Instead, she mostly listened. She requested clarification in places she didn’t understand, asked meaningful questions that drove the conversation deeper, and most important, didn’t allow her own overwhelming bias to get in the way. This was my time to vent and grieve, and she understood that.
In the end, the feeling of unease was still there, the thought that the orb may still hold some sway over me remained, but everything else felt better. I fell asleep against her chest that night, her near naked body embracing me warmly, comfortingly, having ended our conversation with a bought of lovemaking more passionate than we’d ever shared before. Sleep came easily that night, exhausted as I was, but something told me it would continue to come just as easily as the days rolled on.
When dawn turned to morning, we had only been asleep for an hour. Soon later, Santino arrived at our tent, calling for us to get up and have breakfast. I had been amazed at how quickly Helena responded, but more amazed at the response itself. She had leapt to her feet and shoved Santino to the ground through the vinyl of the tent.
He had to have known it was her since she was the one who normally resorted to violence.
Especially in the morning
Outside, we heard him say, with laughter playing in the background, “She’s always like that in the morning.”
Helena responded by punching at the vinyl again violently, probably still half asleep. I watched drearily as she swayed in place, her arms up as though she were preparing for a boxing match, wearing nothing at all.
“All right, I’ll make it two.”
She collapsed at the comment and crawled her way to rest her head on my chest, and fell asleep before I could make a single comment.
I was out seconds later.
Three hours after the incident, Santino came back. After shaking the tent tentatively, Helena reluctantly got up and left the tent like a zombie, only remembering to put on a shirt and a pair shorts after I had to throw them at her. I watched her go with a grin on my face as she shoved Santino to the dirt as she passed by him.
We were on the road again by midday, continuing our trek eastward.
Just as the sun began its descent towards night, and with only the sparse tree or lonely shrub populating the area, I looked around, safe in my assumption that we were countless miles away from the nearest soul.
I called for a halt.
Madrina and Helena were on wagon duty, while the rest of us guys were on horseback. Women drawing the carts would have been the norm in the area, and we didn’t want to deviate from common practice. At one point in our journey, I’d noticed the two women conversing quietly but intently. Bordeaux later rode up to inform me he hoped I hadn’t told Helena any dirty little secrets because they were about to become his dirty little secrets as well. I’d groaned and pulled my horse away from the smiling brute’s, hoping Helena didn’t say anything I’d regret.
Madrina pulled hard on the reigns and the wagon halted. Seconds later, Wang and Santino dismounted and pulled one of our gear containers from the back of the cart. They heaved it with little difficulty, as it was completely empty, except for one small thing.
“Where do you want it, boss?” Santino asked.
I surveyed the area again, noting a single palm tree fifty yards from the road.
“Bury it behind that tree, at least ten feet deep.”
The two men nodded and carried off the container while Bordeaux and Titus followed, carrying shovels for the four of them. Vincent remained behind, his skills with a pistol for security far outweighing his ability to use a shovel. The two ladies and I lingered as well, and I pulled out my Sig Saur P220 pistol and started cleaning it. I smiled at it as I wiped a silky cloth across the slide. The P220 wasn’t standard issue for SEALs, the 9mm P226 owning that honor, but I liked the P220’s increased stopping power. I always gave Penelope far more credit and recognition than my trusty little pistol, but I had to admit, it had saved my life on a number of occasions. I decided I’d take the time to give it a more thorough cleaning this time.
Two hours later, a shadow loomed across my body and interrupted my tanning session. I peeked through an eyelid, the sun glare disrupting my ability to identify who it was.
“We are ready, Jacob Hunter,” Titus said.
I grunted. His continuous use of my full name had, as I predicted, become irritating. I waved a hand at him and stood, hauling a dozing Helena to her feet alongside me. I looked over at a shirtless Titus, who had removed his top along with the rest of the diggers to keep cool. I couldn’t help but be impressed. For a kid of eighteen who had two thousand year old genetics, poor dietary habits like all ancient men and no access to modern fitness equipment and training regimens, he was a model of physical excellence.
No more so than the rest of us, of course, but he’d never had the kind of help we had. Vincent must have worked him hard over the past few years. He’d already proven to be a halfway decent shot over the past few days, and he dug as good a hole as any legionnaire. It didn’t take much more than that to make me happy to have him around.
Even so, he was too damn quiet. Very contemplative and thoughtful, he never said what was on his mind unless directly asked to, and even then it was with obvious bashfulness. He was the complete opposite of Santino, and while I knew I should count my blessings for it, his polar opposite attitude was almost as annoying.
But he was still trying to fit in, I suppose. The rest of us were much older and far more experienced, so his timidity didn’t surprise me. Looking over at him, I offered him a smile and patted his dust caked shoulder in appreciation. He returned the smile distantly, and turned to look at the remaining trio of men returning from the dig site as well, just as dirty and just as shirtless.
“My God, Santino,” I said loudly as I spotted him, “put a shirt on. No one wants to see that.”
Providing a visual aid for my joke, I held my hand out over Helena’s eyes, blocking her view. She playfully tried to bat away my hand, acting the part of a curious child.
Santino looked at his stomach and over his shoulder, spinning himself around a few times. His six pack glistened like a Men’s Fitness magazine cover, but he was just as gullible as I was when it came to his ego. I’d been calling him chubby for the past year now, slowly progressing to calling him a fatass, and that child-like mind of his ate it up. Sometimes I wondered if he really was that stupid, or if he just liked to play along with the jokes because he didn’t care who the punch line was, as long as it was funny. I had to admit, I was forced to suspect the latter.
“Come on, Hunter!” He complained. “Just tell me what I need to work on! I’ve been good; no MRE snacks at all, I swear!”
“Don’t ride him so hard, Jacob,” Helena said. “I’ve always found paunch oh so sexy.”
I laughed and waited for Santino to stop spinning around and join the rest of us. Wang and Bordeaux had already found their way onto the wagon, sitting patiently as they waited for everyone to get comfortable for the show.
I only had to wait a few more seconds before I turned to Bordeaux.
“Ready?” I asked.
“Oui,” he answered from atop the wagon.
“Do it.”
I heard the subtle click of his small detonation box, before the follow up explosion nearly deafened us all. A cloud of dirt went flying in the air, along with thousands of tiny pieces of the cargo container.
Bordeaux had decided to use one of our original gear containers as a means of containing the blast in a way that also magnified its power. The containers were bullet and water proof, air tight, and could withstand mortar strikes. By placing an explosive within the sealed container, any explosion’s power would only increase.