“Our best hitter is at the plate,” I said, watching her face intently.
Slowly, I drew my silenced PMR-30 and clicked off the safely.
“It’s the bottom of the ninth and the bases are loaded,” I whispered. “We’re down by two. The count is full.”
“Come on,” she wheezed.
Gently, I brought up the pistol and aimed at her temple. My hand was beginning to shake and I was no longer sure if it was the rain or tears running down my face.
“He digs in,” I said, closing my own eyes. “Fastball!”
She gasped and tensed up. I expected the worst but relaxed when I heard her whisper.
“Here it comes!”
“He swings and…,” I hesitated. “Bang! He crushes one, right down the left field line. It’s going to be fair.”
“Homerun!” she sighed.
“It’s heading right for your glove,” I whispered.
I felt her tense and watcher her hand closing as if catching a ball. I could see the jubilant smile creep across her face and saw the joy there. She was seeing it all in her mind. Under the circumstances it was the best I could do for her, to ease her passing as much as I could. I felt her entire body shaking as she lived that moment in her mind. I wanted that moment to be her last thoughts of this world. Not the death and destruction that it had become.
Gently, I squeezed the trigger. The pistol coughed once and she was gone. Her body went slack in my arms as she got her final wish. She would not become one of them. Her final passing was as much of a mercy as I could give her. It wasn’t the first time that I had granted such a request for someone. I had little doubt that it wouldn’t be the last. Despite the mercy that it granted, it cost me a little piece of myself each time. This time I knew that it cost more than the others.
As much as it killed me, all I could think about was Spec-4. She had reminded me so much of her. They had so much in common, it was amazing. They were both from St. Louis. I couldn’t help but wonder if they had known each other. I would relive pulling that trigger for a long time to come. I’d see it in my dreams and pray I did the right thing. I wasn’t sure what bothered me more; the fact that I had to do such things or the fact that I could. Neither was a pleasant thought.
I put the pistol away and lifted her as gently as I could. I placed her on top of the vehicle, in between the wheels. This was going to be the best sendoff I could give her. I would do my best to make it count. I would make the sendoff as big as I could possibly make it.
I took a moment to compose her as best I could. I left her weapons on her, but took all of the ammo. Then I returned to the front of the Humvee and looked inside. Just as I suspected, both Hernandez and Fullbright were moving around and trying to crawl out from under all of the gear that had fallen on them during the wreck.
Before I could aim my pistol, Fullbright opened his mouth and began to shriek. Although we were in the middle of nowhere, I knew that a Shrieker’s cry could carry a long distance. It would call any of the dead that were in range. I shot it in the head twice, just to be sure. Then I turned and double-tapped Hernandez.
When I was certain that they weren’t going to move again, I began yanking out all of the gear. The smell of the diesel fuel was nearly overpowering now, since the gas cans in the back had dumped all over the cargo area. I needed to get as much gear as I could carry and get out of here, ASAP. One spark would set it all ablaze. Not only was that a possibility, I was counting on it.
I quickly loaded the two dead privates’ weapons and ammo into my range bag. There were only four MREs, so they went into the bag as well. I managed to scrounge six bottles of water and four canteens. It wasn’t much, but it was going to have to do. The last thing I grabbed was a helmet that had rolled into the turret. I sat it on my head and got ready to move.
The range bag went onto my back with my rucksack, and then I covered myself with a poncho. Once everything was secure, I got ready to head out. The weight of the gear wasn’t significant, so I knew that I could carry it easily. At least I could for now, anyway. It was time to put some distance between me and the wreckage, just in case the Fullbright-Shrieker had managed to call in more of the undead.
The last thing I did before heading off into the night was to light one of the flares that I had in my pack. I watched as it sputtered in the rain and slowly ignited into a bright red intensity. I whispered a silent prayer that the Gods guide Leffingwell into paradise. She had earned it. Somehow, I knew that I would see her again in Valhalla.
“Goodbye,” I said softly.
With a flick of the wrist, I tossed the flare in through the open windshield and watched it bounce into the back. Instantly, the diesel fuel began to ignite and the flames spread rapidly. I turned and headed hurriedly across the field towards the tree line to the south. I slogged through the muddy field until I reached the first of the trees. Then I turned to look back, one final time.
The Humvee was fully engulfed in flames. The massive funeral pyre was glowing brightly against the darkness that surrounded it. Through the intense glow of the fire, I would have sworn I saw a shape rising into the sky. Then lightning split the darkness and I could see wisps of smoke curing into the heavens. I knew that the Valkyries had come to take one of their own to the Great Hall.
With a grim nod of appreciation, I turned and headed into the darkened woods. I couldn’t see very far ahead of me, but I couldn’t risk using my flashlight either. The light would attract too much attention. I would have to walk as silently as I could and hope I didn’t run into anything in the darkness. If I did, I was in a lot of trouble.
After about an hour of walking, I knew that I had put at least a mile between me and the burning wreckage. I stopped to rest and put my back against a tree, taking in air with deep, slow breaths. I forced myself to not breathe loudly, because it might attract attention. I was straining my ears for any sound that might be a threat. All I could hear was the steady hiss of the rain on the leaves. Funny that it should occur to me right at that moment, but it sounded just like bacon frying.
After a long moment of listening, I was fairly confident that there was nothing in the immediate area. I didn’t want to risk going much farther in the dark, so I decided to rest here until dawn. I could decide my next move, then.
Sliding down the tree, I kept my back against it and settled to the ground. I was freezing from the rain and the temperature was dropping. Drawing the poncho around me, I tried to make myself a small shelter against the side of the tree. I lowered my head and wrapped myself tightly in my makeshift tent, bringing my knees up against my chest.
I was shivering and could barely feel my fingers, but exhaustion prevented me from going any farther. I doubted that it was cold enough for me to die of exposure, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t going to catch pneumonia. I was falling asleep as a powerful wave of fatigue pulled me farther and farther into its embrace. Just as I was dozing off, I began to think of home and a warm fire. I remembered how on cold days, my two big dogs would cuddle up with me on the couch as I watched television.
Suddenly, I could feel warm air on my face and smelled the familiar scent of dog breath. I could feel myself back on the couch and I lifted the blanket for the dogs to crawl under. I felt them settle against my chest as I covered them with the blanket and felt their fur beneath my fingers. I gently scratched them both as I drifted off into slumber.
My last conscious thoughts were the realization that only one of my dogs had long fur. Odin’s coat was short and fine. I knew I didn’t have a blanket on me and my dogs. I was covered in a poncho and my dogs were over a hundred miles away from here. My mind tried to comprehend what was going on, but the warmth from the dogs was spreading into my body and chasing away the cold. The mystery was going to have to wait as sleep pulled me down into the darkness. Then the dreams began.
Chapter Ten
Wygliff the Warrior
“All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.”
- Edgar
Allan Poe
We had fought our way clear of the Skraelings that were waiting for us when we emerged from beneath the falls. We lost Skeld in the fight, but Bjorgolf, Hjalmar and I had finally reached the shore. The charred wreckage of the ship had washed up along the small cove that we had anchored in. There was no sign of the crew.
“Odin’s blood,” whispered Bjorgolf, shaking his head.
“It seems that the Gods have decided that we are walking home,” said Hjalmar, grimly.
“Are you out of your mind!” bellowed Bjorgolf. “We can’t walk home! We’re a thousand leagues from anywhere.”
“Lie down in the sand and die then,” replied Hjalmar. “I will continue to fight so long as I draw breath.”
“As will I,” I added, watching the jungle behind us.
“So what do you suppose we should do?” said Bjorgolf.
“We go north and follow the shore,” answered Hjalmar. “Just like we would have done in the ship.”
“Maybe we will find a raiding party,” I said, hopefully.
“I’m sure we will,” said Bjorgolf, angrily. “A Skraeling raiding party.”
Hjalmar turned swiftly and drove his fist into Bjorgolf’s mouth with tremendous force, knocking him on his back in the sand. Bjorgolf lay there for a long moment with a mixture of shock and pain on his face. Clearly he was more surprised by the blow than hurt, but he did not immediately react.
“Cover yourself over with sand and lie in your grave,” snapped Hjalmar. “Either you fight for your life or you can cower like a toothless dog.”
Bjorgolf didn’t answer for a long moment. I could see the emotions moving across his face. Confusion, anger and shame played on his lips and danced in his eyes. Finally, he shook his head and closed his eyes.
“I am sorry,” he said, dejectedly. “I lost hope for a moment.”
“We all lose hope from time to time,” said Hjalmar. “Trust in the Gods and they will see us home. Do not despair. We have already earned our places in Valhalla. Let us do great deeds worthy of song while we yet live.”
With that, Hjalmar held out his hand. After a moment’s hesitation, Bjorgolf took it and was pulled to his feet. They continued to grasp arms as they stared into each other’s eyes with fierce intensity. After a moment, they separated and backed away from one another. Bjorgolf might have realized how he was acting, but he wasn’t one to forgive a punch to the face, either. I was sure that this was not over between them. They might wait until we were safely back at home, but they would have to settle this between them. Most likely, they would settle it with blood.
The sun was still high in the sky when we gathered our gear together and headed north along the shore. We all knew that it would be many months before we reached the lands that our people had explored in Vinland. It would be many more months before we reached the nearest settlement. We would hunt and forage for food and water along our path.
As we journeyed north, the terrain became less and less jungle and more dry and arid. It took us many weeks to reach a great river that emptied into the ocean. It was there that we began to notice that the Skraelings were changing. They were no longer the smaller, dark-skinned jungle dwellers. Now they were taller with lighter skin and long braided hair. They also carried themselves like warriors. I could see it in the way they walked.
Bjorgolf wanted to attack them when we first saw them, but I held him back. I was tired of fighting for every mile we traveled. It was a decision that probably saved our lives. The group that we encountered turned out to be a scouting party for a much larger group. Although we did not speak the same language, we were able to get our message across to them. We exchanged some steel knives for some much needed supplies.
I was beginning to learn that there were different groups of Skraelings. Some were warriors, some were hunters and yet others were farmers. In that way, they weren’t all that different from our own people. The major difference was that they could not forge steel and didn’t understand when I tried to explain that we wanted to trade for horses. It was as if they had no idea what they were. I found that rather odd.
Another thing I learned was that some were friendly and could be bartered with, while others were hostile and wanted no part of peaceful exchanges. They would attack you, on sight. If we had a raiding party of our own, it would have been different. We would have joined them and taught them the meaning of battle. Since there was only the three of us, we had to be more careful. That didn’t sit well with Bjorgolf. I told him to be careful what he wished for, but his lust for battle knew no bounds. He would not listen.
One such group, that we had been told were called the Wichita, attacked us just as we were entering a wooded valley. We retreated to a small hilltop that was littered with boulders. There was a small cave opening in the top where we would be able to take cover. The Wichita fired volley after volley of arrows at us, but we were able to avoid the worst of it by staying behind the rocks.
After loosing all of my own arrows back at them, I was able to recover a number of theirs to replace my own. I was impressed with the construction of their arrows. They were fletched with the feathers of a bird that I was unfamiliar with and the tips were made from stone, but they flew straight and true. Although more than one of them was turned aside by our armor, they had little trouble piercing the leather tunics that the Skraelings wore.
We were pinned down on the top of the hill by more than fifty of these fierce warriors and our supply of arrows was very limited. I was only able to recover enough to keep them at bay. While I was trying to recover more, a lucky shot had cost me my left eye. I fell back behind a boulder while Hjalmar pulled the arrow out. It hadn’t pierced my skull deeply enough to kill me, but the eye was gone. He did the only thing he could do, under the circumstances. He stuffed a rag into the socket and tied a strip of leather around it. It would have to hold until we finished the fight.
After that, we stayed low and let them spend their arrows against the rocks. We knew our only shot was in getting them to close to sword range. Eventually, as the sun rose on the third day of our stand on top of the hill, they did just that. They had spent the entire night slowly sneaking up the hill and lay concealed among the rocks, waiting for the sun to come up. As the morning light crept onto the horizon, they let forth a dreadful ululating scream and launched themselves at us.
The battle was fierce and bloody, with our swords inflicting tremendous damage against their wooden clubs, stone hatchets and knives, and armor of leather and bone. We had the advantage in weapons and skill, but they had numbers and sheer ferocity. The sun was well above the horizon when I stood surrounded by bodies and dripping blood from a dozen wounds.
As I began to look around at the carnage, I realized that I was the only one still standing. Both Bjorgolf and Hjalmar had fallen, surrounded by the bodies of nearly a score of theirs. They had fallen back to back. Whatever their differences had been in life, they had died protecting each other and fighting with an intensity that would make the Valkyries take notice. They had died a glorious death, well worthy of song. I would sing of them to our people, if I ever saw them again.
I spent the next few hours tossing the bodies of the fallen Skraelings off of the side of the hill and into a ravine. Then I carried Bjorgolf and Hjalmar into the cave, laying them out with their weapons and armor. I could not burn them, but I knew that the Gods were already aware of their deeds. I would inter them in this cave, like the kings of old.
It took me the rest of the day to collapse the cave down upon my friends. I slept that night without a fire and in sheer exhaustion. When I awoke the next morning, I saw that the hill was now surrounded by more than a hundred of the Wichita. They were armed and ready for battle, but they did not charge. When I stood up, they raised their weapons and let forth with their ululating cry. I drew my sword and prepared to die in battle.
When they did not charge, I was not sure what to expect. I stepped up onto a large boulder and shouted out my battle cry. I cried
out to Odin to see that one warrior was facing down so many, but did not retreat. I would not surrender or try to run away. My friends had fallen in battle against them and I would do no less.
I watched in surprise as they began to put their weapons away. Then, inexplicably, they began to pick up their dead and leave. One lone warrior stood apart from the others. I noticed that his headdress was more intricate than the others, with more beads and feathers than anyone else. He merely stared at me with a measured look on his grim face. When they had carried off all of their dead, he looked me in the eye and nodded gravely. Then he turned and walked away. There would be no battle today. We had earned their respect by defeating so many of their warriors. The cost had been high, though. Now I was alone.
I spent a few days tending my wounds and carving runes into a large stone to commemorate the battle for any of our kind who would one day come this way. Once that was finished, I began gathering supplies for the long journey that lay ahead of me. I had fixed my position by the stars and knew I was a long, long way from home. I had my heading now, and I would take the most direct path back to where we began. Although I had no way to know this, I somehow knew that I was in a place that would one day become Heavener, Oklahoma.
As I was about to depart on the final day, I saw the lone warrior with the intricate headdress approaching the hill. He was carrying a bundle wrapped in an animal skin and walking slowly towards me, making no attempt to hide. I took that to mean his intentions were not aggressive and met him halfway.
We stood there facing each other for a long moment, neither of us speaking. He was obviously taking my measure, just as I was his. Although older than me, I could see the strength in his frame and wisdom in his eyes. This was a warrior who had known battle and lived to tell the tales to his children and grandchildren. I nodded my head in respect and he returned the gesture.
Kneeling down in front of me, he picked up a stick and began drawing in the dirt. Although just a rough picture in the soil, it was clear that he was drawing a wolf, both from the shape and the howling position that it was in. Then he looked at me expectantly.
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