Cold Summer

by Gwen Cole

I pull two out, hiding the rest away for later. Perkins flips his lighter open—one he found a couple days ago—and I start them at the same time, handing one to him once they’ve caught.

  I take a long drag and silently mouth a curse word.

  It’s horrible and wonderful all at once.

  “Why did he give them to you?” I ask, sparing him a glance. “Special medic privileges?”

  Perkins tucks his helmet under his arm, running his hand through his short blond hair with the cigarette between his lips. “I wish,” he says. “I never thought I would be addicted to these damn things.”

  I laugh once. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  He glances over. “I told him I was trying to find you, and he just gave them to me and said, ‘Here, I owe him one.’”

  I can’t believe Captain Price remembered the night we had a smoke together. I’m a little baffled he remembers me out of the hundreds of men in our company.

  “That was a while ago,” I say, still thinking about it.

  At least I think it was.

  Perkins shrugs, continuing to smoke. Most of the guys around us are eating lunch and enjoying the bright afternoon despite the snow on the ground. We haven’t seen any Germans for two days. I still don’t want to think about the last time I was here—how I came back with blood on my face and the look Uncle Jasper’s gave me when he saw it.

  Today, I welcome the silence.

  I take another quick drag and ask, “Do you know what the date is?”

  Perkins shakes his head but looks over his shoulder where a few guys sit. One of them is using an ammo box as a pot, warming some food over a fire.

  “Hey, Trip!”

  One of the guys looks up. “Doc?”

  “What’s the date today?”

  “Uh—I think it’s the eighth today. New Years was just last week.” He has a pretty strong Texan accent. But then he grins and asks, “Got a date, Doc?”

  Perkins smiles. “What’s it to you if I do?”

  “I don’t know, is there a sister?”

  “Not one that would take a liking to you.”

  Trip’s smile drops and the guy next to him punches him in the arm, laughing. When Perkins turns his head back, he shrugs one shoulder. “It’s the eighth. Why do you want to know?”

  “Just wondering.” But my hands are shaking a little more and I glance at the sky again. Looking for some sort of refuge.

  I finish off my cigarette and want another. I’ve never had two in a row before, and I don’t want to start now. I’ve never even told Harper I smoke here. It’s not like I do it at home, even though I’ve come close, but I wish I had told her something as simple as this.

  I suddenly ask, “Do you ever think about dying?” I see him look over in my peripheral but I don’t turn. I almost regret asking—though I think I would regret it more if I hadn’t.

  With every minute that passes, my hands shake a little more and my stomach tightens at every sound.

  I’m barely holding myself together at this point.

  “When did you get all morbid on me?” he asks.

  “It’s just a question.” I shake my head, avoiding his eyes. “Never mind.”

  Perkins looks around, taking notice of the men around us. He nods for me to follow him and takes me further back from the camp. Picking a place where there’s nobody within earshot.

  “We shouldn’t talk about that kind of stuff around them,” he says. “It’s not a subject anyone likes to bring up. What’s been with you these last two days?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’ve been quiet—more quiet than usual,” he points out. “I think I know you well enough by now to know something is wrong.”

  I take my helmet off again, feeling more normal without it on. And because I can’t help myself, I pull the pack of cigarettes out, my shaky fingers making it hard. I offer another to him but he shakes his head.

  “I don’t know. Do you ever think you’re meant for something more?” I ask. “Or that when you die, you’ll die for nothing?”

  With the cigarette between my lips, I wait for the flame to catch.

  When it does, I stare at the ground because I can’t bring myself to look anywhere else.

  “All right, look,” Perkins says, shifting his weight. “I’m going to tell you something, but I don’t know if it’ll make you feel better or worse about this. When I first became a medic, I really felt like if I only ended up saving one person, it would be worth it. Just one. Because to me, one life is just as important as one hundred.”

  “But you’ve saved a lot more than one person,” I say. “You actually make a difference here.”

  “And you don’t?” He motions his arm behind us, back toward the company. “Every time you take down a German, you’re saving someone. Don’t you get that? You look out for our asses every damn day.”

  I shake my head. “That’s different. You’re saving people, and I kill them. If it’s not me, it’ll be someone else. Everyone here has a gun and knows how to use it. I’m talking about like … changing history.”

  “Changing history,” he repeats.

  I finally flick my cigarette in the snow and turn to him, my heart pounding a little too fast. So many thoughts scream at me, reminding me and never leaving me alone. I think about the day I ruined the house and my tongue can no longer keep silent. So I explode on him. “Yes. That’s exactly what I’m talking about. Because why else am I fucking here? Why? Why? If you know the answer to that, I would really like to know. Why do I keep coming back here if there’s no point in it all?”

  “Kale—”

  “Because this has already happened,” I gesture around with my hands, “and nothing good comes from me being here. It feels like life is putting me through one big joke.” I stand there and stare at him, on the edge of breaking down. “And I don’t find it all that funny.”

  He thinks I’ve lost my mind. I know he does. How can he know what the hell I’m talking about?

  “Do you have something you want to tell me?” he asks.

  I put my helmet back on and take a deep breath. “No. Just … forget I said anything.”

  I start to turn away, but he places a hand on my shoulder. His eyes are serious again. He needs me to know he’s not joking. “If you need me to, I can see you unfit for duty. It’s not something to be ashamed of.”

  “Isn’t it, though? I didn’t sign up to be sent home.”

  “I don’t have to remind you why we’re here,” he says. “Every man here plays his part, but as for dying … there are some things you can only figure out on your own. Yeah, everyone here thinks about that every day, but it’s not something you want to dwell on. Not everyone is meant for great things, but I believe everyone is a part in something bigger than us all.”

  I look up at that, because somehow this easygoing medic I’ve known for the last few weeks is making a point. It’s true that I’ve been thinking about something bigger than me, because why else would the past pull me here time and time again?

  But maybe me being here is like a pebble being thrown into a quiet pond.

  Something so small can have an effect on everything.

  I hear Captain Price’s voice ring out behind us. “Second squad, you’re on patrol! Move out.”

  I shoulder my rifle and look at Perkins one last time before following the others. Lieutenant Gates is with us today, and he takes point with Stiles.

  “Perkins, you stay behind,” I hear Captain Price say behind me. “They’ll let you know if you’re needed.”

  “I’m afraid I have to insist today, Captain. I don’t like the thought of them going out on patrol without a medic nearby. And I’m not needed here at the moment. Unless you’re thinking someone is going to choke on their lunch.”

  I stop and turn around, catching the captain’s eye when I do. I don’t give any indication to what I want him to say.

  I’m surprised that Perkins is insisting on coming at all.

&nb
sp; “Just be careful,” Captain Price says, still looking at me. “I want my medic back in one piece. You, too, Jackson.”

  “I’ll keep an eye on him, Cap,” I tell him.

  He nods, and Perkins and I move off to join the others. About twenty minutes in, the talking dies down when we come upon a new stretch of woods, not knowing if the enemy could be nearby. The trees are tall and thick, leaving no underbrush for us to push through. It makes everything quiet.

  I keep my eyes sharp, looking for signs of life or flashes of metal. In the dark places where the trees shadow, it’s hard to see if anything is hiding.

  I’ve been part of a few sudden attacks before. Whether it was in a town or the woods, they all feel the same. Your body wants to freeze up like a rabbit, too afraid to run for its hole, so you have to be quicker than that. You have to be moving the moment you hear it, or else it’ll be too late.

  But this time when I see movement up ahead, the first thing my mind goes to is Perkins. He stands next to me, not seeing what I’m seeing. I can’t handle another one of my friends dying.

  Stiles calls out before I can. Warning everyone before the woods explode with gunshots.

  I dive to my left, taking Perkins down with me before he has a chance to get shot. Bullets hit the tree next to us, showering the snow with chips of wood.

  My shoulder blooms with pain, as though I fell on it the wrong way.

  But when I go to push myself up, I know it’s something more. My vision is spotted and I can’t breathe right. The adrenaline coursing through me is the only reason I’m able to push myself against the tree.

  Perkins is already crouched into front of me, pressing his hands over the right side of my chest.

  I look down and see blood covering his hands. My blood.

  I wonder how it got there so fast.

  It certainly can’t be real.

  “Fall back!” I don’t know where the voice comes from. It sounds far away. Too far for me to answer. I know I need to be moving, but my body keeps me in place.

  More bullets whiz past our hiding place, the tree taking a beating it doesn’t deserve. The gunshots are closer now. The snow on either side of us is pelted by invisible drops of iron.

  I look down at the rifle in my hand, wondering how we can get out of this. Perkins is looking for something in his satchel, swearing when he can’t find it. I’m having a hard time making sense of things, and it’s even harder to focus, but I grab onto what I do know.

  I lift my face to the sky one last time, knowing what I have to do.

  It’s so blue it reminds me of home.

  It reminds me of Harper.

  A warm hand taps my cheek, bringing my eyes back down on my friend. There’s dirt smeared on his cheekbone and his eyes are more serious than I’ve ever seen them. But he’s alive. That’s what matters.

  “I’m gonna get you out of here,” he says. “You’re going to be all right.”

  I glance down at his hand, still trying to hold my blood in. I try to laugh, but everything hurts. Everything. Hurts so much I can’t breathe.

  There’s no way I can make it back in time.

  He knows it.

  I know it.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” I tell him.

  Our guys are still trying to hold them off, but the lieutenant is yelling for us to fall back. By the sound of it, we’re outnumbered.

  Perkins is about to stick me with morphine, but I catch his hand. “Don’t, you need to save it. Don’t waste it on me.”

  “Kale—”

  “Stop.” He finally looks at me and I let go of his wrist, pushing the medicine back at him. “You need to go, and you are going to leave me here. The only way—” My body freezes when another wave of pain comes over me. When I’m able to breathe, my heart is pounding faster. “The only way you’ll get out of here is with covering fire, and I’m not about to see another friend of mine die.”

  “You already saved me,” he says. “Now let me save you.”

  “Why don’t you do me a favor and make sure you stay alive first.” I clench my jaw and take his hand away from my wound. My fingers are almost shaking too much, but I manage to break off one of my dog tags and press it in his bloodied palm. “Please, Dan.”

  “You know I outrank you, right?” he says. “I could order you to let me take you back.”

  “You could,” I agree, trying to talk through a tight jaw. If I let it, it shakes too much. “But I’m asking you not to. As my friend. You know what you said about one life being just as important as a hundred?”

  He barely nods.

  “Yours is worth it.” The last thing I give him is the pack of Lucky Strikes. “Tell the captain thanks for me. For more than just the smokes.”

  Perkins is doing everything he can to resist taking me back with him. I pull my rifle into my lap and nod for him to go. “Go the moment I start shooting. I’ll keep them off your back.”

  When he leans in, I dip my head and bump my helmet with his. Then without saying another word, I stand, using every last drop of adrenaline I can find, pressing against the tree for support. Sweat drips from my forehead and my visions spins for a moment before I can breathe again.

  I don’t need to hit any targets—and probably can’t in the state I’m in—but all I need to do is give Perkins enough time to get back to the line our squad has made behind some fallen trees. If he can make it there, he’ll be safe.

  I nod down at him once and he nods back, saying everything he needs to.

  Then I swing around and start shooting.

  The first three bullets hit their targets before they realize they’re being shot at so close. They take cover, forgetting about the unarmed man darting out from behind the tree.

  I keep shooting until I can’t.

  Once the clip is gone, I press myself against the tree again. Just in time. Bullets pound the wood even more.

  Despite my situation, I smile, because he made it. It’s then I realize—saving one person’s life will be enough for me.

  It might not be something heroic or something that’s written into history books, but it’s enough for me.

  I did what I came here to do, and now it’s time for me to go home.

  I don’t have to wait for the right time.

  Or wait for my heart to tell me so.

  I’m going because I want to go. Maybe the chance was within me the whole time, or maybe I’m only now able to do it.

  Either way, I’m going home.

  I have a promise to keep.

  44.

  Harper

  On the second day of Kale being gone, I venture outside after dinner to breathe some fresh air, hoping it’ll calm my nerves. Uncle Jasper and I haven’t left the house all day, and we’ve barely held a decent conversation. It’s like we’re not living in reality right now, waiting for something to happen that shouldn’t exist in the first place.

  I walk deeper into the field and away from the house. The sun has set, leaving the sky red and orange with the moon already taking its place. I stand there and close my eyes, listening to the sounds of the crickets and frogs down near the creek.

  “Harper.”

  I open my eyes, wondering how I can hear him so clearly. Then the air fills with the smell of snow and I know I can’t be imagining it. When I turn around, he’s standing there. Ten feet away and never looking so real.

  “Kale.”

  He smiles, but it’s wrong. Something dark is smeared on his face, and I take a couple of steps forward, having trouble believing he’s really here, afraid he’s going to disappear again.

  “You’re here.” I laugh once out of relief. “You came back.”

  “I promised—” His eyes close, warning me something more is wrong. When he opens them again, even with the dark night, I can see he’s in pain. Now that I look closer, he’s unsteady on his feet and not breathing right. “Didn’t I?”

  Then I catch sight of something on his upper chest—a stain growing darker and da
rker against his white T-shirt. It’s blood. I don’t have to see the color to know.

  Before I can help him, Kale’s legs fold beneath him and he sinks to the ground.

  I yell toward the house, “Uncle Jasper!”

  I kneel down next to Kale, pressing my hands against his chest, where the blood is pouring from. It doesn’t seem right that he’s bleeding when there’s no hole in his shirt.

  I drag my eyes away, up to his face. “What happened?”

  “Aside from getting shot?” His smile is quickly replaced when he sucks in a breath. After he relaxes against the ground, he’s too still. “Our patrol was attacked and we were outnumbered. I told them to go back without me.”

  “But what will happen when you go back?” I ask.

  “Harper?” I look up and see Uncle Jasper trying to see me through the dark. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s Kale!” I shout back. “He got shot!”

  He runs back into the house and I look down at Kale again, not ready to lose him when I just got him back.

  “Don’t you get it?” he says. “I’m not going back. What you read on the Internet was what happened. I can read it to be sure, but I have no doubt. It says I was killed, because they really believed I was.” Kale pulls out his dog tags—his hands also covered in his blood—and I see that one of them is missing. “It’s done, Harper. I’m not going back there.”

  I lean in and press my lips to his cold ones. Then I tell him, “I told you you could do it, didn’t I?”

  The screen door slams shut and Uncle Jasper runs toward us. “I called 911,” he says, kneeling down on the other side of Kale. “What happened?”

  I move my hands away and he rips open Kale’s T-shirt, exposing something I can’t look at. He presses a wad of cloth to it, causing Kale to wince and suck in another breath.

  “He was shot,” I tell him, feeling my hands shaking against my legs, still covered in blood and staining my jeans. In this light, it’s like black tar spilled everywhere.

  “The ambulance should be here soon,” he says. “I didn’t want to risk driving him myself. He might lose too much blood if I do.”

  Kale tenses and says through his teeth, “It fucking hurts.”