The store was dark as Winston crept closer. The PLA had built a fence around the perimeter of the store — the same six-foot chain-link fence topped with razor wire that was around his property. He scouted the area for signs of movement — sentries stationed at the corners or patrolling its perimeter — but he saw nothing. It was peculiar. Just as he decided to take a closer look, the same two Middle-Eastern soldiers Winston crossed paths with earlier sauntered up to the fence. They prattled like preteen girls — lots of lada lada ladas and chuckling. The soldier with the cardboard box dropped it on the ground with a loud thud. He opened it up, dug in, and tossed five items over the chain-link fence. The soldiers chatted a bit, and then casually walked away, back the way they came.
Five men, wearing only soiled underpants and laden with heavy slavery-era-type ankle shackles, rushed to the items the soldier had tossed over the fence as soon as the soldiers were out of sight. Winston recognized one of the men as Mayor George Calef, the purveyor of the store. The men devoured the items, which Winston now saw were dry blocks of ramen noodles — one for each man. Winston looked on in horror as a sixth elderly man crawled to the fence line, combing the ground for his meager rations, but there were none left. It was his neighbor, Ben. Although it had only been a few weeks since the invasion, Ben had changed drastically, his once plump gut flat and flaccid, his gray skin wilted and lifeless. Finding no sustenance, Ben leaned his back against the fence and prayed that God would release him from this hell so he could be with his wife June. Winston lowered his head, wishing he could do something, but he was just as hungry as they were.
The five men who had eaten recessed back into the darkness. Winston, huddled next to a large McIntosh apple tree with branches that sagged to the ground, pushed his way into the sanctuary of its branches to rest. This was just as good as any place, he figured, and he felt camaraderie with his fellow Johnsonville neighbors, who now appeared to be POWs. Winston propped his back up against the tree trunk. The pungent odor of decaying apples was strong under the refuge of the tree’s embracing limbs. At least there were no bees. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the tree, wondering what he could do to help those caged men. He wondered why they were alive when he had heard the Major give explicit orders to kill all Americans they came across.
When he woke, he was shocked, for in his sight, as dark as it was under the tree’s canopy, hung a single perfect McIntosh apple two feet from his face. He reached out, grabbed hold of the fruit, and gently twisted it from its stem. Even in the darkness, he could see that it was perfect. As he brought the apple to his mouth, he thought of ol’ Ben and how ravished he looked. He took the apple away from his mouth and turned it around in his hands. It wasn’t much, but it was nourishment. He placed the apple down next to the tree’s trunk and crawled on his knees, slowly rotating around the trunk, searching for missed fruit. Suddenly, Winston choked up, having discovered a trove of apples that had gone undiscovered. There must have been twenty or more apples hanging right there in front of his eyes. He picked eight off their stems and stuffed them into the pockets of his hoodie. He ate one in less than a minute.
He picked up that first apple he had plucked from its stem, and poked his head out of the tree’s hanging limbs to surmise the situation. It was clear. He crept quickly toward the fence, the apples knocking about, his rifle ready to sting, which is about all the damage it would probably do to an armored enemy soldier. Ben was still slumped over against the fence as Winston reached him, and bent down to his old friend.
“Ben. Ben, it’s me, Winston,” he whispered.
Ben stirred.
“I got something for you.”
Winston pulled out the apple and displayed it to Ben.
“You ol’ fool,” Ben said, “what you doin’ out here?”
Ben could barely form the words with his mouth.
“Now, stay with me, Ben. I need you to eat this here apple.”
Winston tried to push the apple through the chain-link fence, but the fruit was just too large to fit through the wire.
“What you got there, Winston?” a voice came from the darkness.
Winston looked up to see George Calef standing there in stained underpants, his eyes deadened.
“George? What’s happened?”
“They raped us all, Winston. Julie, my wife… me. Did they rape you, too, Winston? Or May?”
Winston didn’t know how to respond other than saying, “I’m sorry, George.”
“They took Julie away. I dunno know where, but… I hope they killed her. They shot Beatrice. They made me watch, Winston.”
George remained expressionless. Winston wanted to tell him about Julie, but he didn’t have the heart.
“Is that an apple, Winston? For Ben?”
The other four men came from out of the darkness, all in the same disheveled condition as George. Winston didn’t recognize any of them.
“I have apples for everyone,” Winston said as he peered around, looking for enemy soldiers, “one each.”
“They won’t be back ‘til morning,” George said, “they know we got nowhere to hide. Did they rape May, Winston?”
“No, they didn’t rape May,” Winston replied, “she’s safe.”
“That’s good, Winston. They raped us all, but…”
“I don’ think he deserve a apple,” one of the other men said, pointing to Ben, “he as good as dead.”
“…how safe can she be when you’re here?” George asked.
Winston stood and tossed five apples over the fence, scattering them away from Ben. The men bounded, snatching them up, and sunk back into the darkness to devour them. Winston bent back down to Ben, took a bite out of the apple, and pushed the piece through the fence.
“Here, Ben. Eat this. Quickly, now.”
Ben turned his head and Winston slid the fruit into his mouth. Winston took another bite and pushed it through the fence again. Ben took the fruit into his mouth and chewed.
“It’s good,” Ben said.
“Eat it up, Ben. It’ll give you some energy.”
The two did this until only the apple’s core was left. Winston pushed it through the fence, and Ben devoured it, swallowing seeds and all.
“Why, Winston?”
“The war, Ben? I don’t know, I guess…”
Ben cut him off, “no, I mean why help me, Winston? I’m just a tired old man, ready ta die.”
Winston scratched at the scruff of his neck, and said with confidence, “you’re my best friend and friends look out for each other. And God damn it, Ben, we men don’ say this enough, but I love you. I’m sorry for this. All of it.”
Winston was sorry for not letting Ben in on his secret and for not allowing him to stay with him and May in the apartment. He pushed his fingers through the fence. Ben grabbed ahold of them.
Ben chuckled, “you were always a sentimental fool.”
The night sky was beginning to turn. Dawn was swiftly approaching. Winston decided that it was time to get back to safety, and hoped that May was awake now.
“I gotta go,” he said to Ben, “I’ll be back.”
“Peace be with you my friend,” Ben said, and as Winston evaporated into the apple orchard, he heard, “I love you, too.”