Winston made his way back through the orchard, into the woods, over the pipe, through the field of tall grass, across the road, past the water department, and under the overpass in minutes. His heart raced and he was out of breath, but he otherwise felt good. He knew that at 6:00 a.m., the soldiers would have morning physical training for an hour, and then eat breakfast from 7:00 – 7:30 a.m. Trash runs were always immediately following breakfast and dinner, often after lunch as well, and always by Woo-jin and his partner. The rest of the day was divided into odd tasks and a whole lot of parading. Every now and then, some battle-scarred vehicle might show up, and one of the Russian soldiers — apparently, the generals’ personal mechanic — would cart his tools from his tent, fix the vehicle, and send it back on its way. Several intense games of soccer were played out of Winston’s sight, in the grass near Medusa’s stump, and always after lunch. Lunch for the officers was at noon, the grunts ate from 1:00 – 1:30 p.m., and dinner was from 7:00 – 7:30 p.m. Lights out was always at 10:00 p.m. The big lights and one of the generators would go off, and the houselights around the Sparrow residence would come on, including several spotlights that were normally on a timer, but the PLA had rigged them to stay on constantly.
As the sun rose, Winston had his best chance to scoot back inside the barn without detection since the soldiers had taken to eating their meals at Robin Lake’s edge. He stood behind a tree near the fence and observed for a moment. Determining that it was clear, he hopped the fence and set the stepstool up at the window. He peered inside — the barn was empty. Satisfied that he was alone, he opened the window, pulled himself up, lugged the gun and stepstool into the barn, closed the window, and tiptoed toward the apartment door.
But he wasn’t alone. Sitting in the open doorway was a Russian soldier who had gone unnoticed by Winston’s survey. The soldier smoked a cigarette with his back turned toward him. Winston stopped in his tracks, mere feet from safety. His heart pounded while his hands sweated and slipped on the stepstool.
He silently mouthed, “come on you motherfucker.”
A second Russian soldier, who was out of Winston’s line of sight asked, “do you have a cigarette?”
The first Russian soldier dug into his shirt pocket, shook the last cigarette out of a pack into the other soldier’s hand, and passed him a cheap yellow lighter. He fired it up.
“Spasibo.”
The two walked toward the mess tent. As soon as the Russians moved, Winston stepped quickly to the apartment’s door and lightly tapped. A moment later, May unlatched the door and he was safely back inside.
Basketball, Again
Winston kissed May on the forehead and she flopped carelessly back onto the bed.
“I brought you this,” Winston said and handed her the apple.
“Oh, that’s nice. I’ll have it for breakfast.”
He hung his hoodie, put away his gear, used the facilities, and cleaned up as best he could. He reeked, but he needed to eat and sleep. He tore open a can of Franco-American and ate it with his fingers while standing at the slit nearest the house. Breakfast was over for the enemy, and he watched as Woo-jin and his partner walked past with the trash. As he lay down next to May, he noticed that all three gallons of water were near the door, practically still full. He pulled one jug to him and took a long pull from it, and then handed it to May.
“Have you had anythin’ ta drink since I been gone?”
May shook her head and took a swallow of water.
“You need ta drink, Mother.”
“I drank the peaches juice,” she said, “I figured it was still water.”
“More,” he said.
May drank a few ounces more.
“You don’t need ta be gettin’ dehydrated.”
He looked at the calendar — it was Monday, September 26. May would normally be getting ready to go to church for daily readings and he would have a few hours to putter around the yard by himself. He didn’t remind her.
“Did you miss me?” Winston asked.
“Yes, I did. Did you have a good time?” May asked back.
“What do you mean?”
“Last night. You were out with your friends?”
Winston had no intention of telling May the truth about his time outside — that he killed a man and saw Ben, George, and four other Johnsonville residents being held captive like kill-shelter animals, but that last question and the fact that she had not drank a drop of water in nearly two days concerned him.
“No, May, I buried Med and Julie. I came back late last night, but you must have fallen asleep, so I stayed outside.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I hope you gave them my best.”
May rolled over and closed her eyes.
“Have you eaten anything?” Winston asked.
“I told you I ate all the peaches. We need to get more peaches the next time we’re at Calef’s.”
He spooned her and said, “okay, the next time we’re there,” and he fell into a deep sleep, his exhaustion overwhelming. At some point late in the morning, he woke to a strange and odd tickling sensation on his legs. He scratched at them and rolled over, attempting to go back to sleep, but the irritating feeling stirred him to get out of bed to investigate. May slept soundly while he fumbled for the Coleman lamp. He hated illuminating the apartment, fearing that the light would cause unwelcome attention, but it was daylight, and he suspected he knew what caused the tickling sensation. The lamp flickered as the ambient blue light illuminated the apartment brightly. Still, May didn’t stir. He gawked at his legs with concentrated eyes and gasped loudly when he discovered that his legs were infested with ticks. He immediately shed all of his clothes and tied them inside a green garbage bag, reached for an empty plastic container, and set it near the lamp. He raked his fingernails across his skin, finding the flattened ticks and pulling them off with haste, and placed them into the plastic container. The task was gross, and he felt sick to his stomach. The ticks were adorned with white markings on their backs, making them easy to find on his dark skin. He felt his nether regions with great scrutiny, inspecting every crease and crevice of his body for the parasites, thankful that he had caught the infestation early enough that none had affixed themselves. He checked his arms, scalp, and torso. May grunted in her sleep as he examined the bed, pillows and covers as if it was a crime scene, and he picked several ticks from the bed. The only place he couldn’t check thoroughly was his back, and he stood and rubbed his back across a 2x4 stud so forcefully that bloody welts formed. It took him two hours to rid himself and the apartment of ticks, and at the end he had collected over three dozen. Satisfied that he had found them all, he poured just enough isopropyl alcohol into the plastic container to coat the ticks. He lit them on fire and watched as they burned and shriveled. He went back to bed and slept restlessly, imagining the ticks crawling all over the apartment. He kept the Coleman lamp close by and flicked it on every now and again to double-check for more ticks. He didn’t find any.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump. Thump.
Thump.
The thumping woke Winston from a deep sleep. He had only been out for a few hours when a Russian soldier spied the old basketball hidden amongst May’s hydrangeas. The soldier bounced it against the side of the barn. Another soldier remembered seeing an old basketball hoop around the other side of the barn, and within minutes he was thwacking nails through the backboard and Medusa’s thin skin. Winston was caught off guard and jumped to his feet. He watched helplessly as the nails invaded the apartment a few feet above his head on the short-sided wall that faced the road. The soldier had missed the studs completely, but not by much. Winston, as an engineer, understood that those four nails — as thick and sturdy as they were — would not hold up to the repeated barrage of the basketball smashing against it. The hoop would eventually fail.