Animosity

Chapter 23 - Jay Summers

        Photo: Two American soldiers rest at a small encampment.

—

        Traveling was a strange and tiring act. The six of us, like nimble ballet dancers on a stage of grass, waltzed across the countryside, boots hitting the dirt in sync. It had been four days, and my mind seemed to be stuck in some kind limbo, brain numb and unfeeling even as I tried my best to act alright. I spent most of my time with Buddy, who could tell that something was off, but respected my wishes not to bring it up.

        He was a cute kid. Cheerful, juvenile, unrelentingly happy at all times, he filled our days with laughter and provided a much-needed contrast to the bleak forest. Sticking by my side for the past couple of days, he kept me sane and unknowingly steered my watery gaze away from Hank. Every step we took, every time we branched off to sleep in separate tents, I'd train a ray of longing on him, eyes brushing over his figure, missing his deep chuckle and sinewy body pressed against mine.

        He didn't even seem bothered, joking around snidely with Devy as usual, and while everyone noticed something wrong with me, no one picked up on anything out of the ordinary happening with him. For a couple of days, I wished fervently that he was lost without me, missing me as much as I missed him, but the longer we traveled separately, the more I was sure of the opposite. Hank didn't care about anyone but Hank.

The forest had shifted around us like water, leaves rustling, birds calling. The rivers had become few and in between, and we could walk for most of the day without seeing the tiniest trickle of water. We had agreed to keep our canteens relatively full for as long as possible, traveling with dry tongues and sore throats. I had never wanted to leave Vietnam more, even when I was being shot at, for the sole reason of longing for something refreshing to drink. Water, lemonade, and soda pop were the substances that my dreams were made of.

In the middle of the night, I often woke up with a start, Buddy or Devy sleeping soundly next to me, chests rising and falling gently. It was always the sounds of gunshots that kept me up, far away and distant in nature, but in the otherwise silent jungle, they were deafening. Someone was always in danger, always dying just out of sight. I wondered, eyes wide and glassy, if someday, that person would be me.

Sitting at the edge of our tiny dirt clearing, I breathed in the scents of the forest: black, mossy earth, decaying wood, sharp, pungent wind. The breeze raked its soft fingers through my air, and I closed my eyes, leaning back against the ground. It was peaceful, and the dying light of the sun shone on my body in orange strips, warming my pale skin. Birds chirped restlessly, muffling the sounds of the jungle with their shrill calls and whistles. Sighing, I felt my chest rise and fall... only to gasp and jolt upwards when a footstep fell near my head.

"Sorry Tom, didn't mean to scare you," Doc chuckled, balling his fist into the excess cloth of his pants, holding a hand out to help me up. "You ready to set up?"

I blinked twice before responding, willing a smile to wash over my face and cursing internally when it didn't. "O-Oh, yeah, sure thing."

The outpost was spacious this time, a cozy spot nestled in the middle of the jungle, stark fields running past nearby. Getting slowly to my feet, I let out a breath of air I'd been holding for a while, feeling the breeze curl around my arms as I stretched them out, a yawn slipping past my lips. I didn't feel like doing anything, didn't even feel like moving, and my limbs were heavy as they hung by my sides, lifeless and unnatural. Looking back, Doc's eyes washed over me, and he clicked his tongue in disapproval as he bent down to dig through his pack.

"You okay?" He asked simply, arms laden with hollow metal poles, the col skeleton of our tent. "Don't tell me you're coming down with some type of sickness."