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| The Crossing by Jake Brewer (Issue 8) |
Perhaps it was the crackle of the fire, or maybe something as quiet as the steady breathing of the two soldiers, huddled close together. Whatever the case, when the man stepped into the thicket, he announced his presence with the polite clearing of his throat. His appearance was shadowed, the light of the fire barely licked at the bottom of his feet. The men around the fire were unable to discern the exact features of his face, but his clothing was non-descript: hiking boots, black pants, a baggy dark coat.
“Jesus!” The man closest to the newcomer started, jumping to his feet and grabbing his rifle with the cool and practiced movements of someone who had performed the same action hundreds of times. His companion had already closed the distance with the unkempt man, pistol leveled easily at his head.
With a winning smile the stranger took two steps forward and held his hands palm out, “Not quite, just a lost traveler that happened upon a fire.” His voice was weary and pleasant with the hint of an accent that neither of the other two men could place.
“Hands on your head. You move again and there’s gonna be nothing between those hands to hold onto.” The armed man flicked the muzzle of his rifle at his partner, who slid his pistol back into his belt, kicked the stranger’s legs out wide, and frisked him.
“Bastard’s clean, Dave.” With that Dave lowered his rifle, and a slow, tired, and infectious grin spread on his wide face.
“Damn friend, you trying to get yourself killed?”
The stranger let out a short barking laugh and smiled back. “Like I said, I’m just a fool who got lost in the woods. Who knew that the fire I stumbled on would be guarded by two ornery guys such as yourselves? Name’s C. H. Aaron, but you can call me, say…. Charlie.” He held out his hand and, after a short hesitation, the second soldier gripped it warmly, pumping it several times in his large hand.
“I’m Jesse. Probably shouldn’t let you do this, but why not take a seat? We can stoke up the fire…fine with you, Dave?”
“What the hell, don’t see any harm in it. Slow night anyway, haven’t seen any signs of life in quite awhile.”
The three huddled about the fire, and both soldiers finally noticed Charlie’s features. He was an average looking man of both standard build and height. He had a young, boyish face, but it was dotted with the beginning hairs of a beard. Something about his manner was intensely reassuring, and conversation started quickly.
“What brings you kids out here so deep in this godforsaken wood?” Charlie’s earnest muddy eyes looked softly between Dave and Jessie. They felt compelled to speak, and Dave beat Jesse to the punch.
“Could be asking you the same damn thing, stranger. But we can’t really say.” He held his hands out and shrugged.
“Let’s just say we’re American soldiers on a peacekeeping mission.” Jessie gestured at two packs lying on the far side of the fire, and then the guns both men kept close at hand.
“Didn’t think the U.S. was in an armed conflict on this side of the globe.”
“Oh, we aren’t in a conflict.” Both soldiers grinned and looked at one another. Charlie guffawed.
“Guess you boys like what you do, huh?” His curious accent lilted and weaved in the moonlight.
“Well it’s what we’ve been trained to do, after all. Some of the best young men America has to offer, least that’s what they told us.” Both Dave and Jesse laughed heartily.
“Us two,” said Jesse, “are the kind of soldiers they don’t tell folks back home about. We do the hard work, the dirty work, stuff that, as I see it, is necessary to keep the world on its axis.” He poked at the fire and his shadow was suddenly thrown into sharp relief.
“As it so happens, boys, I’m in a similar line of work.” Charlie’s face looked weary, but his plain features snapped back into a smile so quickly that the two soldiers didn’t notice the temporary switch. “If you two are on such a sensitive assignment, why the fire?"
"Isn’t that pretty goddamn obvious?”
“A couple of our buddies, and us two,” Dave motioned to Jesse, “scouted out the area before. No sign of life for miles. Speaking of that, where the hell are you from? Anywhere around here? And why do you keep calling us ‘boys?’ Damned if I’m not older than you.”
Charlie’s brown eyes seemed to sparkle and squint, and before he answered he took a long, deep breath. “Well, I’m from around here right now, but who knows where I’ll be in a couple of days…” He briefly looked up into the sky. “And let me tell you, I’m a hell of a lot older than I look.
If an observer had seen these three huddled around the fire only five minutes before, they would have seen a completely comfortable gathering of new friends. However, a pall had suddenly settled in the copse. Dave and Jesse glanced uncomfortably at each other. This stranger, who previously came across as benevolent, suddenly seemed darker, ominous.
Charlie suddenly spoke again, as if to alleviate the tension on the soldier’s faces. “Do you have any regrets, boys?” The quick change of topic caught the pair off guard.
“Look, I believe we all have some regrets…” began Jesse uneasily, but Dave cut in.
“Where did you say you were from again?” He looked at Charlie suspiciously, eyes narrowed.
“I didn’t.” Charlie’s eyes, for the first time, grew hard. The light of the fire framed his face, and with this sudden flare of light, Dave and Jesse’s shadows stretched, almost to the edge of the clearing.
“Well, I think we deserve some answers here, Charlie. We didn’t kill you, after all.” Dave smiled, and while it appeared warm, his eyes scanned Charlie cautiously. “So, you got anything to s-”
“This fire.” Charlie interrupted. “It’s soothing to me. It shines and brings light. Like I used to, before all of this.” He gestured in a vague way, hand circling above his head.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Jesse demanded in a worried tone. He glanced at Dave, who was feeling as uneasy as he was.
“Regrets, I’m talking about regrets.” Charlie spoke softly. “I regret being so proud.” Then Charlie looked up from the fire, and he seemed calmer, happier. With eyes alight, a grin tugged at the edges of his mouth. “But then again, I do this now. One task for another.”
Dave and Jesse were both gazing uncertainly at Charlie, perhaps wondering what task he was talking about, when the bullets cut into the clearing. In a spiraling dance of death the two soldiers pirouetted to the ground. No bullet struck Charlie, or maybe they simply never had a chance to. The enemy combatants stormed into the clearing while Charlie stood next to the fire, above the prone bodies of Dave and Jesse. The enemy soldiers never saw Charlie, and he scarcely noticed them.
With a touch of weariness, Charlie knelt down next to the flames. Dave and Jessie’s shadows were gruesomely elongated by the flickering light, Charlie’s was entirely absent. He looked into Dave’s dead eyes. If those same eyes could still have seen, they would have noticed that Charlie’s coat seemed much larger. In the night wind it billowed like a cloak.
Charlie slowly closed Dave’s eyes, then Jesse’s. He paused to wipe the tears that glistened on each soldier’s cold cheeks. As Charlie stood, a wind struck the copse, chilling the enemy soldiers to the bone. The fire flickered once, and then expired. In that last dying light, C. H. Aaron took confident steps and strode from the clearing, differently than when he had arrived. For this time it seemed as if not one, but three shadowy figures disappeared into the night.
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