Animosity

Chapter 32 - In Case You Ever Want to Visit

        Photo: A lone soldier walks cautiously in front of an active minefield.

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        "So what were they?"

        "Hmm?"

        "The plans. What were they?"

Turning to face Devy and Hiro, I let my chin gently rest against the base of my palm, yawning complacently. The morning was gray and still, a blanket of clouds covering the sky. dewdrops condensed on nearby trees as they rolled off calmly. Above us, the sun was blocked from view, instead appearing as only a bright light locked in by the ashen horizon. Thunder rumbled gently in the distance, then explosions, and I closed my eyes, not being able to tell which was which.

        Last night was wonderful, and a smile danced over my lips the second it came to my mind. Hank and I had danced for what seemed like a lifetime, laughing and talking and melting together, warm and content as we swayed under the dim moonlight. The old lanterns had started to burn out one by one, and we grabbed the radio, turning the volume down and leaning against an old box. There, eyes closed as my head rested on his shoulder, we fell asleep, enveloped in each other's arms, velvety music spinning like thread through the air.

        The walk back to the entrance of camp was peaceful, the weather humid and foggy as we waved tendrils of clear mist out of our path. My hand was firmly entwined in his, and he lagged just slightly behind me, chuckling as I dragged him onwards impatiently. The cards and magazines we had left out had shriveled, warped from the condensation that hung in the air, our traces of life among the rubble glazed in a sheen of water. Even the ground was murky, not quite mud, yet not packed and firm like the dirt that had remained here before.

        We had stepped into camp, reluctantly dropping each other's hands, and I had rubbed my fingers against the inside of my pocket, hating the coldness that returned to them after Hank's touch was gone. Emerging into the clearing, our eyes scraped over Devy first, who was squatting against an old upturned crate, bouncing a ball against the back of an ashen wall, catalogs and magazines crumpled at his side. Hiro has been sitting on top of a mess of wood, tying his boots slowly, dark bags under his eyes, yet he still lifted a hand to wave to us cheerily. There was something in a slight look he gave us that made my heart stir, but I brushed it off before sitting down.

        "Gloomy weather today, eh?" He called, and I had nodded good-naturedly.

        Buddy was kneeling on the ground, head down, using a metal rod to stir the contents of one of the brand new rations packs we had found the day before. Sausage and beans, it exclaimed proudly, and as I peered into the pot, I shuddered. Deciding not to eat if I could help it, I tapped the blonde's shoulder expectantly.

        "Hey, Bud. Cooking breakfast, huh?" I'd asked, eyebrows furrowing slightly when I saw the state he was in. His face was lean, gaunt and skinnier than before, smeared with dirt and ash, hands covered with soot. His clothes, ripped and ragged, still weren't changed out like the rest of us, who opted to use one of the brand-new ones tucked away in boxes. I frowned as I noticed his shock of blonde hair had turned a light brown from dust, and I tugged a comb out of my back, sitting down behind him as he nodded.

        "Feeling any better?" Came my next hopeful question, and I started gently running the comb through his hair, deciding to make him take a bath at the next place we made camp.

        He shrugged numbly, reaching to his side to take a swig out of the bottle of whiskey that was perched on the uneven ground. On the fire, the food was bubbling quietly. "I reckon so."