by JC Braswell
“Why didn’t y’all wake me up?” Williams massaged the back of his neck, taking in their position. Again, nothing looked familiar. As the world oriented itself around him, he noticed the vast landscape surrounding them. They climbed higher than expected from the jungle basin, the edge dipping twenty feet below. The night had played another trick on them.
“I know you don’t want to hear it, but you’re sick. Your face is literally green,” Garcia said. “Thought it best that you get some rest. That’s what you need. Rest.”
“Yeah, Cap. Your eyes, real dark bags, and your whites are a little yellow. You’re almost as bad as McEvoy. Kid hasn’t stopped crapping himself all morning,” Jackson said as he spooned another mouthful of rations.
“Glad to hear that I’ve been sleeping next to a kid on the verge of shitting himself all night. And here I thought I was the one who stank.” Williams sighed. “I told him not to drink that water. See what happens when you don’t listen?”
“Believe or not, there’s some good news. I found some anti-bacterial ointment and a few more Tylenols at the bottom of McEvoy’s sack while he was…relieving himself. Kid wasn’t looking hard enough.” Williams knew Garcia’s look, those mannerisms. He looked down and noticed his bandage was a little loose.
“You took a look at my leg while I was sleeping. It’s worse than last night, isn’t it?”
“You want your Disney story?”
“Damn it.” Williams looked over at Jackson, who diverted his attention to the can of beans. It all but confirmed Williams’s suspicions that his health was deteriorating. “Don’t say anything to anybody. None of you. You understand?”
Jackson nodded.
“I want a yes.”
The two kept their eyes pointed to the ground.
“Garcia.”
Garcia refastened the rucksack he’d already fastened three times before. Williams’s inevitable demise was written across his face.
“Don’t waste any more of that shit on me. Hear me? Save it for the others. If you want to do me a favor then help me up. I’m not going to lie around here and rot.” Williams held out his hand.
Jackson tossed the empty can to the side and wrapped his sausage-like fingers around Williams’s hand. Once on his feet, Williams hobbled over to Garcia’s side, allowing the first throbs of pain to subside.
“No pity party. You understand?” Williams grabbed Garcia’s collar and pulled him close. The morning heat made it uncomfortable to stand close to each other, their hot breath compounding the situation, but he wanted to emphasis his message. “Not a word of this to anybody.” He looked over at Jackson. “Got it?”
“Fine,” Garcia said.
“Yes, sir.” Jackson nodded.
“Good. We’ll talk about my near-death experience when we get out of this hellhole.” Williams released Garcia and looked over at the rest of the squad as he shuffled to the plateau’s edge. Although it was far from a mountain, it provided enough height for him to see over the jungle’s thick canopy and down to the white fog snaking around the trees as if it had a mind of its own.
“How can something be so damned beautiful in such a craphole of a country?” Donovan strode up from behind. “Reminds me of one of my mom’s paintings. Never thought I’d see such beauty in this place.”
“Was never really one to appreciate art,” Williams responded. “Couldn’t stand the class in college.”
“Funny. Always pegged you for the art guy.”
“Do I look like an art guy? Really?” Williams stared at Donovan.
“To each their own. Can’t beat those artsy women.” Donovan shrugged. “No judgment, though.”
“Yeah,” Williams said, his words drifting to thoughts of Karen. She was the artistic one, every painting an invaluable piece in his mind.
“Think I see a clearing. Ain’t so thick, a little less dense. Could be a sign we’re heading south.” Jackson smiled as if he had found a hidden treasure.
“Looks can be deceiving. That’s miles away. Could take a few days in our condition,” Garcia said. His eyes lingered over to Williams. “We don’t have that much time.”
“We don’t have a choice. Looks like the river cuts that way then back again. Look at the way the tree line curls. It’s hiding a river. Definitely a way out.” Williams ignored Garcia’s pessimism. “Get the VC. We’re moving.”
“Speaking of which, where is everyone?” Garcia looked around.
“Who’s he with?” Williams asked. “Don’t tell me—”
“Harris, McEvoy, and Simmons,” Donovan answered.
“What?” Williams stiffened. “You let him go off with those barbarians?”
“They took them that way.” Donovan pointed. “Figured they—”
“Figured nothing.” Williams followed Donovan’s directions. “Next time try feeding the snake a dead mouse. We have to find them.”
“What’s it matter anyway? We just found a way out of here, LT.” Donovan marched by Williams’s side. “Even if Simmons offs the dink, we still have our bearings.”
“Just because we have our bearings doesn’t mean we’ll have them after the day. Call it an insurance policy.” Williams ducked underneath the curtain of low-hanging branches masking the entrance into a deeper, more uncultivated part of the jungle. The greens became more vibrant. A few small shadows glided through the top of the canopy, ruffling leaves the size of parasols, each weaving into another, forming the makings of a dome.
The mosaic reminded Williams of a book he’d read when he was a kid: Journey to the Center of the Earth.
“Will you look at that?” Garcia looked up. A bird decorated with bright red and yellow dove then climbed to the top of the dome, its melancholy song following it until it landed. “Don’t see many of those around here. Reminds me of Hawaii.”
“When were you ever in Hawaii?” Donovan slowly took in the surroundings, his jaw agape without even realizing.
“I wasn’t. Just saw pictures in books.”
“Is it me, or does it seem a little cooler in here?” Donovan thumbed a leaf. “Even the dew is cooler.”
“Don’t get your hopes up, princess.”
“No, Donovan is right. Does seem a little cooler underneath,” Williams said. Even his clothes felt a little less heavy. “Nice for a little breather.”
“Whatever the case, they’ve been here. Look at the ground.” Garcia pointed to a trampled path forged from several boot prints.
“Yeah, right on its arm there,” Simmons hollered from the distance. “Get on it. Look at the dink wince. He don’t like that, Harris.”
“What the hell they up to up there?” Jackson stepped in front. The swath of clear ground narrowed to another cluster of vines. Water dripped from a few hacked vines still swaying from being disturbed.
“Yeah, they’re up there.” Williams limped past Jackson and pushed aside the tattered vines. The natural dome opened up into a vast landscape of unfettered growth. A trickling stream cut through the area to the left until it dropped off to the rush of a mini-waterfall, helping to feed the river below.
But it wasn’t the majesty drawing Williams’s attention; it was the glint from the fallen statute in the center of the growth. He estimated it to be the length of a small boat. Bronze and black in color, the tarnished metal figure lay on its side, its dog-like paws outstretched as if squatting. Long bands wrapped around its torso and into what looked like the makings of a wing. Its mouth left open, baring fangs meant to ward off any intruders. Horns covered what should have been the statute’s back.
“Halloween has come early.” Donovan stared, his jaw slightly open.
“Is that a dragon?” Garcia asked.
“That ain’t no damn dragon. That’s a dog.”
“No, that’s most definitely a dragon.” Garcia wouldn’t back down, his eyes inspecting the statue.
“More than anything, why is Harris relieving himself on it?” Jackson pointed at the idiot kid. Simmons and McEvoy lounged on the gr
ound, laughing as Harris thrust his hips forward while urinating on the statue. Williams noticed the Viet Cong prisoner squatting beside Simmons. His eyes were lowered, his face frozen in a displeased frown.
“There ya go, boy.” Simmons clapped.
Simmons was not alone in his joy. Williams’s pity gave way to a hint of satisfaction. There was something diabolical inside allowing him to enjoy watching the gook suffer, a little taste of what Anuska endured. He hated himself for feeling that way.
“That thing is huge.” Donovan strode over to Simmons.
“Why’d I have to end up with six crazy white boys?” Jackson whispered.
“Relax.” Simmons shook his head. “You fools need to lighten up a little.”
“What exactly crawled into your minds to confirm this would be a good idea?” Williams demanded. Harris jumped back, then immediately leaned over, holding his groin. The fool had probably caught it in his zipper.
“Oh, come on,” Simmons whined.
“I said cut it out.” Williams eyed the VC before turning away, joining Jackson. He wanted to be disgusted, but he could not bring himself to feel that way. The war desensitized even the most pious of people.
He recalled when Simmons had found a girl in a village not too far from My Lai. She couldn’t have been a day past sixteen, fair skinned, emerald eyes, and a timid smile, with the distinct features of a porcelain doll.
The girl was the daughter of a Viet Cong sympathizer. One of the boys proclaimed her his girlfriend and paraded her around the village, dressing her up. Williams remembered her petrified look. They removed part of her soul that day as she watched her dad shot in the back of his head, part of his eye exploding at her feet. They took her other half later that night when Simmons escorted her on a quick hike. Williams thought he heard her cries at night, but could not be sure. She came back a broken girl, dead by suicide the following morning.
“What’s it matter, LT? The damn thing is just a statue.” Simmons spat out a wad of the nut. The black liquid fizzed then seeped into the ground below. “Apparently it has some meaning to our slant-eyed friend over there. You should’ve seen his face when we found it. Guy screamed like a girl. It’s like one of them…them dragons you see in Chinatown.”
“You left without saying a word,” Williams said.
“We didn’t mean nothing by it, LT. We just saw the gook’s reaction. Figured we could play around with the fucker for a second. If you won’t let us kill him, at least we can give him a little kick in the ass from Anuska and Jones,” Simmons barked, more black juice coating his teeth.
“This isn’t right, Chris.” Garcia whispered. “I don’t know why, but I just don’t feel right about it.”
“It’s just a damned statute. We’ve done far worse.” Williams thought about Anuska’s children smiling in the picture he held fast to in his pocket. He went to touch his breast when he caught a flash of orange through the green façade to his left. His heart palpitated for a moment. It was back.
“You know what I’m talking about. That statute, that means something to these people. It’s like pissing on the cross.”
“They’re Buddhists, aren’t they? What does a dragon have to do with it?” Williams’s voice trailed off as he kept focus on the area of disturbance on the outside perimeter. It had to be there, stalking his troupe.
“Tell that to the VC. There are still people who believe in the old ways.”
“Old ways? You mean shitting in rivers and decapitating those who don’t follow the Commie banner?” Donovan asked.
Jackson eyed the conversation, drifting over to the other four who continued tormenting their captive by spitting on the statute and throwing mud at its face.
“No, I’m talking about these people’s origins. It wouldn’t surprise me if our friend over there—”
“You mean the jackass who murdered our boys?” Simmons asked. “Jesus Christ, whose side are you on Garcia? Don’t tell me it’s because you share the same skin color.” Simmons threw up his arms and then glared at Garcia with the anger of a bull about to charge. “Don’t you make me do something I regret.”
“Simmons, you’re out of line,” Williams said.
“Am I?” Simmons grinned then turned his back on him.
“Forget Simmons, go on with what you were saying.” Williams swallowed what little spit he could muster, shifting his attention back to the area where he saw the orange.
Their words faded in and out as he removed his helmet and wiped away a thin layer of sweat covering his brow. The coolness that nipped at him when he first entered the overgrowth amplified. He blinked once. Then twice, thinking he saw the outline of the beast circle their position.
He blinked a third time, and then there was nothing.
“That dragon reminds me of this legend about these people,” Garcia said.
“And y’all make fun of me for voodoo,” Jackson interjected.
“Yeah, but this is their belief. Sort of like Jesus to us. There’s this dragon-king. Name is”—Garcia pinched the bridge of his nose—“Lac Long something. This dragon supposedly gave birth to the Vietnamese people. They say it saved the Vietnamese people from some giant fish in the ocean.”
“Fish? You telling me a fish was going to eat these people?” Simmons barked over his shoulder.
“This can’t be happening.” Williams wiped his stinging eyes again. “A dragon–king, sort of like, what’s his name, that wolf that looked over the founders of Rome…Romulus and the other guy.” Williams thought back to Roman archeology, one of the few college classes in which he excelled. He would’ve pursued a career in the field, but the idea of living off of government grants and private endowments did not seem too appeasing, especially with a child on the horizon.
“The Capitoline Wolf. Yeah, she suckled them to health,” Garcia added.
“I guess that means we came out of a bald eagle’s ass?” Simmons asked.
“Make fun of me if you will, but I’m telling you, traditions run deep with these people. Theirs is a much older culture than ours. Our country is what, almost two hundred years old?” Garcia asked.
“Yeah, right, my Mexican friend. We, as in Harris and the rest of us, are two hundred years old. Your border-crossing ass can check your math,” Simmons said. The insufferable bastard had to throw a verbal jab whenever possible.
“Whatever.” Garcia didn’t let much get to him, let alone Simmons.
“So we’d like to think.” Williams gave Jackson a knowing glance then shifted back to the outskirts where the tiger lurked. The beast remained silent, its form camouflaged by the undergrowth. He wasn’t even sure if it was his imagination or the tiger. Come on you, bastard. Let’s get this over with. Part of Williams wondered if the tiger could hear his thoughts.
“I believe so,” Garcia answered.
“All right, enough dicking around. Let’s move,” Williams said, watching as the shadow faded back into the jungle’s depths, prompting him to expel the last of the nervous air he held hostage in his lungs.
“Whatever you say, Cap.” Simmons’s eyes lit up again. It wasn’t the look of an ally, rather one who would usurp power when given the opportunity.
The crew gathered themselves, save the VC, who sat with his head buried between his knees, a futile attempt to hide his sadness. A hint of sobbing came from within.
“Who’s gonna be the escort?” Harris laughed. The teen pushed down on the back of the VC’s head. The VC didn’t even register Harris’s move.
“You are,” Williams commanded. “You’re going to be like his right hand since you abandoned us all last night.”
“Damn it,” Harris muttered under his breath.
“Whose side are you on anyway, LT?” Simmons huffed. “Need I remind you that he killed our brothers, and you’re gonna protect the little crap because he got his feelings hurt?”
“Back off, Simmons.” Jackson shouldered his way between Williams and Simmons.
“Is that so?” Simmons pause
d. “I’m let down again. Seems to be becoming a pattern around here.”
“Don’t even. Not now. All bullshit aside, we need to move today,” Williams said.
“Where to?” Simmons asked. “Huh? How about Disneyworld? I’m sure it’ll pop up out of nowhere.”
“Jackson found a clearing. Looks like it follows the river. Probably our best bet if we want to make it out of here alive.” Williams needed a distraction. The raging bull could be contained for only so long.
“Perfect. We don’t need to keep the gook around any longer,” McEvoy added. The jungle was getting to him as well. “Can save the rations we were feeding him.”
“He don’t need to eat.” Donovan laughed, the only one of the group who remained in high spirits.
“No, he’ll eat,” Garcia interjected.
“The hell you say.” Simmons nudged Garcia, his nose as red as the belly of the exotic bird sitting above them. “I know he’s your kin, but you better appreciate that the bastard represents the people who’ve been killing our boys. Or have you forgotten, you chickenshit?”
“Enough,” Williams said, his breathing labored from standing. He struggled to maintain focus as the world wobbled to his side. “I’m tired of playing babysitter. It’s obvious the VC wants us dead. If he thinks we’re going the wrong way, he won’t say a damn thing.” Williams swallowed, fighting to keep his thoughts together. “If we’re going the right way, he’ll look a little frantic. Told you he’s just waiting for the jungle to take care of us. Got it? Now let’s get our shit and get a move on.”
“Wait, I thought you had an understanding with the VC?” Simmons laughed in a mocking tone. “Or was that a lie, too? Lies and letdown. That’s going to be the title of my autobiography when we get out of here.”
“I understand a lot more than you think I do.” Williams turned away from Simmons, fearful they would see the weakness in his commands. As Harris walked by, the VC’s glare struck him like a cobra. They had desecrated something holy to him. It would not be long until its venom would poison them all.
FIFTEEN
They kept in relatively higher spirits compared to the night before. Williams didn’t know whether to attribute it to exhaustion or ignorance. Simmons occasionally hummed an old Hank Williams song. Like a good Boy Scout, McEvoy attempted to recite every species of animal or plant life they came across. He stumbled over his words more often than not, prompting Garcia to correct him and Donovan to ridicule. Harris wrestled with the VC, who, to Williams’s surprise, showed the same solemn, forlorn expression as before. The occasional brown furry blur swung to their sides. The monkeys were escorting them to safety, following them as the platoon fought through false hope for an exit.
