The Storm: War's End, #1 Read online

  Erin simply hugged her back in response and Jess could feel her head nod in agreement. She grabbed the blankets, gave one to Erin and kept one for herself. She also handed Erin one of the sets of handcuffs, “Just in case,” and then pushed her way through the hole.

  The rain instantly drenched them both. It was intense now, and the lightning wasn’t too far off in the distance. They needed to hurry. Erin followed, her blanket clutched tightly in her hands. A quick survey around them showed nothing in the blackness. For all that either of them knew a sentry could be standing next to them. Jess had a firm mental map of the camp; she had taken surreptitious glances each time the girls were marched to the mess tent for their two meager meals a day.

  She looked around, squinting through the water that poured from the sky, heavier than a shower, and ice cold. Where would they find Chris and Allen, which tent were they in?

  Allen’s words rang in her ears, “When the time comes, you leave, and don’t look back or wait for us.” Tears joined the rain on her face. “Oh God, Chris, what should I do?” Even Erin did not hear her words; they were lost in the violent downpour. She clutched at Jess’s arm, too frightened and disoriented to leave without her. Jess had to make a decision.

  She grabbed Erin with her free hand and pulled her close, pointing to the line of trees. At that moment the lightning came closer and lit up the sky to the west, showing the line of forest, the outlines of the tents and no one else in sight. They walked quickly. Jess fought the urge to run. They didn’t have much time, but she feared falling on the uneven ground and twisting an ankle. If they hurt themselves now, they would be able to manage a full-out run later.

  Every part of them was soaked by the heavy rain and they shook, adrenaline coursing through them. They neared the edge of the camp and Jess caught a flicker of light as a tent flap opened and a sentry stepped out holding a small penlight. She pulled Erin with her into the shadow of the tent, her heart beating fast and painful in her chest. The man was only a few steps away. He stood there in the rain, facing away from them, his head tilted to one side as if listening for something.

  The rain pelted him, rivulets running down his raincoat, and still he stood there. The pale yellow of the flashlight flicked lazily around, dimly lighting various dark corners of the camp.

  The girls clutched one another, hearts hammering in their chests, terrified the soldier might turn around. The lightning was now lighting up the sky above the camp. Finally, after what seemed like hours, instead of mere seconds, he grunted, turned the flashlight off and slipped back into the tent.

  They crept past his tent and began to run towards the trees. Their focus was on safety, the cover of the trees, and they moved as fast as the thin socks on their feet would allow towards the line of forest in the distance. Once they reached the forest, their progress slowed, the dense, twisting floor of the forest slowing them considerably. At least they were out of sight of the camp now. Above, lightning flashed, striking a tree at one point just a few yards from them. Jess could feel her hair stand on end and her body thrum painfully as the current passed through the tree and into the ground around it. The simultaneous crack of thunder was ear-splitting.

  If they hadn’t been so busy trying to put as much distance between themselves and the camp, the girls would have laughed at the irony. Running straight into a storm, a lightning storm, and nothing around them but trees! But at least they could see their way through the darkness and rain, the light show ensured that.

  Jess would look later at her feet, bruised and scraped and swollen, and wonder how she had not felt a thing as they sprinted through the twists of the forests, falling, getting back up, and simply running with no clear goal except to put as much distance between them and the soldiers’ camp as possible.

  The storm passed over them and moved east and they continued to head west. Slowly, the rain relented. Hours later, dawn lit the tops of the trees, slowly filtering down into the damp forest below. By now both of them were exhausted, filthy, scratched and bleeding. Fear had spurred them through the forest, deep into its core, but the light of the new day, cloudless and barely above freezing, seemed to leach all energy from them. Their run had slowed to a walk and finally to a slow stumble.

  “I gotta stop Jess,” Erin panted raggedly, “Do you think it’s safe to stop for a little while?” Her hair was a mass of tangles, burrs, and twigs. Her face was scratched and there were countless scratches and even gashes on her legs, the blood smeared and dried, where she had fallen when running. Jess thought her friend looked like hell. But then again, she probably did too; she just didn’t have a mirror to gaze into.

  In front of them was a stream, high and rushing from the night’s rain, willow trees on the opposite bank and solid ledges of limestone lining the east bank. A fallen tree had created a bridge across and there was a nook on the opposite bank covered with leaves and moss. It looked as appealing as the softest, satin covered bed the girls could imagine sleeping in. They both noticed it at the same time and nodded silently, too exhausted to waste their breath or energy on words—yes, it would suffice. They crossed over the stream to the soft, mossy nook.

  They gulped fresh water which had pooled in a crook of a bowl-shaped rock near their feet. Jess marveled at the realization that they had somehow managed to keep hold of the blankets during their panicked escape. Jess pulled one blanket into a semblance of a large pillow and they both sank down against it lying close to each other and shivering in their damp clothes. The other blanket barely covered them. Minutes ticked by.

  “Jessie? They killed my mom and dad.” Erin began to shudder, “And then they shot Toby ‘cause he tried to stop them from taking me.” Jess put her arms around her friend and held her close as the tears fell.

  “They’re all gone, Jessie, they just killed them and then they took me...and I saw you...” her voice broke, “and I called to you and you didn’t look at me, Jessie...not once.”

  Jess was crying now as well. “Oh Erie, I wanted to! I wanted to stop them, to run then, but I was scared to. I’m so sorry Erie, I’m so sorry!”

  And they said no more; just hugged each other close and cried, until they were too exhausted to cry anymore. And then the two girls slept. It would be late afternoon before either of them stirred.

  The Story of Allen

  “It is the question, the unknown ending, which bothers me the most. When I reflect on the luck of our escape that night from the Western Front’s camp, that no one saw us or stopped us, I wonder how we did it when so many others failed. I marvel at how lucky Erin and I were, but the questions always haunt me. What happened to Chris? What about Allen? Did they manage to escape? Did they die trying? I hate not knowing. I keep thinking that somewhere, out there, my parents might still be alive. That Chris and Allen might still alive. Some part of me is scared too. I’m scared to stop thinking of them. I guess I’m afraid that if I don’t keep them alive in my memories, it will be as if they never existed. And that consequently, a part of me will cease to exist as well. – Jess’s Journal

  Allen was an only child, on the plump side for most of his eighteen years, with brown hair and kind brown eyes. He had never been outstanding in much of anything, but he was kind and considerate to family, friends, and strangers alike. His favorite person in the world was his grandfather, Thurman Banks, a soft-spoken man with a shock of white hair and brown eyes the same color as Allen’s. After old Thurman hurt his knee one spring Allen had made it a habit to walk over to his grandparent’s house and mow the yard with Grandpa’s antique push mower. It took a while, but then he would cool off with a tall glass of blueberry lemonade, courtesy of Gram. Later he incorporated stopping by at Chris’s house for a video game or a game of catch.

  He would never be as good as Chris at either activity, but his friend was always happy to see him and Mrs. Aaronson would hug him hello and usher him in the front door. She would give him a gentle push towards the basement where Chris and his friend Toby McGowen were usually hanging
out. Chris was good-looking, blond and blue eyed. He was the star quarterback on the team and there was talk of a football scholarship even in these bad times. Sometimes it seemed to Allen that Chris was everything that Allen was not - good looking, athletic, and popular. But Chris was also down to earth and personable. He looked out for everyone, and he had stuck up for Allen, defended him against snipes about his pudgy waist and poorly-defined biceps. He had been an honest and true friend since grade school.

  Allen would stay for hours, sometimes for dinner, sometimes the night if it was a Saturday. Eventually the phone would ring and it would be Gramps calling to give him a ride home. On the nights he stayed for dinner he avoided looking at Chris’s little sister Jess. Her blond hair fell in waves around her shoulders. Her eyes were straight-out-of-the-Crayola-box blue and, like her brother, she was unfailingly kind. She never played the bratty little sister and would often join them in the basement with her best friend Erin, Toby’s sister. They would play endless video games or, in later years when the power had failed, they would go for hikes and picnics in the nearby woods and parks.

  In a way, Allen had always been in love with Jess. She was cute, sweet, and didn’t seem to notice that he wasn’t as good-looking or athletic as the other guys. She gave him her friendship, and thanks to the sobering fact that she was too darned pretty for him to even dare to ask out, he nurtured his little crush quietly and didn’t seek to make it any more than that. He didn’t have the nerve to risk rejection and she was Chris’s little sister after all. He was certain she was oblivious to his feelings, anyway.

  Those endless summer nights in Belton seemed so impossibly far away. What he didn’t want to remember were the last few hours he had spent in the town of his birth. The soldiers and guns, the fires set to homes, and everywhere people screaming. He still had nightmares of Mrs. Brown crying in the street over the lifeless body of her husband and one of the kids from a block up wailing for his parents.

  He had seen his 10th grade Honors English teacher, Mrs. Grady, with half her face burned. She had run from her house as the flames licked up the walls and consumed her roof, only to be cut down in the street by a bullet. She had stood there after the shot rang out with a startled expression on her face, the red stain widened on her white blouse, and she had slowly crumpled to the ground.

  Others had been shot when they tried to return to rescue pets, other family members, or possessions. Half of the town had seemed to be on fire and he didn’t argue with the soldiers as they aimed their weapons at him. He put his arms up, submitted to them as they shoved him to the ground and did a rough search of his pockets for weapons. The soldier searching Allen found his wallet, pulled out the cash inside and punched him, hard, when he raised his head to object.

  The wallet, now empty of cash, was thrown to one side, his hands were bound in front of him with zip-tie and he was shoved into a large group of terrified residents.

  It was the stuff of nightmares, watching your home destroyed, not knowing whether your parents were alive or dead, and that most of what you loved, what you understood of the world, had been changed irredeemably. Jess’s parents were among the same group of prisoners as Allen was. Mr. Aaronson stayed relatively calm, struggling to ease his wife’s fears, and Mrs. Aaronson was nearly hysterical, worrying about Jess and Chris. She had sent Jess to the store and Chris had taken off early in the day to visit a friend, she didn’t know where. The three of them had huddled together as they were marched from town, south on Y for miles. There were other groups of prisoners, mainly young men and women. The children were sometimes left behind, if they caused trouble for the soldiers. This included moving too slow or crying too loud. By the end of the second day, most of the adults had exhausted themselves trying to carry the children along and avoid a confrontation with the soldiers.

  Already several older men and women had been shot when they fell behind. Rumors flew thick and fast. Someone reported that they had seen the soldiers set fire to the old folk’s home and laugh as its aged residents tried to escape, taking potshots at them and those who ran to help. It was brutal, unbelievable, and Allen wondered at what had happened to the soldiers’ humanity. They weren’t in a foreign land, where the people looked different or spoke a different language. The soldiers were shooting people who looked like their mothers and fathers, their grandparents.

  Allen was witness to both of the Aaronson’s end on the third day. One of the soldiers, obviously in command of the others, had had enough of the stragglers. When the man pushed his jet-black hair away from his ice-blue eyes, Allen couldn’t see a trace of humanity within. Lieutenant Cooper ordered the adults holding the children to put them down and for everyone to start marching. The children were exhausted, they literally couldn’t walk any further, and as they fell behind Julie and then Michael both tried to break ranks and help them. The gap between the group of prisoners and the children was widening and the smaller ones began to wail in fear. Allen watched helplessly as the raven-haired, blue-eyed devil shot Jess and Chris’s parents. He felt frozen in time and space and the world felt hollow. A skinny, foul-smelling soldier gave him a good shove with his rifle. To help them meant to join them in their fate and try as he might, he wasn’t ready to die. He turned away from the bodies, away from the small children grouped there on the road, and allowed the soldiers to herd him away with the other prisoners.

  As he marched away, Allen thought to himself, “This is what war does to us. War takes the best part of us away and makes us into something else.” He watched those with some speck of humanity left in them turn away as innocents were slaughtered.

  The desire for survival is a strong one. And in the end, even kind-hearted Allen valued life more than the moral high ground. What Allen did in the next few days and weeks and months, what he did to survive, would haunt his dreams every night for the rest of his life.

  How ironic that, in the months since the invasion of Belton and his own conscription, his weight had melted off, revealing a strikingly handsome profile beneath. Between the marches, the beatings and threats, and his conscription into this bastardized excuse for a ‘company’ he had lost the baby fat that had followed him so doggedly into adolescence and young adulthood. His arms and legs were now lean and muscled, his stomach tight and flat. The first time he saw his reflection he pulled back in surprise. A different man, a stranger with haunted and hollow eyes, stared back at him.

  The army that he had been forced to join was no army, no company at all. They weren’t soldiers, they were terrorists, thieves and thugs all rolled into one. To save his own pitiful life he had convinced them he wanted to join. Allen had kicked and beat the other ‘recruits.’ He had visited the women in the tents. He had shouted, “Yes, sir!” with the rest of them. He had done all of this in order to live another day.

  He had located Chris and carefully found a way for them to meet and plan an escape. They were both still watched, Chris more than Allen, because he had resisted. Allen had found a way to get near him and talk. He picked a fight and lost and got latrine duty. He knew Chris was already there. Then he had punched Chris, yelled at him, talked trash, and after the initial shock, his friend wised up to the act and played along.

  They kept getting themselves in just enough trouble to be assigned the dirty jobs no one else wanted. Then they called insults at each other so that everyone was sure they hated one another. He found ways to communicate important troop movements and other news to his friend. Allen was able to update Chris that Jess and her friend Erin were both in Tent 5.

  When Chris first heard about it he nearly screwed it up for both of them, he lost it so bad. The thought of Jess in that awful place had stopped him in his tracks and he’d grabbed Allen’s shoulder in a painful grip. Allen had punched him hard, hard enough to knock his friend down on the ground with a thump. He hadn’t said anything for a long time after that, just stared into the distance. Then he’d got up, dusted himself off, and pulled himself together.

  Over time, t
hrough the bitter cold of winter, they found ways to meet. Sometimes they would find a way to speak while in line for slop, near the showers, or by picking a fight and getting latrine duty again.

  Whatever it took, they had to escape, and take the girls with them. It was Chris who had managed to get the handcuff key. He passed it to Allen reluctantly. They had argued about this over and over. He wanted to go to Tent 5 and see Jess. Allen knew what would happen. Chris would lose it again and make a scene. He would fight to get her out, and they’d both end up dead. Jess needed out and Allen was going to move heaven and earth to make sure that happened.

  Winter was ending and the weather would soon turn from chilly winds to wet, tumultuous rainstorms. He had seen the first green weeds and spring flowers emerging. There had been a patch of jonquils and tulips in the ruins of an old farm just half a day’s walk from here. He was sent out as part of a raiding party mid-March and recognized that winter would be over soon, early even, if the increase in vegetation and greenery were any indication. It was his willing participation in that particular raid which relieved any lingering concerns about where his loyalties lay. This freed him to roam freely through camp, which was the next to final step needed towards putting their escape into motion.

  The raid, which had included actions that plagued him with nightmares; was a success and he and the other soldiers were rewarded with a visit to Tent 5. He’d been there twice before, once after he’d kicked the crap out of Chris, punching him in the face while slipping the note he’d written to his friend into his front pocket while he lay stunned and bleeding on the ground. The other time was when he kept some poor newbie recruit in line and stopped him from trying a very poorly planned escape attempt. He’d made it look like the kid had been stealing extra rations instead of getting ready to run. He’d saved the kid’s life, but doubted the kid even realized it. In any case, it hadn’t really helped him that much. A few days later the boy had made another attempt, and this time no one had bothered to try and stop him. He was shot dead less than ten yards from the tree line.