I was so tired, going on no sleep again for the second day. I said, “I think it’s to cause fear in people, nothing more.”
Bodhi said, “You don’t think this is a revolution?”
“Absolutely not.”
Amber leaned toward me and studied my face, “Have you slept at all?”
“Not in a while.”
“How about Bodhi and I stay here on your couch, but keep quiet and you can sleep in your bed. When you get up, I’ll fix you a meal.”
I rose and almost sleepwalked to the bedroom, “Deal.”
I dreamed of biblical inscriptions written in blood, of Wilson screaming for help, and then of our episode in the Shok Valley ambush as if it is happening for the first time.
I see Hammond die as rockets explode in boiling dust and shrapnel and noise as they destroy the small stone shelter where we hide. I feel the concussion as a portion of the blast slams into Wilson and he collapses in the rubble.
Explosions and dust and bullets fill the air. Hondo reaches for Wilson and I see the bullet hit my friend. Dust jumps from his uniform and he falls beside Wilson and Hammond.
Bullets zip and whine and ricochet off stone as I strain to see and breathe in the boiling cloud of tan colored dust. I check Hammond and know he is dead. Bullets come faster and another rocket knocks me down.
I scramble to my feet and see Hondo’s hand move and Wilson’s leg curl toward his stomach. A bullet ricochets off my helmet as I grasp Hondo, then Wilson by their straps and drag them through a ragged hole in the back wall. I step down the steep decline into brush and pine dotted rock slopes and struggle through it all as I follow a goat path toward the valley floor far below. The sounds of bullets and rockets fade as I descend.
The two men are so very heavy. I strain to lift them over boulders and ridges and deadfalls, unable to go straight down because of the steepness. Sweat stings my eyes.
I follow the trail, so narrow in places I have to put one man on my shoulders as I drag the other. Both men are in and out of consciousness and unable to help. My lungs burn and my legs quiver.
My back muscles are on fire and my grip weakens and hands slip from the straps. so I run them under the straps to my wrist then twist my arm so the strap wraps around it, and I pull again. I drag the two men across a hundred-yard long finger of rock and see small explosions of dust around me as the enemy shoots from high up on the mountain. I pull faster and the straps saw into my wrists with every step. I feel blood in my gloves and hope it doesn’t soak through. I don’t want my grip to slip because of the wetness. I do not want to fail my friends.
I woke six hours later with the dreams still clear in my mind. I rose to join the others. Hondo sat at the table drinking coffee, and Amber poured a cup for me. She said, “Almost ready.”
Hondo said, “Got a call from Vick. He said Wilson has no relatives. He’s an orphan.”
“That’s something he never mentioned.”
“Vick wanted to know if they should contact someone about burial arrangements. He thought we might know.”
Bodhi said, “I can do it.”
We looked at her. Hondo said, “You don’t have to.”
She said, “I want to. He was a good person, and good to me. He saw me crying one night after the funeral and told me about being an orphan. He understood what it is to have no parents, and he said friends are family, too. They can help you heal, he said.” She held Amber’s hand when she finished talking.
I asked her, “Did he tell you where he was going?” Bodhi knew I meant before his murder.
“He said he wanted to check on something because it tied all the pieces together.”
“About what, the murders?”
“He didn’t say, but that’s the impression I got.”
Hondo said, “Do you know where he went?”
“I think to Venice.”
“Did he say anything else?”
Bodhi thought a second, biting a corner of her lower lip, “He said something odd, like ‘I’m following the blood trail’ or something like that.”