37

 

BECCA WATCHED THE guards carry a man from the hogan. She shuddered at the sight of the body whimpering and twitching, but when she realized it was Reno, she nearly cried out. The guards laid Reno on the truck bed, where he writhed, mumbling nonsense. Then he fell still. One of the guards took his pulse. “He’s not great,” the guard said to the driver. “You should take him to the infirmary.”

“Ask the CO,” the driver said. “And ask when he wants me to bring King.”

But the guard’s answer was unexpected. “He doesn’t want King anymore.”

“What do you mean?” the driver protested.

“It’s what he told us,” the second guard said, but he went into the hogan anyway. When he came back out, he opened the door wide. It was the briefest moment, but in that window, Becca’s body went cold. Inside the room were two naked men on their knees. One of them was Ben.

Becca thought fleetingly of Jacob and prayed that he would stay hidden. Then she bolted toward the hut. The guards looked genuinely startled to see her, but they weren’t going to let her through. In unison—almost in slow motion, it seemed to Becca—their arms extended. And then a beast bit into her stomach. Its jaws ripped through her skin and sank into the muscle. She spasmed and collapsed, clutching her belly. All she could think was that she hadn’t even made it to the doorway. She hadn’t come close. Meanwhile, the beast had discovered her breasts and shoulders and was gnawing upward toward her eyes.

“You want me to get her out of here?” someone asked.

“No,” replied a voice, deep and slow. “Bring her in.”

Hands grabbed her shoulders and lifted her like she was nothing more than a sack of bones. They carried her forward and dropped her inside the sweltering hogan. She heard the door shut. Then hands covered her shoulders. Large, familiar hands. She looked up into Ben’s face. He was waxen and drenched, but she saw that he was all right. He pulled her close, soaking her shirt with his sweat. “It’s okay,” he whispered into her ear. “I’m okay.”

“What’s happening?” she cried. She felt nauseated, partly from the pain and partly from the stench of vomit. Her eyes flickered around the hogan, searching for the next threat. The room was empty except for Bull and the CO, who sat placidly on a pile of blankets. He looked like he was sleeping with his eyes open.

“We’re the only two left.” Ben nodded at Bull. Bull appeared to be in worse shape than Ben. His head lolled on his neck like he was drunk. “I’m gonna be sick,” he said and rushed to a bucket in the corner. A moment later, Ben heaved and rushed to a second bucket. Becca followed and knelt beside her husband, stroking the damp hair on his head. It was when Ben sat up that she noticed the wound on his chest: the Greek helmet, pink and oozing. “What is this?” she cried. She held her fingers above the spot and Ben winced as though she’d actually touched him. “What did you do to him?” she screamed at the CO.

“You aren’t going to deny the sergeant his chance to win the heart? Surely not so close to the end,” the CO replied calmly.

“I drank that stuff.” Ben nodded at the dark liquid. “He drank it too.” Ben motioned to Bull, who was on his knees, gripping the sides of the bucket. “It’s a drug.”

Ben looked like he wanted to say something else but then he threw up again. In between expulsions, he looked at her. “I’ll be fine.” He panted. “Go outside and wait for me, Becca.”

She shook her head.

“I don’t want you to see this.”

“I’m not leaving,” she said.

“Please,” Ben pleaded, his eyes frantic.

“I think she should bear witness,” the CO mused, stroking his beard in an almost comical fashion. “If she sees, she will know, and if she knows, she will feel.”

Ben shook his head imploringly. “Becca—”

“No,” the CO interrupted, his voice cold. “She will stay.”

Swiftly, his massive body, so much more limber than she would have imagined, leaped from the blankets and seized her arm.

Becca struggled, but the CO only tightened his grip. She called for Ben, but he could barely hold his head upright. When he finally managed to lift it, his eyes were glazed over; he was gone.

No . . . no . . . she cried silently to herself. The CO yanked her arm forcefully, almost throwing her against his blanket throne. “Sit,” he ordered and tugged her down. “Bull, son, come over here.”

Bull pulled himself away from the bucket and walked shakily toward Becca. “Soldier,” said the CO. “I have an important duty for you. She is your prisoner. She is not to move, not to speak. Do you understand?”

As Bull nodded, Becca looked into his eyes, searching for recognition. “We sat on Kath’s porch,” she pleaded. “We watched a hawk.” But it was too late. The chemicals had taken over, and Bull pulled Becca to her knees. Then he knelt behind her and slid one arm around her stomach, holding her still. She felt trapped, like a doll. She wanted to speak his name, to try to break through to him, but she was terrified to be held like this. He could break her neck. Just like that.

“Very good, Bull,” said the CO. “Wait for my next command.” He picked up a remote control and the hogan walls came to life. Becca saw a dusty, unpaved street lined with cinder-block buildings. The smell of burning trash wafted down from vents somewhere overhead. And the room filled with Arabic singing. The music was beautiful and harsh and so tangible that Becca felt like she could have physically grabbed it—if Bull hadn’t been holding her down.

The sound of gunfire burst over the music and Ben dropped to the ground. Then an Arab man appeared from one of the houses. He hurried into the road and laid something there. Then he disappeared back into his house.

Ben was now hiding behind the blankets. He looked up at the CO. “I’ll stake out the house,” he whispered.

“Good thinking, Sergeant. Report back what you find.”

Ben stalked across the room and banged on the door—on the hogan wall—shouting at the man to come out. Nothing happened. Then boom. Flames burst across the screen, the explosion so loud that it shook the hogan walls. Becca screamed, unable to stop herself. Bull tightened his hold. He was making it hard for her to breathe. Ben dropped flat and rolled back and forth, crying out as though engulfed by fire.

“You’re safe, soldier!” the CO called out. “But the snipers!”

Pops of gunfire echoed through the room, and Ben ducked and dodged like he was trying to avoid actual bullets. He ran toward one wall, and an image of fire burst up in his face. He ran at another wall and met more flames. The CO, meanwhile, was watching intently, pressing button after button on the remote. Becca couldn’t stand this. She shut her eyes. She wanted to plug her ears but Bull had her arms trapped against her sides.

“Open your eyes, woman,” the CO ordered. “Open them now.” Bull shook her hard and finally, she submitted. “Do you understand what you are seeing?” The CO leaned over and whispered hot and close into her ear. “I’m creating the opportunity for his catharsis.”

Ben ran back and forth, meeting flames at every turn. Only when the CO beckoned to him did he stop. He hurried to the commander and slid to the ground.

“He is dead in here,” the CO said to Becca. He pressed his palm to the Greek helmet branded on his own skin. “I am giving him a chance to live again.”

“This is insane,” Becca snarled. “Don’t you care that you’re hurting him?”

Bull seized the back of her neck. Becca whimpered.

“It’s okay,” the CO said. “Let her go, and start your patrol.” Bull did not hesitate. He dropped his arm and started a slow circle around the hogan. Becca crawled to Ben, who was folded into a ball at the CO’s feet.

“Those wan, insubstantial relationships of the civilian world,” the CO said. “They mean nothing. These men died in the jungles! In the deserts! Just look at them!”

He motioned to Ben, and then to Bull, who was still circling the hogan holding an imaginary gun in his arms and mumbling orders to no one. The war scenes flickered nightmarishly. Becca remembered what Reno had said about King fleeing Kleos over and over. It was the one thing that gave her enough courage to speak. “If you keep them here, you’re not even giving them a chance to live normal lives. You don’t have any faith in them.”

“If you mean I lack faith in people like you, then you’re right. There is only one chance for life after death! If a man can embrace his pain and expel it fully, then he may lead others. He may be reborn by leading his brothers and sons. Otherwise, who are we? What life can we possibly . . .”

The CO’s voice trailed off and Becca was startled to see tears in the old man’s eyes. “It’s all right, soldier,” he said, and motioned Ben to him. Becca could only gape as Ben knelt before the CO and let the old man pet his head. “It’s going to be all right,” the CO whispered. “I promise.”

“This isn’t all right,” Becca whimpered, trying to coax Ben from his submissive position at the CO’s feet. “None of this.” She dared to look the CO in the eye. “Just let Bull win,” she pleaded. “Give the heart to him. He’s the one who wants this.”

For a moment, the CO actually seemed to consider this request. “Bull,” he said. But the moment Bull turned, the CO Tased him. Becca was so horrified, she couldn’t even cry out. “Bull has been a good soldier,” the CO said calmly. “But Durga demands youth. And selflessness. And doggedness. She demands to be exalted by music. Bull cannot give her these things.”

Now the cityscape on the walls faded and a sort of metal cage materialized. It was the innards of a vehicle, Becca realized, and it was coated in blood.

A picture of a hand flashed on the wall.

Ben stumbled over and grabbed at the hand. Then there was a foot. Then a leg. Ben jumped and lunged and scratched at the wall as though he could physically pull the images into the room.

“You can’t put your friend back together, Sergeant Thompson. You cannot clean up the blood. You cannot disinfect the metal. There is nothing whatsoever that you can do.”

“No!” Ben growled.

But the CO only nodded. “This was Coleman’s fate. This is what happened.”

Ben was crying now, still grabbing at the limbs on the screen. Becca went to him. “It’s not real, Ben,” she said, desperately trying to steel herself against this psychotic version of her husband. “It’s just a picture. Look at me. I’m real.” She took his hand and squeezed it. “See, this is me.” But Ben kept grabbing at nothing. “This is the leg,” Ben cried. “This is the hand. This is the finger.” He was out of control, just like the night she’d fled.

“Why don’t you tell your wife why you smashed the fiddle,” the CO said. “It might clear things up for her.”

The images faded and the lights dimmed. “I had a dream,” Ben said, turning to face the CO. He seemed to Becca, just then, like an actor on a stage. And the CO was the director, feeding him his cues.

“Go on,” the CO encouraged.

“A rope was tied to my waist and at the end of the rope was the sack. Full of parts. Full of Coleman—” Ben waved his hands at the walls. “I had to cut it off me. Cut away the bag of parts! Stop dragging.”

“So what did you do?”

“I fought with the knot!” Ben clawed at his waist, pounded his fists against his stomach, pulled at his skin like there was a real rope wrapped around his belly.

“Stop it! Ben, look what you’re doing to yourself!” Becca grabbed at his hands, but he shoved her out of the way. She picked herself up from the floor, tears burning.

“Do you see now?” the CO asked. “In the darkness of his mind, you are not his wife. You are not even his friend. You become the knot he cannot untie. You become the enemy.” The CO looked disgusted that she’d needed to have any of this explained. “And then what, Sergeant?”

“And then there was music,” Ben said. “It was coming from the sack with Coleman. And I was dragging it, the music and the parts of Coleman.”

The CO nodded sympathetically. “And then?”

“I needed to cut the rope. Anything to cut the rope.”

“So you broke the fiddle?”

Ben nodded furiously.

“And you used the shards to cut the rope.”

Ben nodded.

“Quite ingenious, soldier. But it didn’t work.”

Ben hung his head, and, all at once, he broke down.

“Do you see now?” the CO asked Becca, his voice blunt.

And of course she did. She saw that Ben had been trapped in a version of this room for a long time and that he wasn’t even close to finding his way out. She saw that she was helpless to protect him. She hated the CO for showing her this. And the next thing she knew, she was sprinting at the old man with all her might, as though her anger were strong enough to knock him down. She was going to rip him open. She was going to break him.

But the CO was faster. His arm jutted out and caught her. His fingers dug into her shoulder until the pain made her cry out. And then the hogan was plunged into black. The CO forced Becca to her knees and then released his grip. When the lights rose, a new image played on the wall: a hospital bed and a man, his face washed out in grayish light, his body hooked to machines and tubes. A heart monitor beeped beside the bed.

Music rose out of the silence. It was a fiddle tune that Becca knew well. It was called “Sally in the Garden,” and Ben had played it often. The picture it evoked was not a garden, however, but an empty boat knocking against a deserted and rocky shore. Between the notes, Becca heard wind and saw a muddy sky. She’d never really understood why Ben loved this tune so much.

“This is it, Sergeant Thompson,” the CO said. “You are the last one.” He sounded almost giddy. “Pass this final test and Durga’s heart is yours.”

“Why is he here?” Ben nodded at the hospital bed.

“He is your last challenge. He is the only thing between you and salvation.”

And then Becca realized that the man in the hospital bed was supposed to be Ben’s dad.

The fiddle music was growing louder, only instead of notes, “Sally in the Garden” was composed of layers of sadness. You could peel away at those layers forever and still never reach the center. The heart of the song could not be touched, so it would never stop crying.

“It’s not really your dad,” Becca told him. “He doesn’t look anything like your dad.” But Ben just stared at the wall.

“What did you tell your dad before he died, Ben?” the CO asked.

Ben shook his head. His lower lip trembled.

The CO climbed off the pile of blankets and walked around Bull, who was now curled in a fetal position on the floor. He went to the bucket of black liquid and drank, long and deep. Then he lumbered to the hospital bed, his massive belly rising and falling to the tempo of the heart monitor. Light from the movie projection streamed out around him.

“I am your dad, Ben. I am dying. So what do you need to tell me?”

“You’re . . .” Ben’s lip continued trembling.

“Ben, let’s go!” Becca pleaded. She pulled at his arm, but he shook her off.

“Come over here, son.”

Ben approached. The fiddle music grew louder.

“Son. What are your last words to me?” The CO’s lips were inches from Ben’s face. Ben was breathing faster now, shaking his head. “What are your last words, Sergeant? How do you honor me, your father, on my deathbed?”

A single note from the fiddle flew long and sharp across room. Ben clutched his chest as though he’d been hit. He mumbled something.

“What?” the CO demanded. He gagged, as though he was about to vomit, but then he swallowed deeply and stood taller. “Speak up, son.”

“Traitor!” Ben’s voice was louder this time. The CO nodded with a crooked smile. “You’re a traitor! To your family. To me! You loved that man. But what about me? I’m your son! But you didn’t want me.” Ben shook his head furiously. “You only wanted your music. You only wanted him. If he made you sick, then you deserve to die!”

Becca gasped.

The CO shook his head. He suddenly looked very weak.

“I’m your son!” He grabbed the CO by the shoulders. The CO did not resist. He went limp beneath Ben’s fury. Ben pushed him with what appeared to be all the strength he had left, and the CO dropped to his knees.

“I tried to honor you,” the commander said, his voice barely a scratch of sound. He looked pleadingly up at Ben.

“You. Left. Me.”

“I carried the heart for you. I built Kleos for you. All for you.” He sank over his knees. “But I left you, Willy. I did.”

Willy? Becca thought. The soldier from Reno’s story?

“I abandoned you.” The CO stared up at Ben, his teeth gritted. “‘Just put me in my grave. And give me your hand, Willy, I beg you. Once you’ve given me the fire I deserve, I’m never coming back.’” From the back of his fatigues, he produced a bowie knife.

Becca felt sick. “Do it, Willy.” The CO offered the knife to Ben. “I was afraid. Of your friendship. Of your love. Afraid of myself. I was ashamed. Oh God. I left you to be slaughtered!”

Slowly, Ben took the knife. Becca said his name and he turned, pointing the weapon at her. In that moment they were back in her childhood room and it wasn’t a knife Ben was gripping in his fist but the fiddle. He was going to smash it over her. He was going to break her if he could. “Please don’t,” she said.

“Come.” The CO spread his arms like he wanted a hug. “Purge the past. Save us both from despair. Your catharsis is my salvation.” He puffed out his stomach. The jagged scar bisected his hard, white belly like a crack across ice.

The music reached a crescendo, and it seemed as though the hogan was going to come crashing down.

Then a figure bounded between them. Bull pushed Ben over and grabbed the knife. The tackle seemed to have jarred Ben awake. He looked at Becca with a flicker of recognition and scrambled back beside her. The CO lumbered to his feet. He stood to his massive height like a beast rearing up on its hind legs. He spread his arms. “Come and claim my heart, Willy. I give it to you.”

Bull stepped in front of the CO and thrust the knife into his belly. The CO grunted, a burst of sound that gave way to a long and throttled groan. He fell to his knees, his arms still stretched wide. Then he fell forward. Bull hunched over the CO’s body and pushed him onto his back. Becca gagged, but she managed to help Ben up and to the hogan door. When she glanced back, she had the distinct impression that a lion was ripping into a rhinoceros. Bull’s hand was plunged deep into the CO’s stomach, and blood poured onto the floor. “The heart,” Bull cried out. “Where’s the heart?”

Becca shouldered Ben outside to find a line of hoplites facing the hogan, impassive. “Help!” she shouted. “The CO’s been stabbed!” But the men did not move, though some of them had tears in their eyes.

Becca turned to Ben, who was naked and shivering violently beneath the cold dawn sky. “It’s okay,” she said, folding her arms around him. She didn’t believe this at all. But she kept saying it, over and over, as though her words might shelter them both.