by JC Braswell
“Who else was involved with it?” Williams questioned.
“Don’t tell me you’re going to lecture us on how to treat these animals. Man, the hell with you, Williams.” Simmons cussed something inaudible under his breath. “Don’t we have better things to worry about?”
Williams needed to focus past his anger and fever. Simmons cock-sure attitude kept challenging him. The last thing he needed was to give Harris, and possibly Donovan, a reason to doubt his ability to lead. One mutiny was enough, but a second? He wouldn’t stand a chance.
“Give me those.” Jackson swiped the pictures from Harris’s hands. The faint light revealed Jackson’s face twisting to reveal disappointment as he rifled through McEvoy’s legacy. “This ain’t right. This ain’t right at all.”
“What about the one with the kid and the one with the woman? Where’d he get those?” Williams asked.
“One with the kid?” Donovan chimed in. “They were all kids.”
“No, there was one with a kid on a boat. He was wearing a hat. Didn’t look right. Like it didn’t belong there. Out of time almost.” Williams pulled his boot back on over his swollen foot. “And there was one of the same boat…with a woman.”
“There wasn’t any other pictures.” Donovan sighed and rubbed his fingers through his brown locks. “It was just…just the village girls. That’s all. Didn’t take one with a kid.”
“You were there, too?” Jackson questioned.
“Oh, hell no.” Donovan shook his head. “They told me about it. Showed me the pictures. But I can’t do that. Rape a girl, I mean.” Donovan looked away, ashamed. “That ain’t me.”
“Bullshit, Donnie,” Simmons interjected.
“Shut up.” Donovan shied away. “What’s it matter anyway? What was done was done.”
“Hold on. I know damn well what I saw. There’s two pictures that don’t belong, one with a boy and one with a older woman. Both were on a boat.” Williams needed to know.
“Donnie’s right, Cap. Ain’t no boat pictures.” Jackson tossed the pictures to the ground and stomped on them with his heel, driving them into the soil.
“Sometimes He lets us know. It’s happened in the past.” Garcia blinked, his chest convulsing, his lungs struggling for breath with a gurgle. “Sometimes He’ll let the people know in different ways.”
“Garcia.” Williams shifted his attention, forgetting the pictures. “Harris, the flashlight. Bring it over. The canteen, the canteen, too.”
Donovan tossed the canteen to Williams. The flashlight waved in his other hand.
“Chris.” Garcia grabbed Williams’s collar and pulled him closer. “It knows. The beast isn’t gonna let us leave. We need to answer for our sins.” His teeth chattered in his blistered lips.
“It’s ok, buddy. Just relax.” Williams pulled Garcia’s helmet off of him. His nose and ears bled in the pale light. Garcia must’ve seen the tiger.
“Beast? What beast is he talking about?” Harris asked. “Does this have something to do with those spirits?”
“Maybe we should put him out of his misery. You know,” Donovan said in a soft, hesitant tone. “I’d want the same.”
“No.” Williams shot Donovan a glare while holding the canteen’s spout to Garcia’s mouth. Garcia tried to swallow the water, but it only welled up in his throat and poured over his cheeks, washing away dried blood. “That’s as good as suicide. He wouldn’t want that.”
“Chris, listen to me.” Garcia spat out water. “It knows.”
“What does it know? Tell me, what does it know?” Williams tried to calm Garcia. His cheeks felt like cold scales to the touch.
“It knows what we did back in My Lai. It knows who we all are, what we’ve done here, in our past. It’s come to pass judgment in her name. You need to know that. It told me. You need to know that.”
“Who told you?” Garcia’s warning resonated. Maybe it was something more than the beast that prowled behind the jungle’s shroud, a harbinger for the sins of their past.
“The…ghosts of—” Garcia gagged and released Williams’s collar. His head sagged backwards towards the ground.
“Garcia, wake up, man.” Donovan slapped Garcia’s side. “Come on, bro.”
“What’s he talking about?” Harris’s voice cracked, on the verge of tears. “Seriously, what ghosts? We talking about spirits again?”
“Harris, don’t make a fool of yourself. Sounds like he’s talking about the boogeyman. Don’t tell me you’re afraid of the boogeyman?” Simmons mocked his protégé.
“Ain’t no boogeyman. Not out here,” Jackson said. “You tried to kill it back there. You couldn’t.”
Something rustled on the edge of their camp. It was there, summoned by Garcia’s warning.
“What, what was that?” Harris quivered.
“The boogeyman?” Donovan grabbed the closest rifle. He aimed and pulled the trigger in one swift motion. Nothing. “Hell no,” he yelled and tossed the empty weapon out of frustration.
The whirlwind sound of the beast’s flight grew louder in the distance before it snapped a branch and plunged in and out of the water below. A purposeful snarl followed as the beast’s broad shoulders emerged mere feet away from their position.
“Jesus. Did you see that? Did you see that?” Harris adjusted the flashlight’s beam in the direction of the tiger’s silhouette. By the time he swung the halo of light around there was nothing, just an empty portrait of the land.
“Quick. Bring Garcia under the tarp. I have a few bullets left for my handgun. Maybe can fend it off. Jackson, you still have a magazine for your rifle, correct?” Williams ordered. He focused on the swaying branches just outside the flashlight’s halo.
“Yeah, Cap.” Jackson pulled his rifle snug against his body.
“Nice of you to hold out on us,” Simmons said, but Jackson ignored him.
“Jesus, what the hell was that? It looked…looked like a monster.” Harris stammered.
“I don’t know,” Donovan said.
“Donnie, there’s another magazine in my rucksack. You can use it,” Jackson said, keeping his cool.
“What about me?” Harris asked.
“Garcia has a sidearm. Use that, but don’t think I’ll take my eyes off of you. As far as I’m concerned, you’re just one step behind Simmons,” Williams said, still focused on the perimeter.
“You guys are like little kids at a Girl Scout camp. Ain’t nothing out there but the Dac Cong.” Simmons remained bound to the tree, seemingly unafraid. He said nothing, but Williams felt his growing anticipation to see rest of them slaughtered.
“What do you think Garcia meant by a ghost?” Harris asked as he fumbled with the sidearm in Garcia’s holster. “I mean, do you think he saw it? Do you think it might be what we tried to kill back there?”
“Yes.” Williams wished the kid would shut up as the four of them huddled around Garcia. Then he heard it lunge from the river, its heavy, steady breaths circling outside of camp. It was preparing.
“Don’t tell me the big man who bragged about killing all those women back in the village is gone. Let’s see some of that confidence, Harris,” Jackson said, mocking the beleaguered eighteen year old.
“Why do you have to be like that? Not now,” Harris whined. He whipped Garcia’s gun from side to side at no discernible target, its barrel shaking more than a seizure. His confidence plummeted faster than a sixth grader rejected at the school dance. “You don’t want us. You want McEvoy. I didn’t rape nobody.” Harris’s attempt at bargaining with the specter proved little more than a dark comedy.
“You slaughtered six people. Didn’t you brag about that?” Jackson asked.
“It was more like two. I was just following orders.” Tears laced Harris’s words.
“Quiet.” Williams grimaced as he swallowed. His throat had grown sore from whatever godforsaken shit he breathed in during the small skirmish earlier in the evening. “Just wait.”
Anxiety crept in as he leane
d forward, holding in the small amount of rations he’d consumed throughout the day. Simmons simmered with impatience from behind, kicking dirt and loose bark off of the tree. Williams ignored the guerilla’s taunts, instead focusing on saving his men.
“Still nothing,” Donovan said.
Then he heard it snort, closer than before. Williams turned his head to the right while the others remained focused to his left where the flashlight shone. Two golden orbs hovered through a crown of leaves in the distance. But unlike before, they were more distinct, more symmetrical. They were not orbs at all, but the eyes of the Vietnam tiger. They’d belonged to the jungle cat—his ghost—the entire time.
The cat’s orange, white, and black coat emerged, the only source of vibrant color in the gray landscape. The trees appeared like skeletons reaching up for the heavens, ready to watch the slaughter unfold, to take the hapless Americans to an early grave. The beast steadied itself, its growl strong enough to shake Williams’s core.
Why are you waiting? Come on with it.
He fought past labored breath. Williams slid his finger over the trigger, blinking twice to wick away the sweat, to stave away the fear. The tiger paced, maybe ten feet away from the crew, its shoulder muscles bulging with each step, its eyes bigger, almost emotionless as it stared at him. The gun rattled and grew hot in his hand. He wanted to pull the trigger, but he couldn’t. Something prevented him from killing the beast, who then retreated back into the shadows.
Williams exhaled and looked towards the others.
“I still ain’t seen shit,” Donovan said, still focused the opposite direction with the others. “I say we go check it out.”
“Don’t be the hero,” Jackson responded.
“No, I need to…need to do this.” Donovan scrambled to his feet in near hysterics.
The next few moments were a blur. Donovan tripped forward and fell to the ground, accidently shattering the flashlight’s lens against an errant rock, causing the bulb to shatter.
“What the hell just happened?” Harris squirmed at Williams’s feet as the camp went dark.
“Oh, no,” Donovan cried. “Oh, shit. My eye. It stings.”
“You guys ok? Everyone,” Jackson called. Williams barely made out Jackson’s silhouette as the big man went to assist Donovan.
“No. Not now.” Williams’s heart punched at his ribs.
“It’s all watery. I’m…bleeding,” Donovan cried. His voice became elevated.
“Calm down, Donnie. Please calm down. We’ll get you outta here,” Jackson said. “Just hold on.”
“Damn it, can’t see out of it.” Donovan’s voice shuddered.
Williams felt it upon him again, pressing against his mind. The beast flooded Williams’s head with images that belonged in history textbooks: golden dragons; the steady beat of a drum; indigenous people gathering, chanting. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t reason.
“The fever,” Williams muttered. The dark world tilted to the side. “The beast.”
“Donovan, your eye,” Jackson said.
“No shit.”
It growled again, this time from their right, thrashing the vegetation under its weight.
“Jesus, no.” Harris popped off a few rounds, dismissing Williams’s orders. Each gunshot ignited a spark. Within the half-second of light produced from each gunshot, Williams caught a glimpse of Donovan. Trails of blood streamed down his cheeks from a punctured socket.
Then something soft brushed against his calf. It bristled with fur and an underbelly of solid muscle. A flash of orange. A flash of white. Williams’s weapon slipped from his hands as he instinctively shifted his weight to his injured leg. It was a mistake. It collapsed underneath. His wound spat pus as it banged against the ground, but that was the least of his worries.
His eyelids felt heavy.
His tongue swelled.
The ghost’s breath was upon Williams—moist and thick.
Then there was the void.
TWENTY FIVE
“Chris, don’t you think it’s time to go?” Karen leaned in. Her vanilla hair bristled against his cheek, petite fingers tickling his shoulder. The last thing Williams wanted was to leave the tavern.
His two college friends, Billy and Earl, whom he barely saw, were in rare form, smacking the bar top and singing along to the half-assed piano player.
“Karen, please,” Williams begged.
“I know it’s your birthday and all, but I’m not sure if it’s healthy for me to be out so late. You know, with the baby and all. Maybe that should be your last drink?”
“Please don’t do this,” Williams whispered while counting the amount of drinks he’d consumed—four in three hours. He glanced at his reflection behind the Fulcrum’s dimly lit oak bar. Dark circles hung under bloodshot eyes that stared back at him.
His attention drifted down towards the collection of half-empty whiskeys and rums sitting in a row along the glass. Billy and Earl claimed they’d sampled most of them before he even arrived; now they were flirting with two women, a blonde waif and a brunette with a perm.
The place was a dive by local standards. Of course, this was Annapolis, where state legislators schmoozed with mistresses and made deals with contractors under the table. Even the freshest coat of paint couldn’t hide the seediness occurring on a nightly basis, but it was their bar, a hideout they’d frequented all through their dating life. The cheap booze and colorful characters added to the atmosphere.
“I don’t want to go,” Williams muttered.
“What, babe?” Karen said, adjusting her necklace.
“Please don’t make me go.” As he leaned against the bar, he yearned for his college days of freedom and an endless stream of parties, but those days were long gone. Now he had a baby on the way and a girl he adored.
The only other thing he looked forward to now was the next promotion at the local steel factory on Sparrow’s Point. He hated the place, but it was a pay raise nonetheless. He only had himself to blame—mediocre grades and a zest for something he could not find.
“Chris, are you listening to me?” She tugged at his bicep.
“Sure, sure.” He twirled the empty glass, the ice swirling in the last bit of diluted rum and soda at the bottom. “Understand about the baby. Do you…do you think I can just have a few more minutes? It’s my last birthday until the little one comes along. I’d just like to enjoy tonight.” He summoned the best puppy-dog eyes he could muster. “Plus, I’d like to say goodbye to the boys.”
Karen sighed and crossed her arms, managing a smile. She gave him the once-over. “Ok, fine. I guess Billy and Earl earned you, but only for one more drink. Please?”
“One more drink.” He downed his beverage and signaled the bartender, Jezebel Nelson. Jezebel’s two braided pigtails hung down towards her cleavage, which spilled out of her top. Williams had known her since high school—a brief affair in the bathroom had turned into the loss of his virginity, but he dared not tell Karen.
A local piano player, some guy who called himself Johnny Hits with a pencil-thin mustache and rockstar hair, banged the keyboard to his own rendition of the hit The House of the Rising Sun, appropriate for their send-off.
“You sure you going to be ok with everything?” She ran her hand along the varnished oak and squeezed his fingers in a comforting manner. “It can’t be easy on you, but they really had no other choice. No job prospects. Barely making it by.”
He’d just discovered that Earl and Billy, the two wild friends from grade school who never met a girl they wouldn’t sleep with, had volunteered for Nam. They were leaving for boot camp in the coming weeks and eventually to foreign soil. God knows what would happen to them when they arrived in that strange land he had seen so much about on television. Tonight was as much about them as it was about his birthday.
“How’s the birthday boy?” Earl called from the corner, his arm slung around the Annapolitan women with the brunette perm. Earl’s lack of tact when it came to seducing women agit
ated Williams to an extent, but it was endearing at the same time. The brunette gave him a nod, more out of courtesy than general appreciation for his special day.
“How you doing?” Williams smiled just enough to appear half genuine, but deep down inside he didn’t care. At least the slight buzz dulled his anxiety about Earl and Billy’s leaving. Men died over there.
The girl pulled her gaze away and fidgeted as Earl leaned in, searching for adulation. She gave him a peck on the lips. Her gesture was likely out sympathy and a bit of booze more than infatuation.
The final verse of Johnny Hits’s rendition ended with an obvious off-chord. He smiled and waved his hands to a smattering of applause.
“Here you go, handsome.” Jezebel topped off his drink with a healthy pour and subtle wink. Williams grimaced, but Karen didn’t seem to notice, too caught up in people watching.
“It’s just hard. Those guys are my two best friends. I know they aren’t much to look at. Not much drive. Not much maturity. I wish they’d applied to the mill. I could have gotten them a job.” Williams jiggled his drink to mix the rum and diet soda together.
“You know better. You can’t control free spirits like them. They’ll eventually want to start a family, maybe even go to college themselves. At least they’ll have the GI Bill when they get back.”
“That’s if they make it back.”
“They’re scrappers. They’ll make it through.” She had a way with words.
“I can only hope.”
Billy approached them from behind, his breath reeking of cheap whiskey and lipstick. He swung his arms around the two of them and hugged them tight.
“How you doing, guys? In case you haven’t heard, my boy’s birthday is today. Can you believe that? Seems just like yesterday when we were firing off bottle rockets into Old Man Howard’s living room,” he said in his typical energetic manner. “Say, you guys want to do a shot then head back to my pad? I got some good stuff back there, man, primo stuff. I’m telling you, sky-high material.”
“Billy, come on, man. When’s the last time I smoked?”
