Fire and Forget (28 page)

“Want to see something?” Sunny asked Will.

“It depends entirely on what you want me to see,” he said.

“Follow me.”

“Wilco.”

“Huh? What's a wilco?”

“Oh, sorry. It means will comply. Which means, okay, I'll follow you.”

Sunny grabbed Will's hand and took him into the rain and to the backyard. She led him to a silky oak tree in the back corner, through a maze of plants and bushes, the dull moon providing just enough light to guide them there. Sunny knelt onto the ground, tucking her legs underneath her knees. She pointed to a spot in the dirt and then rubbed it with her hands, getting a fresh batch of mud on her palms.

“That's where Lady Gills lives now.”

“Lady Gills?”

“My goldfish. She used to live in the house, but now she's in Heaven.”

“Oh. I'm sorry,” Will said.

“Grandma says that Lady Gills is happier now,” Sunny said. “But I'm not.”

“You should get another goldfish, maybe.”

“We did. But it's not the same. Lady Gills Number Two isn't as much fun as Lady Gills was.”

Will stared at the spot in the dirt. “They never are.”

“I want a pet iguana next! But Grandma says iguanas aren't allowed in Hawaii, so I want a gecko or a chameleon instead.”

“You've lost me now. I hate lizards. All of them.”

Sunny stood up and pulled at her hair, getting wet mud in both of her thick, black braids.

“Do you like my pigtails?”

“Yes, I like them very much.”

“Do you like my overalls?”

“I do. They're very colorful.”

“You just told Grandma that you're going to go to war.”

“I did.”

“War is the place where you kill people,” Sunny said. “I know about it.”

“Yes. Bad people, though. I'm just going to kill the bad people.”

“I've never killed anything. One time, though, I got super mad at Jamie Takemoto because he kicked my sand castle, and I told him I could kill him if I wanted to, and I made him cry. Have you?”

“Have I ever what? Gotten my sand castle kicked? Of course.”

“No, Jade. Have you ever gotten so mad you killed something?”

“Do insects count? Like spiders and stuff?”

“No,” Sunny said. “It only counts if they bleed. And bugs don't bleed.”

‘Well . . . maybe,” Will said, looking at the oak trunk. “Or no. No, I've probably never killed anything.”

Will followed Sunny back to the porch, where Cheryl watched them. The chickens made way for their return. Sunny sat back down, cross-legged on the floor, while Will remained standing.

“Sunny, you've been playing in the mud again,” Cheryl said.

“No I haven't, Grandma.”

“Don't lie to me, young lady.”

Sunny rolled her eyes and rested her chin on her hands, grunting in the process. Her grandma shook her head and turned her attention to Will.

“Are you leaving anyone special behind?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said. “Well. Kind of.”

The rain had eased to a drizzle. Most of the wild chickens wandered off in search of more food. A few remained, and a red rooster with a full black tail strutted over to Sunny. She picked it up, put it in her lap, and stroked its feathers.

“This is my favorite thing in the whole world,” she said. “His name is Bob.”

“Bob?” Will asked. “That's quite a name for a chicken. Well, Mister Bob”—he pressed the rooster's claw into his hand and shook it—“it's a pleasure to meet you.”

Sunny laughed. “He's not a chicken, Jade. He's a rooster. And he's the prettiest, most funnest rooster on the entire North Shore. Grandma said so.”

Cheryl nodded.

“And even though Grandma named him, he's all
mine.
” She emphasized this by squeezing the rooster close to her chest. The rooster flapped its wings in protest, and Sunny sat it down on the floor.

“I'm bored,” she said, yawning.

Cheryl looked into the house where a clock hung on the wall.

“It's nearly nine o'clock! It's past your bedtime, Sunny.”

Sunny yawned again.

“I'm fine!” she said. “I want to stay up with you and Jade and talk grown-up talk.”

“You go brush your teeth and crawl into bed. And wash your hands. I'll be in soon.”

“No!”

Cheryl's face snapped toward her granddaughter so swiftly the wrinkles and bags under her eyes quivered. “If you're not in bed and asleep in five minutes, we're going to spend all day tomorrow doing math. Which means no TV and no playtime outside with Bob. And definitely no iguana or gecko, ever.”

Sunny's eyebrows shot up, and her mouth dangled open. She stood up and shook hands with Will.

“Okay. Good night, Grandma. Good night, Jade.”

“Night,” Will said.

Once Sunny was inside, Cheryl turned to Will, who was looking out at the sea. Wave after wave of wild blue crashed into the crags with increasing recklessness, allowing some of the seawater to spill onto the shore. For the first time all evening, the smell of storm filled the air.

“Where are her parents?” he asked.

“On the Big Island for the week. A much deserved vacation.”

Will smiled. “Good for them.”

She started to say something but instead waited for him to continue. He didn't, and a strained quiet seized the porch. They listened to the night song of crickets and the rumblings of waves. A burst of summer wind blew through the yard, followed by a distant, lone thunderclap. A few minutes later, Cheryl stood up and cleared her throat.

“Well, Will, I wish you the best of luck, and know we'll keep you in our thoughts and prayers. Would you mind trying to keep it down tonight? We've got a little girl sleeping over here.”

“Of course. And thank you. Have a good night, ma'am.”

Cheryl walked inside. Will went to his chair, picked up the bottle, and rejoined the platoon.

* * *

Will sat on a couch on the front patio. He watched the sun creep over a slow, steady ocean surf. A bottle rested by his feet, and he held a lukewarm can of beer. His eyes were coral red, and he reeked of cigar smoke. Now shirtless, he rubbed the pair of dull-gold, crossed sabers tattooed onto his right shoulder.

A small smile emerged on his face. “What the fuck happened last night?” he said. “Oh, yes. Well. That's the end of that. Finally.” He laughed to himself. “I bet she regrets trying to get me to leave the party.” He bit his bottom lip and tapped his forehead.
The smile faded away. “I wish she hadn't cried like that. Would've made things easier.”

Time passed and the sun rose.

Turning his eyes toward the sky, Will stared at an empty blue. “In case You care,” he says, “I'm at peace.”

 A group of wild chickens wandered up the driveway.

“Why, hello there. How is the prettiest, most funnest rooster on the entire North Shore feeling this morning?”

Will stood up and grabbed the rooster with the black tail. The other chickens dashed away.

The rooster flapped its wings in protest and attempted to bite and scratch him, but he held it tight to his chest. Walking around to the back of the house, he clutched the rooster by its neck and repeatedly smashed it against the cement pavement until it ceased to move or squawk. He walked around to the front of the house and tossed the rooster into a cooler. He cleaned his hands on the grass, and sat back down on the couch.

“There it is,” he said. “There it is.”

W
E WOKE UP KUNKLE AND GERALDO:
“Get up, fuckers. You're relieved.”

“Where's Sergeant Barton?” Kunkle asked, blinking.

“He's off. Sergeant Reynolds is SOG.”

Reading took off his Kevlar and set it on the Jersey barrier. His buzzcut red hair glowed a sickly brass in the fluorescent light, like a field of bruised pennies.

“Where Sergeant Reynolds at?” Geraldo said.

“He's right behind us,” I said.

“Aight. We out,” Geraldo took his rifle and stepped off down the road. Kunkle followed and they met SSG Reynolds at the clearing barrel, where he watched them unload and clear their weapons.

When there was a pause in the radio traffic, I picked up the walkie-talkie: “Red Steel Main, this is Red Steel India. Radio Check over.”

“R
ED
S
TEEL
I
NDIA THIS IS
R
ED
S
TEEL
M
AIN ROGER OUT
.”

SSG Reynolds came up, glaring at us with his bug eyes. “I want you to have your Kevlar on at all times, Reading.”

Reading ignored him.

“Now look, you need to make sure you clean up this AO. There's cigarette butts in the dirt back there. This is a high-visibility area, and the Sergeant Major's gonna come through. So clean it up. And get inside the guard shack, too.”

“Hooah,” I said.

“Now what do you do when you open the gate?”

“One of us goes up and the other one covers him.”

“Right. Now, if you're gonna open the gate, I want both of you up there, one to handle the door and one to watch outside. Somebody could shoot an RPG right through there. That's what I'd do, if I was them. I'd come by in one of those pickups and send somebody to knock on the door, and when you opened the gate, I'd shoot an RPG right through. Bam! Then what?”

“Nobody's gonna shoot an RPG through the gate, Sergeant.”

“You gotta think tactically. Tactically. Now, what do you do if somebody comes over the wall?”

“Shoot 'em!” Reading barked.

“Right, and then you call it up higher.”

“Nobody's coming over the wall. It's like fifty feet high.”

“That's what you think. That kind of complacency is what gets soldiers killed.”

“Roger, Sergeant.”

 “And when ICDC come through, I want you to check each one. Don't let the ICDC do it. They could have bombs hidden anywhere.”

“No way,” Reading said. “Hajjis fucking stink.”

“Roger, Sergeant,” I said. “We'll take care of it.”

“You know these ICDC,” he said. “They've taken an oath and everything, but they still could be Fedayeen or al-Qaeda or who knows what. Just because they're on our side doesn't mean you can trust 'em. One ICDC with a hand grenade could jack up your whole day. What would happen if they got into the chow
hall? You don't wanna be responsible for that. Check and double check.”

“Shit,” Reading said, “I wanna blow up the chow hall.”

“Roger, Sergeant Reynolds. We'll search each one ourselves.”

“Okay. You guys already get breakfast and everything?”

“Roger.”

“Make sure you do your radio checks.”

“Just did.”

“Okay. I'll be back in a couple hours, and I expect this AO to be straight.”

“Roger.”

“And Reading, keep your Kevlar on. Carry on, men.”

We watched SSG Reynolds walk away.

Reading giggled. “In the case of an all-out assault, I'm gonna shit myself and throw it at 'em. Take that, hajji! Shit-bomb!”

* * *

It began with a knock at the gate, prom-prom-prom. The sliding rusted-metal door, thirty feet wide and twenty feet tall, trembled from the pounding.

“F'tal bob,” I said.

Reading snickered.

The two ICDC looked at him.

“F'tal bob, motherfucker!” I shouted, pointing at the gate, then pointing at the younger of the two hajjis.

The light was a clear yellow-gray, the sun a white smear still low in the sky.

The younger hajji got up and picked up his AK and started walking out toward the gate.

“See who it is,” I said.

“You,” Reading said back, not looking up from his Gameboy. “I'm in the middle of a level.”

“Fuck your level. Go see who it is.”

“Why you such a bitch, Wilson?”

“Cause I hate freedom, motherfucker. Go see who it is.”

“Whatever,” Reading said, pausing his game and setting it on his chair. “But don't touch my game.”

“I'm gonna kill your fucking Metroid, what I'm gonna do.”