The Broken and the Dead

We spent the night with the Livingston’s, I slept on a couch and OMT slept in a rocking chair near the door, the Thompson machine gun in his lap. After breakfast we talked again and OMT reiterated the invitation for them to join us at the lodge, but this time it was Mrs. Livingston who spoke,

“Boys, we really do appreciate you asking but we just can’t go anyway right now.”

She looked to her husband whose expression seemed almost apologetic before she continued

“It’s Janae as well as our boy, Darnell, we have to wait, and he is in the army you know.”

OMT said “Yes, mam, I know he is.”

Before he could continue she went on

“Our boy is very clever and I know in my heart he is still alive and he will come home.”

The tiny, thin black woman with her grey hair wrapped in an old fashioned scarf suddenly looked like the strongest person at the table and I knew that there was no way we were going to convince her otherwise.

The discussion went on for another cup of coffee then OMT drew a map for them, showing them how to get to the lodge. He then went out to the truck and returned with our radio and with a semi-automatic shotgun. He told Mr. Livingston that it was a Stoeger 3500 and it took 3.5”, 3”, and 2.75” twelve gauge shells. He gave him a box of 3.5” slugs and two boxes of 3”magnum buck shot. He said he could mix them in the magazine anyway he pleased and that it would even use any of his 2.75” shells he had left over for his old gun. All I could do was shake my head at all the crap in OMTs head. He said that once he got to the private road, not to come up until he spoke to one of us on the radio, he said he would tell everyone about them in case something happened to him. Mr. Livingston first shook OMT’s hand then he turned and shook mine, just like I was full grown. Maybe in our new world I was.

We left that morning and made good time back to the exit but we had a little trouble finding the private road. It seemed that my sister had taken her assignment quite seriously and the turn off was quite hard to see even though we knew where it was supposed to be. OMT had me stay in the woods about 20 yards from the truck, just to keep an eye on it. He made his way up towards the lodge, wandering in a zig-zag manner up the hill. I was impressed with how meticulous he was but for the life of me I couldn’t figure out why he didn’t just walk up the road but eventually he disappeared behind the tree line.

I sat back and waited, my M-16 across my lap as I sat with my back against an old Elm tree; it was the first quiet moment that I had all to myself since this all began. I could just see the Freightliner parked on the near side of the road; I could see the road a little bit front and back of it as well and everything seemed quiet. My mind wandered a bit; I thought about the people we had lost, especially Mom and Billy. My stomach felt queasy as I thought about them and I had that feeling you get when you are starting to have a head ache. I thought about the Caulfields’ and that woman, what was her name? It upset me that I couldn’t remember it even though I had only met her once. I thought of Cpl. Jones and Blue and Pvt. Jackson. I even thought about muscles and droopy pants and the girl I now knew as Janae and all the others that were with them, how we had killed each and every one of them. I thought about their anger and their fear and their pain. I thought about the men we had killed the day before and how we had smeared their corpses on the asphalt like beef on sandpaper.

Suddenly I started to laugh, I knew it was crazy, but I couldn’t stop. People were the only ones who did this to themselves, animals didn’t do it; even the Zs didn’t do it. Just us. I laughed as quietly as I could; I laughed until tears burned my eyes and washed my cheeks. My head hurt as much as my heart and my sobs consumed me.

I heard a car coming down from the lodge and I wiped my eyes with the sleeve of my shirt. I rose from where I sat and walked over to the freightliner keeping my back to the approaching vehicle. I recognized the sound of our Humvee. Something in me had broken, snapped like a guitar string turned too tight and for that moment I really didn’t care if it was OMT and my friends or not. I didn’t care if I lived to see one more day or not; we were all dead.

A few moments later I felt a hand on my shoulder and I turned to see OMT. He looked at me and I felt that he could see through me, that he knew what was in my heart.

“Are you okay John?” he asked me.

His eyes were small and dark brown, something I had never noticed before, and the brows were wild and crazy but he was focused on me intently. I knew he was trying to be kind, I knew at that moment that he actually cared. How sad at that moment I no longer did. I could not keep his gaze for long though so I turned and walked away, his hand falling away as if in slow motion. I wondered if I had hurt the old man, but it was not inside me to care; there was nothing inside. I thought at that very instance my heart was burnt black and turned to ash.

I don’t remember reaching the lodge or Elaine or Lucy speaking to me. I don’t remember Mrs. Driscol taking my gun away or her and Elaine putting me to bed. I don’t know how long I lay there, staring at the ceiling or when or if I ate. All I do know is at some time later that day, perhaps even that evening, I slept.