He’d followed her halfway to the Castle. Begged her to let him carry one of the stuffed suitcases she dragged down the dirt path. She had yelled at him, “Go home, Dom!” Like he was the Colonel’s dumb dog.
Didn’t she know there was no home without her?
He turned back. Choked on his tears on the walk back to White Eagle. Let snot run into his mouth.
He sat for a bit in the cool, damp pachysandra that stretched from the edge of the cottage lawn into the trail. He didn’t mind the wet, or the tickle of the spiders and blind roly-poly bugs crawling along his bare legs. If he could, he’d ditch his bed and clothes, even his toys, and live in the woods. Eat berries and squirrels, whose thin skulls he’d crack with a sling and stone and roast over a pit, just like in the book he’d read about the soldiers who’d fought guerilla-style in Vietnam. Weeks, months, endured living off the jungle—eating monkey brains and centipedes.
She had to come back. Didn’t she? This was just like in one of those after-school specials on TV. The girl running away from home only to realize there was nothing better in the outside world.
It was his fault. Ratting on her and Brooks to his dad at the Fourth of July party at the club. If he hadn’t, she would’ve never moved out of the cottage and into White Eagle. The first step to leaving him behind.
He thought of all the wrongs he’d done her. Like the time he’d kneed her in the nose when she was tying a shoelace so a spurt of blood sprayed her white T-shirt. All ’cause she called him a wuss. Which he knew was the truth anyway.
The night was cool, the air soft from the breeze blowing ashore. Maybe, he thought, he could convince her to play just one game of Gods versus Mortals, a quick chase through the forest. When it was time to crawl in bed, he’d fall fast asleep. No jerking off. No dirty thoughts that he’d have to drag around guilt-heavy the next day.
“What’s going on here, Lieutenant?”
Dom jumped to his feet and wiped his face with the front of his T-shirt.
“Maddie,” Dom stuttered. “She’s gone.”
The Colonel clapped a hand on Dom’s shoulder, setting him off balance.
“Loss is hard, my boy. But inevitable in times of war.”
“You don’t understand,” Dom said, sighing. He was tired and scared and cold. He didn’t want to put up with his grandfather’s confused ranting that made Dom’s head feel like it was stuffed with chattering crows. “There is no war.”
The old man’s Popeye eye squinted hard.
“I don’t understand?” He laughed. Heh-heh. “I’m the only one who understands what’s going on here.”
Dom kicked at the damp dirt.
“You don’t know how lucky you are,” the Colonel said. “Got a chance to go to college. Get educated. Instead of ending up like your father.”
“Dad’s fine.”
“You think fine is working on the factory floor? Or being a grease monkey in a car garage?”
The tips of Dom’s ears tingled with heat.
The Colonel laughed. It was ugly. His stout body bending forward so the top of his bald head caught the moonlight and glowed.
“Your father is a fraud,” he said. “I know you love your dad, son.” He squeezed Dom’s shoulder so it ached. “But he’s ruined your mother’s life with his lack of skills and education. Why do you think she takes those pills?”
“Because she’s stuck on this crappy island filled with old clueless men like you who have no idea—”
The slap stung more than Dom had imagined it would from those soft, manicured hands.
He squeezed his eyes against the tears. He wasn’t going to cry. Not now.
When he opened his eyes, he saw his grandfather was staring at his hands. They were shaking, making the old man’s soft, round middle quiver. Like a bowl full of jelly, Dom thought. The Colonel lunged toward him. Dom recoiled, stepped back, tripped over a tree root, almost fell on his ass. He was ready to run through the forest. Run to the shed and grab his father’s machete.
“Let me tell you what real fear is, Lieutenant Pencott,” the old man said, his head bowed, his hands twisting. Like he was strangling an invisible man. “Not the numb complacency Americans are used to today. Oh no!”
Dom knew what fear was. Fear was MJ Bundy’s voice in his ear. Suck it. Open your mouth. There you go. Fear smelled like Sean Waldinger puking up the square pizza he’d eaten for lunch. He should confess. Show the Colonel in sickening detail that afternoon in the woods behind the school. Then, he’d finally get the punishment he deserved. The Colonel wouldn’t hold back.
“Some nights,” the Colonel whispered, “I dream of someone attacking us. On our own soil. They think it can’t happen. But oh yessirree, it can!”
Fear, Dom knew, sounded like the wet thwock-thwock of his mouth as he took Sean Waldinger in it, MJ’s fat hand pressing down until he gagged.
“Something’s got to happen,” the Colonel mumbled. “To wake America up. Show them their safety is a fantasy. A lie! Then Grudder will be needed again.”
He almost felt sorry for the old man. How could he not know, Dom wondered as he heard the sound of tires screeching through the woods, near the Castle, that there was no saving them now?