Really?" I felt I should be wearing a clown suit. I wanted to ask her what I'd said, but I was afraid she'd tell me.

  "I found Mr. Shiver's box of medicine in his bedroom and I brought it back with me." Candy reached down and lifted a cardboard box into view. I looked around us and saw a small collection of food, clothing and medications.

  "I did what you said." She shifted her eyes from me. "Sort of, anyway. I became a troll, like you said. I took off my gown and covered myself with mud from the bank there," she said, pointing.

  "I went a little way each time, then I sat still and watched, and it worked. There were two men at the gate, but I didn't see anyone in the yard or the house, so I went inside and grabbed a bunch of stuff.