by Aaron Hubble
“I want to believe, but it’s really hard right now. There’s so much death,” Berit whispered.
“I know, but there’s a lot of life as well. There are twenty souls in this group, twenty points of light who still carry the hope of the Am’Segid inside of them.” Calier looked at Berit and grasped her hand, giving it a quick squeeze. “Let’s make a pact, you and I. Every day let’s find something, something good and wonderful, to remind each other of the blessings surrounding us. Do you think you can do that for me?”
Berit was thoughtful for a moment. “Yes, I can do that for you.”
Calier gave Berit a smile. “Good.” He slapped his thighs. “Well, the umbaku are in the barn, the sun is coming up, and it’s time for me to find some place to lay my incredibly disgusting head for the day. We have a long walk ahead of us.” Reaching down he picked up the clothes. “Thank you again for the clothes.”
“Sleep well, Professor.”
“You too, Berit.”
Calier opened the door to the house. As he was stepping inside he heard her voice behind him.
“Professor?”
He stopped, turned his head and looked at her back. “Yes, Berit?”
“It’s going to be a beautiful day.”
Calier smiled broadly. It was a smile born of the joy he had found around him despite the trying circumstances. It really was true. Joy came from a different place than happiness. Joy was a state of being. Happiness could be taken away so quickly. Joy could be misplaced, hidden for a time, but it could only be taken away if you let someone. Looking at Berit and the promise she and the others like her held, he knew there was still joy and it was possible to find blessings among the shattered remains of this world.
“Most assuredly,” Calier said.
He watched her pick up the box one more time and pull out the bracelet. She traced the carved letters with the tip of her finger and then slipped the bracelet on her wrist.
CHAPTER TEN
“Parker, do you have eyes on the natives?” Dillon asked.
“Negative. I’ve seen flashes of movement. I know the room they’re in, but I haven’t had any clear shots.”
Hildr Team had exited the building by way of the landing and secured a rope to the roof they used to climb up. With his team gathered on the edge of the roof, Dillon looked down two floors and saw the windows on that level. “Parker, I need you to guide me so I’m directly over the windows leading into the room.”
“Roger,” Parker said. “Move to your left about twenty feet.”
Dillon walked along the roof, the parapet wall on his right side. “Stop. Right there, Commander.”
“Good work, Parker.” Dillon switched channels on his comm. “Chen, have you been listening?”
“Every word, Dillon.” Said Chen, the commander of Gunnr team.
“Do you think your guys can fire a few flares through the windows of this building?”
“Shouldn’t be a problem. We just need to know which ones you want taken out,” Chen said.
“Good. I’m going to flash my light for you to see.” Dillon blinked the flashlight twice in the direction he knew the men were hiding. “Did you see that, Chen?”
“Yes.”
“The floor we want to hit is the second floor down and the window is directly under me and one window to either side of the one I’m standing over. Do you see them?”
“We have eyes on the windows you need. My men are standing by. We’ll light the place up when you give the word.”
“Excellent. Let me get my men in position. The IEDs have been cleared so you have a clear road to the building. Start coming up the stairwell on the far eastern side. We’ll pinch them between us when they flee.” Dillon motioned to his team. They clipped onto lines anchored to the rooftop, climbed onto the parapet wall, and put their backs to the street.
“Two waves,” Dillon said. “The first five get in and take up defensive positions, staying out of the line of fire. The second wave of five will follow right after the first. The smoke from the flares should give us cover. Keep the visors down and use your external O2 tank. You’ll have about thirty minutes of clear air before you need to switch back to natural air. We move as a team, pressing forward fast and hard.” Dillon stepped onto the wall and clipped onto the line. “Do it now Chen.”
“Flares away!” Chen said.
Glowing red balls streaking toward them, arced downward, and smashed through the three windows beneath them. He had just enough time to catch the scream of a woman before giving the order to drop off the edge.
“Go! Go! Go!” He and four other members of Hildr team rappelled off the edge of the wall, bounced once on the top floor windows, and then swung through the now shattered target windows. Dillon deftly released his clip and dropped to the floor in a crouch, peering through the smoke. He and his men fanned out around the room, his targeting matrix pinging as multiple targets ran around the room. He raised his rifle and squeezed off several shots. Behind him he heard the remaining five members of the team swing through. In front of him there were screams, coughing and shouting in the native language. His helmet attempted to translate for him, but there was too much all at once and he shut the translation matrix off in order to concentrate.
Despite the frenetic pace of the action, things slowed for Dillon. His heart rate stayed low. His vision sharpened, allowing him to see through the smoke as if it wasn’t there. The thrill was in the fight, and he loved every second.
Two more shots and another native crumpled to the carpet. He motioned with his hand, and the team pressed into the room. He saw three natives attempting to take aim at him through the smoke. Wild shots zinged off the floor to his right. Morris leveled his rifle and dispatched the three men before they could flee the room.
Dillon sprinted into the hallway as the door slammed shut. “Hold up, men. Chen’s team will be coming up those steps. They’ll be trapped between the two of us.”
Hildr team knelt in the hallway, weapons trained on the door. Echoed shouts from behind the door were followed by gunfire and feet running on metal steps. In the passing seconds, Dillon wondered what the natives must have been feeling. They knew they were trapped, they knew they were going to die, and yet they fled back to a place from which they knew there was no escape.
The door burst open. Several of Dillon’s men took shots, dropping those first through the door. Dillon was able to get a good look at the natives. They were young, very young. Those who still carried weapons were having trouble running with them, the size and weight of the weapons too much for their small arms to hold. Seeing his soldiers and their dead friends, they immediately dropped whatever weapons remained with them and held up their hands crying and huddling together.
“Stop firing! Stop!” Dillon roared into his comm. His team complied and he took a step out from behind the men who knelt in front of him. Kids - they were kids. He looked behind him into the room they had just exited. Bodies lay on the floor. Most of them looked like teenagers, maybe a little older. They’d been protecting the little ones, trying to herd them out of the room when he and his men had come in firing. Several of the children lay dead in the hallway, glassy eyes staring at the ceiling. Young lives taken in cold blood. Chen’s men exited the stairwell behind the children trapping them in the hallway.
“Commander?” Morris asked behind him.
“They’re kids, Morris. We killed kids,” Dillon said as he tasted bile rising in the back of his throat. He’d known men, other soldiers who had no qualms about putting a bullet through the head of a child back on Earth, but he had never been able to do it. An adult member of R3? Not a problem, but a child?
“Dillon, what are you waiting for?” Chen asked. “The orders are clear: we eliminate the resistance and secure the building. I believe the resistance is standing in front of us.”
“But they’re kids, Chen, just kids.” Dillon stared at the weeping, huddled mass of dirty faces. They clung to each other, desperation in their voices
. “No. We take them back with us. They become captives and workers, but we do not murder children.”
“Those aren’t the orders, Commander,” Morris said. “Shepherd will put you on trash runs for the rest of the occupation if you don’t follow through.”
“Screw Shepherd!” Dillon shouted, rounding on Morris. “Can you honestly tell me this is the right thing to do?”
“It doesn’t matter if it’s the right thing, it’s …” Morris said before Dillon cut him off.
“Yeah, orders. If you think you can do this and look at yourself in the mirror tomorrow morning, then maybe you should be leading this team.”
Dillon shouldered past Morris and waded through the rest of his team. He walked past the lifeless teens cut down as their life was just beginning. Was this really what he was supposed to be doing? Some collateral damage was inevitable in any conflict, but this was something different. These people would make good workers. They did no one any good dead. His boot crunched on shards of glass as he moved through the dark room toward the opposite stairwell.
A single gunshot echoed through the room, followed by another, and another, and another. Dillon quit counting at eight. Retreating into the stairwell, he shouldered his rifle, lowered his visor and compartmentalized what had just happened. It was all a soldier like him could do.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The red and orange of sunset began to fade from the sky, and the coming night brought the little farm alive. People scurried about, busily packing bags and loading the umbaku. The animals snorted and whistled with nervous energy. Penned up for over a week, they were eager to stretch their long legs a bit.
Cinching a leather strap tight, Calier patted the curly-haired animal. “Not long now. We’ll be on our way soon.” The animal lowered its head, nostrils flaring as it breathed in Calier’s scent. A long tongue darted out of its mouth, and before Calier could react, the umbaku planted a wet kiss on his nose and lips.
A familiar droll voice came from behind him. “You sure move fast, Professor. The two of you just met yesterday, and already a romance.” The lanky form of Maltoki walked around the umbaku, followed by Ibris and Denar. Denar wore his ever-present scowl.
Ibris wiped his brow with a handkerchief. “We’re almost ready to move out.”
“Good. What were we able to find in the way of food?”
Denar grunted. “Not enough.”
“Denar’s right,” Ibris said. “Berit’s mother had preserved some vegetables and fruit. There was a decent amount of nuts. Gangje, Berit’s father, had quite a grove of nut trees. So there’s a little protein. No meat to speak of, not that we could carry it with us anyway.”
Denar broke in. “What he’s dancing around is we’ll need to ration and find another food source. Soon.”
“Denar says he has experience hunting. There are plenty of plains animals we can hunt. One might provide enough meat to get us to the forest. Once we’re in Sho’el…I don’t have any answers. I don’t know what’s available in the forest,” Ibris said.
“Death. That’s what’s available in that godforsaken forest,” Denar spat.
“I like your cheery attitude, Denar,” Maltoki quipped.
Denar stepped forward. His head barely reached Maltoki’s chin, but the lack of height didn’t seem to deter him. Maltoki stepped back.
“Listen, boy. I don’t know what you’re expecting from this little journey, but I see it only ending in one of three ways. Death at the hands of the invaders, death by starvation or death by some hideous forest beast.” Denar poked a finger into Maltoki’s chest. “You need to realize what’s waiting for us. The professor’s plan is just a way to delay the inevitable. So, yeah, that’s my attitude. It’s the only one I have. If you don’t like it, stay out of my way.”
The man turned briskly and walked down the dirt path leading out of the farm and into the grassland beyond. Maltoki stood staring, watching the back of the man grow smaller in the distance.
Ibris placed a hand on Maltoki’s shoulder. “Don’t take it personally, lad. Denar’s lost a lot. He let slip he watched a soldier kill his wife and three children. They were gone in an instant. That kind of grief will turn a man into…well, what you just experienced. I imagine the only way Denar can deal with the pain is to be angry and put up a hard shell and never let himself think about what he lost.”
“We’ve all lost something,” Maltoki said, still staring after Denar.
“Aye, we have. Some more than others. It may require us to extend a little more grace.”
There was a moment of silence between the men as they thought of all that had been lost in the brief time since the attack. Melancholy and grief threatened to suck them down into the depths of despair when Calier broke the silence.
“Well, I’m sure the people are ready by now. Let’s get this parade moving.”
The group was indeed ready to leave. The night had consumed the last light of the sun. Stars were flaring into existence, breaking up the oppressive black sky with patterns the ancients had used to guide their way. Calier had always loved the night sky, loved looking into its depths and giving his cares and worries over to its boundless expanse. His people had chosen to concentrate their resources on the people and problems of Aereas instead of exploring the skies. He had always been grateful for that, and he continued to believe it was the correct and decent decision. But he couldn’t help wonder, if they’d pursued a space program, would it have made any difference?
Probably not.
Their program would have been one of exploration, not military defense. There was probably no way to have known what was coming or of stopping the destruction trailing after Aereas’ first contact. The thought still didn’t seem real and he had a hard time accepting there was life beyond this sphere of water and land. In fact it was easier to just not think about it. Perhaps Denar had the right idea.
The slight form of Berit busily rearranging the contents of a small pack caught Calier’s attention. A smile creased his face as he saw the pack was a vibrant shade of purple and decorated with large flowers clearly drawn by a child. He walked up next to Berit and lightly bumped the woman with his shoulder. Hefting the pack for him to see, she beamed.
“Look what I found! My old school bag.”
Calier took the bag, turning it over and whistling. “Look at that. You were an artist even back then.”
“Drove my mother nuts,” said Berit. “Everything just seemed so drab and boring to me, so I added a little character. Ma’ma especially hated when I drew on my clothes…and my arms…and her curtains.”
“Curtains?”
Berit shrugged. “What can I say. Those plain yellow curtains were screaming for a flowering vine.”
He laughed, shaking his head at the mental picture of a black-haired terror with a paintbrush. When Berit pushed the hair out of her eyes, Calier noticed she wore the covenant bracelet on her left wrist. The beautiful carved beads framed her delicate wrist. A bittersweet remembrance of what might have been.
Ibris called for quiet. “This will be a tough journey and I’ve asked Kohena to bless it for us.”
An older man stepped forward. His wispy white hair was a disheveled mess. Calier self-consciously combed down his own hair with the fingers of his right hand. He realized he hadn’t looked in a mirror in days. If the end of the world had a fashion, this group was setting the trend.
He watched Kohena move to the center of the group with a wizened grace that could only come from years as a spiritual leader. The shepherds held an esteemed position among the Am’Segid. They led their flocks in worship and guided them through studies of the scripture.
Kohena raised his hands toward the sky and turned his face toward the heavens. “Most Holy One, what you have before you today is a broken and grieving band of sojourners. There is no doubt what we embark on today is a journey of survival, but I also believe that in your love and mercy you work for us. Comfort us in our current struggles, protect us on the road before us,
and guide us into this new world we still call home. We love you.”
There was silence. A few sniffles could be heard and moist eyes were hastily dried. Without another word Ibris slapped the flank of the umbaku his sons were riding and grabbed the lead rope as the animal began moving down the path.
Calier began to follow and then noticed Berit was no longer at his side. She was not among the group. A lone figure stood at the entrance to the homestead, closing the gate. He set his pack on the ground and moved toward the raven-haired woman. She now stood leaning against the metal gate, both hands resting on its top rail. Stepping next to her, he pushed his hands into the pockets of his borrowed pants and looked in the same direction. None of the words running through his mind seemed like the kind that would help Berit through a time like this. Instead he opted for silence, as the night breeze blew across their faces. The house and barns were just discernible in the light of the rising moon.
“I closed the gate because I didn’t want anybody coming into the farm and hurting what my parents built. Pretty silly. As if this gate would stop anything.”
“Probably not.”
“No matter how much things changed in my life, this place was always here, never changing. Calier, I can’t bear the thought of it not always being like this.”
He leaned his forearms on the gate and kicked at a rock, collecting his thoughts. “I never met your parents, but from the time I’ve spent with you, I know they’re wonderful people. They raised a daughter of the highest caliber and would be proud of you. That’s what you’re truly scared of leaving behind. The house and the barns hold memories, but it was your parents who made this place special. You’ll see them again. Until you do, hold onto the memories you made here as a family.
