Promised Land

by Brandon Dean

  “You’ll be fine. It’ll work out. Don’t worry,” Murphy replies, sounding sure of himself.

  I give a short bark of laughter. “Yeah. Nice try, but you’re a shrink. You’re supposed to say stuff like that.”

  “Good point. Now that’ll be ten dollars,” Murphy says dryly.

  “Left my wallet at home. Ask me later,” I reply.

  Murphy grins. “Just sit tight. It’ll be over before you know it,” he assures me. He opens the truck door carefully, closing it quietly before sneaking around to the back.

  It isn’t long before I look out the side mirror to see Murphy and the four men armed to the teeth with various types of rifles and submachine guns in their hands and pistols and knives strapped around their waists. Murphy is holding a small black German SMG. I remember hearing some kids at school talk about them from time to time—an MP 40, if I recall correctly. No doubt he picked it up at the church, which makes me think he may not be as experienced in combat as the others—or the guys he’s going after, for that matter. But one thing I do know is that he’s smarter. I don’t need to know this guy’s life story to know he’s intelligent—just the way he carries himself, the way he can tap into your psyche simply by speaking a sentence. He is a doctor, after all, so I suppose it comes with the job.

  All five of them walk silently past the truck and sneak to the back of the building, hugging the walls of the store as closely as they can. The back door isn’t visible from where we’re parked, but maybe that’s for the better. I don’t know if I want to see this bloodbath unfold.

  I close my eyes as my heart beats itself nearly out of my chest. Breathe in . . . breathe out plays over and over in my head as I try to keep my composure as much as I possibly can. I feel so helpless; this is my battle to fight, after all. Why can’t I hop out of this truck and help them? I’ve cheated death so many times now that I feel almost invincible. I take a deep breath, and just like that, I know exactly why I should keep my ass in this truck. A painful reminder shoots from my chest through every inch of my body.

  Oh, yeah. That’s right: I can barely stand right now, I think.

  My heart rate isn’t as fast now; I think I’ve calmed myself down enough to see what’s happening. And to my relief, it seems that step one is a success—they’ve found the right key and have managed to make quick work of the men inside the storage area. The group drag the bodies of two Germans out the back of the store and lay them along the side of the wall, out of sight. From my seat in the truck, I can see that their throats have been slit open, and their entire bodies are drenched in a tide of crimson.

  Murphy glances back at me, lifts up his arm, and signals me a thumbs-up from where he stands. I return the gesture.

  I’m giving myself a pep talk now. Telling myself that this is it, that before I know it, I’ll be with all three of my girls again. I’ve come so far. I’ve witnessed some awful shit; I’ve done some awful shit. But all of those things led me to where I am now, so close to victory I can taste it. To hell with this war; I don’t care about that anymore. I just want them back! I want to teach Violet how to ride a bike and make a snow angel. I want to do something young and stupid and be chastened by my mom, to be able to cry on her shoulder when things get rough. I want to start a life with Hazel, to have her be the last thing I see before drifting off at night and the first thing I see when I wake in the morning. I want us to hold each other close.

  I want to live. I want all of us to live. We’ve earned it.

  Come on, guys! I urge the five fearless men I know inside. I believe in you, you gritty sons of bitches! We’ve all lost something in this fight—now show those animals in there how that feels!

  I wait to hear gunshots, to have them ring through this silent sky like a symphony. I want them all killed so that we can move on.

  From where I sit, I can hear the faint sounds of shouting. Then the screaming gets louder and louder, so loud that I think it could drown out the sound of gunshots.

  And then the first shot echoes through the air. I hear Murphy shout, “Get down!” so clearly that it’s like he’s sitting right next to me. A barrage of gunfire drowns out every other sound, and I can see birds flying away in a frantic attempt to escape.

  I sit with my fingers crossed, hoping it’s not too late, hoping that Hazel doesn’t have to pay for my mistake. Though the fight seems as if it’s gone on for hours, I’m sure it’s probably only been a matter of minutes. The sounds of gunshots and shouting are lessening; it feels like it’s almost over.

  Suddenly the world falls silent again. Sweat trickles down my face as I nervously watch the front door slowly creak open. A line of women and children walk slowly out of the store, and I study them all, one by one, watching and waiting for the one who matters most to me. I pull the handle to the truck door and grit my teeth in pain as my feet meet the pavement. I’m limping over to get a closer look, and then I see her.

  My Hazel.

  Chapter 23

  I can’t believe this is really happening. We did it! After all we’ve been through, we’ve finally woken from this nightmare.

  Hazel is just a few dozen steps away, and she breaks into a run. Fighting through the pain, I pick up my own pace and make my way toward her as quickly as my beaten body can. She’s so close to me now, and we open our arms to one another, intertwining our bodies like vines on a chain-link fence.

  “We did it! We did it!” Hazel cries into my chest.

  “We sure did!” I say back through tears of happiness, ignoring the pain. “Told you I’d come back for you.”

  Hazel pulls back and looks up into my eyes. “What now?” she asks.

  “Now? Now we do everything we planned on doing. Go somewhere safe and new, get married, buy a house, and have kids. Our fight is over—now it’s time for us to be happy,” I say.

  She looks up at me with her beautiful brown eyes and that stunning smile and hugs me even tighter, burying her face into my chest again.

  I look over to the doorway to see Murphy and the others come out of the building. The two older men are helping one of the younger guys walk; it looks as though he took a pretty nasty shot to the leg.

  Murphy approaches Hazel and me, where we stand, still locked in each other’s arms. “What happened to staying in the truck, huh?” he asks with a wink.

  “Couldn’t help myself,” I say, grabbing for the pistol tucked in my waistband and handing it to him.

  He looks down and acknowledges the weapon. “Keep it, kid. Let it be a souvenir.”

  “No thanks. I won’t be needing it anymore, anyway,” I reply, shaking my head.

  “Suit yourself,” Murphy says, taking the gun and putting it in his holster.

  “You find that asshole?” I ask.

  Murphy nods. “Sure did.”

  “I hope you made him pay,” I say, gritting my teeth.

  “Didn’t have to. We found him in the corner of the room, foaming at the mouth. He offed himself before we had the chance to do it,” Murphy says.

  “Coward,” I reply, wishing he’d met justice in the way he’d deserved.

  I hear the sounds of vehicles pulling into the lot and turn to see trucks arriving to pick up the survivors. Mom climbs out of the back of one of them with Violet and waves me over.

  I look at Murphy. “Remember what we said we’d do when we get out of here.”

  “Haven’t forgotten. I’d love the chance to help you,” he replies.

  “Good,” I reply. “Now, let’s all get the hell out of here.”

  Murphy goes back to the truck and jumps behind the wheel, and Hazel and I walk hand in hand toward Mom and Violet. We all climb into the back of the truck, with me in the middle, between my mom and Hazel, so relieved that we’re finally all together again.

  “We made it, Mom,” I say as I rub my fingers along Violet’s cheek.

  “I�
��m so proud of you, Clint,” Mom says. “Do you want to hold your baby sister?”

  “More than anything!” I say enthusiastically. I look at her sweet little face and hold on to her tiny baby hand, whispering softly to tell her how much I love her. I offer a promise to her that she’ll never have to worry, that I’ll always keep her safe. She gives me a little yawn in reply.

  “Would you like to hold her?” I ask Hazel quietly.

  Hazel looks at me doubtfully.

  “Oh, come on!” I insist. “You know you want to!”

  “Clint,” Hazel says. “Hold who?”

  “Violet! Who do you think?” I reply in confusion. I look down at my arms. My empty arms. “Mom!” I scream as I swing around to look at her. There’s no one there. “She was right here, Hazel! They both were!” I stammer.

  Hazel sits upright, holding the side of my face as she stares into my eyes. “It’s okay, Clint. Once we get settled in, we’re going to get you some help. You’re going to be okay,” she assures me.

  “It seemed so real,” I whisper.

  “You need time. I’ll be there for you the whole way, don’t worry,” Hazel says, holding my hand tightly.

  I find myself wondering where they are. I hope they’re safe; all I can do is hope.

  As the truck engine cranks to life, the back fills with escapees.

  “We’re on our way!” Hazel says with a smile.

  “Yeah, I guess we really are. Hey, Hazel . . .”

  “What is it?”

  “You ever blame yourself for anything? Ever wonder if you could’ve changed the way things ended?” I ask.

  “All the time, and I know what you’re getting at,” Hazel says. “It’s normal to think that way. But no matter how hard you think about it, it isn’t going to change the fact that you’re pinning the blame on the wrong person.”

  “I’d like to believe you, but chances are, if it weren’t for me, you’d already be safe,” I reply.

  “Is that so? Do you really feel that way?” Hazel asks. “If it weren’t for you and your mom coming, Mamaw and I would still be waiting helplessly back at the house. And look around you at all these people.”

  My eyes scan the inside of the vehicle to see several women and children seated, all waiting to start over in a better place.

  “What about them?” I ask.

  “You helped give these people a chance. You helped all of them live to see another day. If there’s something to blame yourself for, let it be that.”

  “You always know what to say, don’t you?” I ask as she curls up next to me.

  “Yeah, I do, wise guy.”

  The truck begins to move, and the first day of the rest of my life begins. Time passes as I hold Hazel in silence.

  The whole truck is quiet. We need time to recover and collect ourselves; all of us do. It’s like the initial shock of waking up from a nightmare.

  I look down to see Hazel fast asleep with her head buried in my lap. A few of the other women inside the truck are asleep, as well. It isn’t until a couple of hours later that the truck jolts to a stop and jars everyone awake.

  Hazel sits up and looks around in confusion. “What’s going on? Did we make it?” she asks.

  The truck still isn’t moving, and I can hear the driver’s door hinges open and then slam shut.

  The back door opens, and Murphy is standing there to let us know that we finally made it. “You guys,” he says, clearly holding back tears. “You have to see this.”

  Murphy and Hazel help me out of the back of the truck, and as soon as my feet touch the ground, I can smell it. The warm air of a busy city that I missed so much, complete with the scents of restaurants cooking food and freshly mowed grass. I can hear it—angry motorists shouting at one another, the honking of horns, the conversations between adults, and the playful squeals of little children. I can see it—tall buildings surrounding me in every direction, ferry boats gliding across the river, a playground filled with kids, men and women making their commutes to and from work.

  It’s all here—a whole new world, so similar to the one I miss so much. The world I promised us. The life I promised us. Hazel and I begin to walk deeper into the city together.

  “You’re not going to stick around?” Murphy asks as Hazel and I walk away from the truck. Hazel is still helping me walk a bit. “We’ll be in touch!” I shout over my shoulder to Murphy.

  “But where are you going?”

  I look into Hazel’s eyes and smile. “Promised Land,” I say.

  Epilogue

  It’s been a month now. Things are going great. I thank the universe every day for the second chance it has given me. I’ve been talking to Murphy once or twice a week—free of charge.

  The Axis powers surrendered last week. I guess we were able to use those bombs to our advantage, after all. We won, and now the main focus in our country lies in rebuilding it. Mine is on rebuilding myself. I was able to find a job. Nothing flashy, but it’s a job. I work at a grocery store stocking shelves, just your standard nine-to-five. Pay isn’t anything special, but if we live modestly, Hazel and I should be fine until I find something better. The job can sometimes be stressful, but mainly because of things totally unrelated to the work. I still see Mom sometimes, but I try my best to ignore it and remind myself that it’s all an illusion.

  I spent most of my first two paychecks on our future. We had been sleeping at one of the convention centers in the city, most of which got converted to a shelter for people trying to get back on their feet. There comes a time where you have to move on, though. My first check went toward a down payment on a little one-bedroom apartment I found in the city. It’s a cozy place, and, best of all, it’s our place. My second paycheck was used to help buy another wedding ring for Hazel, to replace the one that was taken away while she was at the camp. You can’t ever replace some things, but I tried my best, and she loves it.

  All in all, I’ve been having the time of my life focusing on living more than surviving, if that makes any sense. And in minutes, it’s going to be official.

  I’m standing across from the most beautiful girl in the whole world, in her beautiful white gown. We’re inside a small wedding chapel. The pews are empty except for Murphy in the front row. I wish everyone could’ve been here to see this.

  “Do you, Clint Brodsky, take Hazel Maxwell to be your lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, till death do you part?” the pastor asks.

  “I do,” I reply, gazing into Hazel’s eyes.

  “And do you, Hazel Maxwell, take—”

  “Yes. I do,” Hazel interrupts.

  “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride,” the preacher says, obviously holding back a chuckle.

  I bend down to kiss her, and doing so, I see a bright light out of the corner of my eye.

  I look down the aisle, and I see Mom again, holding my baby sister. The heart-shaped locket around her neck must have caught the sunlight from the open doors behind her.

  Hazel looks to see what has my attention.

  “It’s all right,” I murmur.

  Hazel smiles at me. “Yes, it is. Yes, it is . . . because I see her, too,” she says.

  My lips curl into a smile as welcome tears run down my face.

  About the Author

  Brandon Dean resides in Sevierville, Tennessee, with his wife, Haley, and two sons, Layne and Nolan. Promised Land is Brandon’s debut novel and his first published work. Brandon has been writing since he was twelve years old, and everything he knows is self-taught. When Brandon isn’t writing, he enjoys spending time with his family or watching baseball.