War Torn

War Torn by J. M. Snyder Aspen Mountain Press www.aspenmountainpress.com Copyright ©2007 by JM Snyder First published...

Author: J.M. Snyder

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War Torn by J. M. Snyder

Aspen Mountain Press www.aspenmountainpress.com

Copyright ©2007 by JM Snyder First published in 2007, 2007 NOTICE: This eBook is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution to any person via email, floppy disk, network, print out, or any other means is a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines and/or imprisonment. This notice overrides the Adobe Reader permissions which are erroneous. This eBook cannot be legally lent or given to others. This eBook is displayed using 100% recycled electrons.

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Praise for the writing of J M Snyder J. M. Snyder has a true gift for writing futuristic fiction with threads of m/m intimacy that reach deep beneath the surface and tug out the subterranean currents that many authors never reveal. As in Trin, Scarred dredges up the terror and pain of a world in the future that we all hope we never live to see. Character revelations coupled with vivid descriptions that bring the story setting alive, and a fast-placed plot make Scarred a winner. Frost, 5 Kisses, Two Lips Reviews J.M. Snyder has created a fascinating futuristic world where, in spite of the lawlessness, people still maintain their humanity. Teresa, 5 Angels, Fallen Angel Reviews Warning This e-Book contains material including adult language and sexually graphic scenes that may be objectionable for some readers. Please store you e-Books carefully where they cannot be accessed by underage readers.

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War Torn J.M. Snyder Aspen Mountain Press

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War Torn Copyright © 2007 J.M. Snyder This e-Book is a work of fiction. While references may be made to actual places or events, the names, characters, incidents, and locations within are from the author's imagination and are not a resemblance to actual living or dead persons, businesses, or events. Any similarity is coincidental. Aspen Mountain Press PO Box 473543 Aurora CO 80047-3543 www.AspenMountainPress.com First published by Aspen Mountain Press, July 2007 This e-Book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction fines and/or imprisonment. The e-Book cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this e-Book can be shared or reproduced without the express permission of the publisher. ISBN: 978-1-60168-048-8 Published in the United States of America Editor: Sandra Hicks Cover artist: Jinger Heaston

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Chapter One It's after midnight when he comes in. I hear him open the door downstairs, just a thin squeak in the darkness, and I glance at the clock as he walks up to my room with slow steps. He thinks I'm asleep, I'm sure. The bedroom door opens and for a moment I see him, a dark silhouette against the night, before he comes into the room and closes the door behind him. He's as quiet as he can be, slipping out of his fatigues, his nude skin glowing with a faint luminescence in the dark—he's beautiful. A beautiful boy. It takes all I have not to call him to me; he'll ease between the sheets and press up against me soon enough, and I don't want to scare him if he thinks I'm still asleep. His body is warm when he curls into me, his hands cool because it's chilly outside, but he slips his fingers between my thighs to warm them up as he snuggles close. "Love you," he whispers, a breathy sigh where he kisses my ear. "I was afraid you weren't coming." I'm surprised it took him so long to get away. His platoon assembled at 22:00 hours and I didn't think it would take half the night to be briefed. Turning in his arms, I kiss his cheek. "What's going on?" Here in my bed, he's not a second lieutenant in the 49th but mine, and no one sees him cuddle against my chest. Here he's nothing but a boy fresh out of ROTC who used to have long wavy hair before the Army shaved it all off; a boy I met 6


two years ago who told me he loved me when I fell out of the sky during what should have been a routine flight and wasn't; a boy I love and without regret. When he comes through my door he leaves the soldier in him behind, back at his barracks with the rest of his platoon. Here he's nothing but mine. "Tomas?" I murmur, stroking the short growth of hair along the curve of his jaw. That will be gone in the morning when he shaves. "What's wrong?" He sighs, a sad sound that pierces my soul. It tells me he has to go into the field for a few weeks, or he's being sent off post for a mission and I won't see him until he returns. I hear nothing good in that sigh; there's too much talk about an impending war with the rebels in the City, too many skirmishes on the Bridge. Wherever they're sending him, I don't want him to go. Nuzzling against my neck, he breathes, "I don't want to go, Jace. I want to stay here with you and I never want to leave. Why can't I do that? Why can't I just stay here?" Because you're in the 49th, I want to remind him, and I'm in the 123rd, only I'm grounded so I'm stuck behind a desk, and in the eyes of the commander we shouldn't even be together, but I love you too much to let you go. Because we're just regular GI Joes—we do what they say, do or die, and until we're both discharged, that's all we're ever going to be. They don't care that I'll spend every night without you tossing and turning. They don't care that you'll lie awake sleepless beneath the stars and ache to hold me. We're just numbers on paper that they move around in their games of war. That's all we'll ever be to everyone but each other. 7


But he knows this and I don't need to remind him. So I pull him close and smooth my hands along the furrows in his brow. My lips brush his cheek, finding his own damp mouth, and I can feel the pout as I kiss it away. "Can you talk about it? Or is it classified?" He shrugs, settling closer against me. "Just a routine mission." I hear the haunted fear in his voice. He's trying to convince himself as much as me. It's just routine ... "We leave at dawn, the whole 49th. Peace-keeping duty at the Bridge." The Bridge. He must feel me stiffen because his arms encircle my waist and hug me tight. "I'm scared." His voice that sounds small, almost child-like in the dark. "You know what they say about the Bridge, and there's talk around base of an air strike, have you heard that? I don't want to leave you and I don't know when I'll get back—what if something happens? What then? What—" I silence his questions with an insistent kiss, pushing him back against the pillows as I roll on top of him. He's so warm beneath me, so alive. My body responds to his hungry touch, our hands stroking until we're both hard and throbbing. When I enter him he moans my name in his breathy voice like he always does. I want to take it slow and savor this moment, his tightness, our love, but we're tired and he has to leave in five hours so we cling to each other with a desperation that scares us both. When he comes, he sobs and tells me again that he doesn't want to leave. 8


I kiss away his tears and tell him I know, I don't want him to go either, but it's not up to me. I hold him tight and smooth my hand over the stubble of his hair as his breathing evens out and he falls asleep in my arms. I wish it was up to me because I'm going to miss this boy, my boy, and I'm not going to sleep until he's back here with me again. I close my eyes and tell him I love him so he won't ever forget. And I dread the coming of dawn. **** I dream I'm in a forest, trees surrounding me like I've heard still existed before the turn of the millennium but I've never seen this many. Tall oaks and towering redwoods and bushy evergreens close in on me, hemming me in until there is nothing but green everywhere I turn. I'm alone, cold and shivering and afraid, because I know Tomas is here somewhere. He's lost in the trees and I can't find him. I call out his name but when he answers, his voice comes from every direction and I can't see anything through the trees. Where? I cry. Tomas, where are you? Right here comes the reply. It fades until it's nothing but an echo of his words; a memory that haunts me as I struggle to wake. I still hear it when I open my eyes to the gray sunlight slanting through my blinds and the sound of Tomas singing in the shower. Right here. But where's here? **** 9


"How long will you be gone?" I ask as he dresses in a crisp set of fatigues I ironed the night before. He's not my boy anymore—it's morning and he's fallen into soldier mode, his summer smile hidden by a distrustful frown that makes him look older than he really is. I watch as he steps into his pants and pulls them up, the camouflage green covering his sexy legs. "Tomas?" "I don't know. Rosser said two weeks, three tops. Just a routine mission—" "So you keep saying." Sitting on the edge of the bed, I sigh. He tucks his olive T-shirt into his pants and zips them up, flashing me a quick grin that says he loves me without words. "I'm going to miss you." He bends over and kisses my forehead, a rough press of lips that makes me sad. Each time one of us has to ship out, it gets harder and harder to say goodbye. "I'll think of you every second of every day," he promises, "and all throughout the night. I'll try to call, if we get any leave. And I'll write, you know that." "I know." The Bridge is a good two days' drive, the no-man's-land before the City, and it terrifies me to know he's heading there. The City used to be called Manhattan back before our time, but now it's just a lawless territory of anarchy and hate that no one ventures into because no one makes it out alive. Lieutenant Rosser is crazy—he's notorious for pushing his men one step further, for disregarding orders and shirking protocol. Peace-keeping activities mean a few watches, a 10


show of arms, but I know Rosser too well. He'll send scouts into the City, and I don't want him sending Tomas. "Let me call Max," I say as Tomas shoves clean clothes into his backpack. "I'll pull some strings, what do you say?" Now I'm the anxious one and Tomas is strong enough for us both. As he shakes his head, I plead with him to stay. "The skirmishes are getting worse. I don't want you there." He pulls me up from the bed and into his arms. Resting his forehead against mine, he gives me a sad smile. "I don't want to be there. But it's just two weeks and if there's fire, we've got orders to pull out sooner. Rosser—" "Rosser is an ass." He grins because I'm right. "I outrank him. If I can just get Max to reassign you—" "No." He stares into my eyes and I find myself drowning in his blue gaze. "No, Jace, you can't do that. I won't let you. The 49th is my family—I've grown up with those kids. I know how they fight and I know I can trust them. You know how it is, I know you do." Yeah, I know, but I can't help the stab of jealousy that twists through me because the 49th will have him the next few weeks and I won't. Kissing me, he whispers, "I'll be back soon enough." I help him finish packing and at the door I hug him tight, trying to burn his touch into my memory so I'll have it on the cold, lonely nights ahead. I want to remember the exact shade of his eyes, the feel of his short trimmed hair beneath my palms, the crush of his lips against mine, the way his 11


knee presses between my legs like a sweet promise that leaves me aching for more. "Go," I tell him, pulling away. I open the door before he can respond, and with the world out there we can't touch each other, we can't kiss, and there are no words to say all that needs to be said. "Be safe. Come back to me." "You know I will." With a wink, he mouths the words, "I love you." I frown and nod; then he's trotting across the lawn toward his barracks, hurrying to get back to his room before Rosser calls the 49th together and he has to explain why he didn't stay in his own bed last night. I love you, too. I wonder if some part of him hears my thoughts because he half turns and smiles back at me. When I close the door I lean against the cold wood and pray to anyone listening to keep him safe. I want him back. **** Later that evening, Captain Romero stops by after his shift is over at the precinct. Alden and I went through officer's school together, and even though he's not in my detachment, he's more of a brother to me than any of the 123rd. He knows the way I feel for Tomas, and he's one of those who still adheres to the ancient 'don't ask, don't tell' policy of the 21st century. When he knocks on my door, I'm glad to see him. My quarters are too damn quiet tonight. "I hear the 49th got Bridge duty," he says by way of hello, stepping around me into the hall before I even ask him in. "How are you doing?" 12


I shrug as I shut the door behind him. "Reports indicate rebel activity is escalating in the City." It's a ploy to keep the whirl of thoughts in my mind trapped deep inside me, a safety mechanism, I can't help it. It's automatic, this military-speak, because if I detach myself from the thought of fighting near the Bridge, I can pretend Tomas won't be involved. But Alden's known me long enough to see through the jargon. He frowns as he plops down on my sofa and props his feet up on the coffee table. "He'll be fine," he says. "Rosser's a good man. Crazy, but good. He knows to pull out before things get too hairy." He clicks on the TV and flips through the channels as if disinterested, but I know he's waiting for me to talk. He came to listen, and Alden's one of those friends who will wait all night if necessary. When I sit down beside him on the sofa, he sighs. "You worry too much, Jace." Do I? Alden stops the TV on a news station—over the rapid stutter of gunfire, a reporter shouts that conflict is imminent, pockets of the rebel army have already passed the midway line, the Bridge is crawling with protesters from both camps and there's talk of air strikes in the next few days. Behind her, the Bridge is illuminated over the wide stretch of the Hudson River like a carnival, the reflection of its lights floating in the water like lilies. I can see the white belch of flame from machine guns, hear angry shouts and God, my boy is going into that? Rosser would pull out when things got too bad, isn't that what Tomas said? What Alden said? 13


And this isn't bad enough? "I hate this," I mutter. I'm not just talking about Tomas leaving. I'm talking about the wars that lick along the country like wildfire, the fighting, the resistance to anything we once held sacred and dear. I recall vague snatches from my dream last night, the one in the woods. When Tomas is back, I want to take him to a place like that, where it's green and fresh and alive—where no buildings crumble to the ground, no gunfire splits the night, no dead bodies are heaped onto trash barges ... somewhere all this doesn't exist. I tell Alden that I want to leave. "Where would you go?" "Someplace where there's no fighting." He laughs because there is no place like that anymore. "When this is over, I'm leaving. Tomas and me, and we're not coming back." He grins. "You've got a few more years before you're up." I'm not talking about re-enlisting. I just don't want to fight anymore. Things were different before I crashed my plane but what do they need me for now? I can't fly, I can't fight ... I'm stuck behind a desk at a pencil pusher job anyone could do. Let them find another starry-eyed boy to fight their battles. I'm not going to lose Tomas to their wars. Alden glances at me and must see the tight set of my jaw. "You're serious?" I shrug, half-hearted. "I'm just talking." Tomas is out in the field, sleeping in a tiny foxhole, and my bed is going to be empty and hungry tonight. Maybe that's all 14


this is, who knows? Maybe I'm serious, I'm not sure myself. "I just miss him, that's all." "I know." Alden changes the channel away from the fighting and finds a movie we've both seen a dozen times, a comedy he hopes will lighten the mood. He laughs too much at the stupid thing, forcing himself to be happy, trying to make me happy too, but I can't get my mind off Tomas and the thought that maybe there is a forest somewhere big enough for just the two of us, miles away from the rest of this war-torn world.

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Chapter Two The next day I'm at the office shuffling papers and trying to keep my mind off the TV in the other room, reports of rebel activity on the Bridge and thoughts of Tomas headed right into the fray, when the phone rings on my desk. For a moment, I just stare at it dreading the worst. When it rings again, I snatch it up and frown at my desk. If they managed to get past my secretary, they don't need the Captain Jace Rickert bit. "Yes?" "Hey." The breathless whisper belongs to Tomas, I'd know it anywhere. My blood surges, a sudden rush that leaves me light-headed and ecstatic for the first time since he's left. "Baby." I grin into the phone. "I miss you something fierce." Tomas laughs. "I miss you, too. We stopped to refuel and Livy's around the corner, watching out for me. I just wanted to call and say I love you." "I love you, too," I whisper. "They say it's getting worse out there. Is Rosser reading the field reports? Alden thinks you guys will be back before you know it. He says we're on the brink of war." Lowering my voice, I add, "God, be careful, Tomas. Please—" "I will," he replies, and then he mutters, "Shit. Liv says we're shipping out so I gotta go. Take care, lover boy. I'll see you soon enough." He makes a kissy sound through the phone that brings a smile to my face. I can imagine him at a pay phone 16


somewhere kissing me through the line while Second Lieutenant Essner motions for him to hurry. "Love you," I say again. Then he's gone. Out in the lobby I hear shouts and gunfire erupt from the TV, and a reporter says things are looking bad at the Bridge. The president is hearing peace proposals but there's little hope any middle ground will be reached. I stare at the papers on my desk, stare through them; I see Tomas in my mind and can hear his voice within me, and I want him so bad my stomach twists into knots of apprehension and fear. Please send him back to me. Soon. **** Saturday night, Alden wants me to go to the Officer's Club for the after-dinner show and try as I might, I can't talk my way out of it. He won't let me. "What else do you have to do?" he asks, hands on his hips as he stares me down. I shrug. "Sitting here all night moping about your boy isn't going to bring him home any sooner, you know that. At least this way you won't be by yourself. That's not healthy." Listen to him tell me what healthy is, Alden Romero from Little Italy, who lives off garlic and pasta alone. "I don't think it's a good idea," I start. But this is Alden and he's not taking no for an answer. Before I know it we're at the bar, Alden flirting with anyone in a skirt and me nursing a rum and Coke. I spend the night 17


sitting by myself at a dark corner table, staring at the neon clock above the bar and wondering how Tomas is. He must've reached the Bridge by now, I'm sure of it. I haven't heard any reports all day but I know they've set up camp already. I close my eyes and can see him resting on a thin cot, dressed in his fatigues with his cap pulled over his face and one hand hanging low enough to brush along the dirt. I almost choke down the rest of my drink trying to drown out that image. It's after midnight when Alden finally says we should head home. He thinks I've had enough to drink, but I'm sure I could use another glass or two, because my bed is cold and I don't want to crawl between those sheets alone. At my door Alden claps me on the back and tells me to take it easy. "Want to catch a movie tomorrow?" I shake my head, numb. The night air is brisk and I huddle into my collar. My cheeks are flushed and hot, and I just want to go to sleep and wake up when Tomas gets back. "I don't think so." This time I mean it—I'm not going anywhere tomorrow. Maybe Tomas will get some free time and I don't want to miss his call. "Thanks anyway." "No problem." He frowns as I fumble to get my key into the lock. "Are you going to be okay?" "I'll be fine." With a tight smile I close the door behind me, shutting it between us and locking him outside. For a moment, I struggle with my jacket but in the end I just shuck it off over my head and drop it to the floor. Trudging into the living room, I kick off my shoes and stumble a bit before I fall to the couch. 18


The TV stares at me like an unseeing eye. I resist the urge to turn it on; though I want to know what's happening at the Bridge. I'm just too damn tired and my arms are so heavy, my eyes keep slipping shut, and I can't reach the remote from where I lay. My head throbs like a rotten tooth. With my eyes shut, all I see is my lover's face. Tomas fills my last coherent thought before I pass out. **** I dream of the forest again, but Tomas is still somewhere beyond the trees. I can feel him reaching but don't know where he is and I race through the woods, shouting his name and waiting for his response before I change direction and take off again. I know he's nearby—I can hear him breathing, a ragged sound that scares me because the next time I gasp to call to him I realize that's my own breath, loud as a rush of water in my ears, drowning out the dream and the world and where he is. Tomas! Right here. When I stop running, my blood pounds in my head, a steady rhythm that jars me awake. The trees fade into a mist that swirls around ghost-like shapes until I'm in my living room, lying on my couch, holding my head in both hands and curled into myself. And it's not just my head pounding anymore. It's the door, a rapid knocking that vibrates the house and every part of my body until I'm sure I'll shake apart. It's all I can do to push myself up from the sofa without falling to the floor. My head is a dull throb and every step I take blurs my 19


vision—despite the fact that it's early morning and I've just slept the night away passed out, another drink sounds like a good idea right about now. But when I open the door Alden whirls into my house like a dervish. "Are you seeing this?" One look at his wild eyes and I'm awake. "Seeing what?" I watch him fumble with the remote, and then the TV's on, a cacophony of noise that fills my house like the dread bubbling within me. "Al? What's—" "It started," he says, stopping at the first news channel he finds. A windblown reporter covers one ear and talks into a microphone, his words staccato bursts that explode in my mind. Bombing began last night... In a daze I walk over to the TV, mesmerized by the images of blood stained men in camouflage and fatigues, stretchers and weapons and my God. Oh my fucking God. I wrest the remote from Alden's hands. "Bombing where? Turn it up, Alden, I can't hear it. What did they hit? Turn it up!" "It is up." But I still can't hear it, I can't hear anything and all I can see is blood. "It started last night, sometime after midnight, caught our camps off guard. They say almost a hundred dead, a few dozen missing, and that's just the beginning. Jace—" He starts to flick to another channel and I punch him in the arm, hard. "Stop it! Jesus, just let me hear it, okay? Don't go changing channels just yet. I don't know the whole story—" 20


"They say—" "Shut up!" I push in front of him until the TV fills my entire world. What about Tomas? I want the reporter to stop talking about the casualties and start naming names, even though I know they don't do that on national television. I want to be there, at the Bridge, amid the blood and the dead and the dying, I want to know ... "Jesus." There's nothing else to say. "Where the fuck is he?" Behind me Alden answers, "I don't know." With one hand I wipe my face, surprised when my palm comes away slick with sweat. "Tomas," I whisper, but it's more of a sob and when my deep voice breaks that's it, I can't deal with this. I can't handle not knowing. Sinking to my knees on the plush carpet, I tell myself the sting in my eyes is more sweat, not tears. I'm not crying because I don't know anything yet, and I'm not going to give in until I know what's happened. Please, I pray. I'm not sure who I'm praying to or what I'm praying for, but I'm not going to stop until I see my boy again. Please. Alden makes me a strong cup of coffee; even though I can taste the brandy lacing the brew, I drink it down without a word. Together we sit on my couch and watch the TV, changing channels during commercial breaks and learning nothing new, nothing at all. Outside activity has picked up— we can hear large transports rattle past my quarters, heading for the barracks and the squads ready to join in the fight. Choppers fill the skies, the heavy beating of their blades drowning out the TV when they fly overhead. 21


On every channel it's the same thing—different voices but the same images, the same words. American forces were bombed shortly before dawn ... shelling hit the middle of our military camps ... those at the center dead, dying, or wounded and not expected to survive ... the death toll over a hundred now and rising as rubble is cleared away and more bodies found ... For the hundredth time, I ask, "What about Tomas?" "I don't know," Alden says. "I'm sorry, Jace, I just don't know." As we're flipping channels I see Rosser. "There!" I cry, ripping the remote from Alden's hand and turning back until Lieutenant Brook Rosser springs to life on the TV, his signature aviator shades hiding his eyes, dust settled into his rumpled fatigues and a smear of someone's blood marring one chiseled cheek. "Turn it up." "You have the remote," Alden points out. I thumb the volume up as Rosser's soft voice fills the room. He sounds weary, but I can't help noticing his wicked grin—there's a sick part of him that enjoys this. "My men were on the outskirts of the camp," he's saying. "We just got in and were bunked in for the night when it happened." "So your men are among those who survived?" the reporter asks. God, I love this woman for asking the one question I want answered more than any other. But Rosser shrugs and looks at the camera, at me, I know it, I can feel his gaze burn through the TV and I know he's seeing me when he mutters, "Mostly." 22


Then he's shoved away as another soldier presses into the mike, reeling off an updated list of numbers. Faceless, lifeless numbers that aren't what I need to hear. What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Mostly.

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Chapter Three Mostly. With that one word my life freezes, my blood turns to ice in my veins and my heart stops. What the hell did he mean by that? Most of his men survived the initial blast? Most of his men are okay? And what about Tomas? What happened to him? The TV blinks off, the cable replaced with the command channel calling all soldiers to their stations. Which means I'm tied down to my desk, miles away from the fight. I can't do that, not without knowing what's happening to my boy. Alden gets a page to return to the garrison, but he doesn't want to leave me this way. "I'm fine." I'm surprised how easy the lie flows from my lips, but the soldier in me has taken over. I'm running on auto pilot now, adrenaline kicking in. We have work to do. I have work to do—I have to find Tomas. "I'll be at the office." It isn't until I start to dress that he's convinced I'm not going to freak out and he leaves. Finally, he leaves. The house is empty around me, the near silence deafening, the rumble of convoys and the whir of Hueys: distant sounds from a war game I'm no longer playing. The TV is black and empty, and I see my reflection in it as I pass but don't recognize myself. I'm not that soldier there, that man in an pressed uniform with an ironed-on scowl. There's no emotion in the reflection, looking back at me. There's a blackness around him, through him, in him, and he's 24


someone only going through the motions of living, he's moving and that's not me because ever since Alden left I've been standing still. I won't move again until Tomas is by my side. Outside, the base is a whirlwind of activity. Soldiers sprinting across yards and hurrying down streets clogged with APCs. As I jog to the office I pass behind one truck and look up to see twenty wide-eyed faces staring back. Women and men just a few months out of high school, barely trained in the weapons they hold in their hands. They stare at me with a combination of fear and excitement that races through the air like an airborne virus, infecting us all. War. This is what we've trained for, this is the moment we've prepared for, the moment of truth, and I'm grounded. The 123rd are packing to join the front and I'm stuck behind a desk. Fuck. In the elevator I think I should talk to Max. She'd have the latest reports from the field—Tomas's name should be in them. They'll be classified but she'll let me see them, I know she will. I pass my office and make it halfway down the hall before her secretary stops me. "I'm sorry, Captain Rickert," she starts. She's a cute girl, with strawberry curls and freckles that give her a perpetual tan. The smile she gives me says she hopes I understand, but I brush by her for the door. "Sir, Major Keagan isn't to be disturbed—" "She's expecting me," I lie. Damn, it gets easier each time. 25


I push through the door. Behind her desk, Max stands and glares at the intrusion. Her height, a few inches taller than my six feet, is only enhanced by her slim figure and the long unbroken stretch of her drab-green uniform. Add in the heels she favors, and she seems to tower over us, disapproval raining down. "Molly?" Then her icy blue eyes glance my way and she sighs, her frosty demeanor melting. "Jace, what are you doing here?" "Major, I'm sorry, ma'am," her secretary stutters. Max waves her hand in dismissal. "It's okay," she says, meeting my livid gaze. "I'm sure Captain Rickert here pulled rank on you. He can stay." The secretary closes the door, locking me in with the Major. Despite her height, Max sinks to her chair with an air of grace and another sigh that seems to deflate her. Before I can ask, she says, "I don't know anymore than you do, Jace." "Fuck that." In two steps I'm at her desk, shuffling through papers and ignoring the red Confidential stamp across them as if that word doesn't pertain to me. "What do the reports say? I know you're getting them on the hour. Is he in them?" Max tries to snatch the papers from me but I pull them away. "Jace, this violates protocol, you know that—" "Have you even read them yet?" I can be insistent when I want something, and right now I want to know anything I can find out about Tomas. "Max—" This time she manages to take the papers from me. "Can't you read, Captain? Confidential means you can't see them. I could get canned for even letting you in here right now, you know that." 26


Squatting down, I prop my elbows on the desk between us and rest my head on my hands. In a low, pleading voice, I ask, "How long have we known each other, Maxine?" Uncertainty flickers across her cool, blue eyes. "I'm not asking as Captain Rickert. I'm not asking to leak info to the media, you know that. I'm asking as a friend, Max. I'm asking as a lover, because my boy is out there somewhere and I don't even know if he's alive..." I choke back a sob; it's all Max can do to look me in the eye. She knows how much Tomas means to me, and even if she doesn't condone it, the relationship she can't deny. "Just let me see the list. Please." For a moment I think she's going to say no and tell me to leave, but then she opens a desk drawer and takes out a large manila envelope. Opening the envelope, she extracts a thick stack of glossy papers, faxes from the field that the commanders send in every hour, reports of casualties and enemy activity and the things they don't say on TV. I hold my breath as she leafs through the papers, looking for... "Here." She hands me a sheet covered with names. "You have ten seconds. Find his name and get the hell out of here. I never showed you that." I nod as I scan the page. A few names jump out at me, people Tomas has mentioned from the 49th, mixed in the alphabetical list. Four or five of them are marked MIA— missing in action. What's that supposed to mean? Is this what Rosser meant by mostly? I count them off—Vasquez, Ward, Simpson, Essner— enough to suggest Rosser sent out a scouting party and these 27


poor soldiers were the ones chosen for duty. Who knows where they were when the bombs hit? Who knows where they were now? Tait, Tomas R., 2nd Lt. My heart stops in my chest. God no, please no, please— MIA. Jesus. Fuck you, Rosser. I close my eyes and the letters blaze like neon in my mind. MIA. No one knows where he is ... least of all me. "Jesus Christ." "I'm sorry," Max whispers, taking the paper back from me. It slips free from my nerveless fingers and I swallow against the sudden thickness clogging my throat. "They're looking for him now, Jace, I promise you. We have search parties—" "This wasn't a recon mission. This was a peace-keeping stint, nothing more. He had no right to send them out like that." Max sighs. "You don't know if that's what happened." Bullshit. I know Rosser and I know the kind of man he is, and that's exactly what happened, I'm sure of it. Before I can argue, Max shakes her head, cutting off further inquiry. "Get back to work, Rickert. We all have things to do—" "The 123rd is leaving for the front." I stand my ground. "Request permission to join them, Major." Shock flits across her features and is gone. "Permission denied." I clench my jaw in anger to keep from saying anything out of line. "You're grounded, Captain. You can't fly—you'll be no help to your unit out there. They need you here." 28


"Tomas needs me. Let me go, Max, please—" "No." Her stern voice leaves no room for argument. "You have your duties, Rickert. They'll bring your boy home soon enough." When I open my mouth to speak, she turns away. "Another word and I'll bring you up on insubordination charges, Jace. Don't think I won't. We're in the midst of a war and I need you here. You're one of the best men we have, so pull yourself together and stay with me, okay? Keep your head on straight and he'll come home, you'll see." Somehow I don't believe her. **** The papers on my desk are meaningless. I can't concentrate on the words—all the letters swim in front of me. I see his name again, those three little letters that mean he's gone and no one knows where to. On the TV in the hall, the reporters just say the same things over and over again. I've heard the words so many times I can recite them verbatim, and I'll hear them in my dreams tonight, if I even manage to fall asleep. I'm exhausted from worry but I know my house will be too damn quiet, so when darkness falls, I don't bother to leave the office. Tomas knows the number here. He'll call if he can. Please, I pray, staring at the phone. I want it to ring, I want to answer it and hear his voice on the other end of the line. At one point I pick the receiver up and listen to the dial tone just to make sure it's still working. Then I think maybe he's trying to call right this second and he's getting a busy 29


signal, what the hell am I doing? So I slam the phone down, sure I've missed his call. Please Tomas, please be safe. Around eight I decide I've done enough—or rather, I haven't done shit. There's nothing much that I can do but move papers from one side of my desk to the other and listen to the reports on the television because Max won't let me see the latest faxes from the field. So I gather up a few files that I know I won't look at when I get home and head out the door. As I'm locking it behind me, the phone in my office rings, a dull sound through the thick wood and that sound stops my heart in my chest. "Fuck." I wrestle with the key to get the lock open again and call out, "Hold on." Who am I talking to? "Just don't hang up, please—" The door pops open and I stumble into my office, already lunging for the phone. Knocking the receiver to the floor, I fall to my knees and scramble to pick it up. "Hello?" "You're still there?" Concern laces Alden's voice. I shut my eyes and tell myself I'm not disappointed. I didn't expect it to be Tomas, I didn't. "Jace—" "I'm here," I mutter. Sitting back against the front of my desk, I pull my knees to my chest. "I was just walking out the door." He sighs. "How are you holding up?" "Okay." Let him believe I'm doing okay. "Have you heard anything?"

30


I nod before I realize he can't see me. "He's MIA," I whisper. "Jesus, Al. He's missing in action. That bastard Rosser sent him on a recon mission and God—" "Calm down," Alden says, his voice breaking through the white noise in my mind. "Just calm down. They're looking for him, right? They've got the best men out there, they'll find him." "Will they? This is war, Alden. They don't have time to find every lost soldier. They don't even have time to bury the dead. Haven't you been listening to the news? Every unit on post has shipped out, and the 123rd leave tomorrow. The bombing has started again and I'm stuck here—" I hit the front of desk for emphasis, and the heavy oak panel vibrates beneath my fist—"I'm stuck here. When he's out there somewhere. Lost." "They'll find him," Alden says again. "God," I sob. I wish I could believe that. Alden switches tactics. "We need you here, Jace." Why does everyone keep saying that? I'm doing nothing, just spinning wheels and standing still. I haven't felt this useless in years, not since the accident that scrambled something inside my head and screwed up my equilibrium so I can't fly anymore. I pick at the crease ironed into my pants, smoothing it out beneath my thumb and frowning when it pops back up on its own. "My unit leaves in the morning. Heading for the front lines. Where he is. Alden, I need to get in a plane." "You can't," he tells me. "You know that." He waits for an answer, and when I don't speak he prompts, "Don't you?" 31


"Yeah." I know that I can't fly. I know I can't get to the Bridge and I know I can't find Tomas. I've got to let them do it their way because this is the military and I'm just one man among the ranks. I don't matter to them, my feelings don't matter to them. Tomas doesn't matter to them. "I can't do this. I just can't pretend that he's safe when I don't know if he is or not. I can't go on doing whatever it is they think I should be doing while I wait to hear from him, from anyone." Horrible visions crowd into my mind, and I hate to give them words but I can't stop myself from saying, "What if he needs me, Alden? What if ... God, what if he's calling for me and I'm not there? What if—" "Stop it," Alden says, his voice stern. "You don't know where he is so don't get all worked up over it, do you hear me?" I hear him. "If I could just go to the Bridge myself." At least then I wouldn't feel so powerless. Then I'd be there, trying to find him. I'd be that much closer to him. Maybe... Suddenly my mind is moving too fast, and I catch my breath—I don't like where it's going but I can't help but follow it down. Maybe I can't go with the 123rd, but how long would it take them to figure out I'm gone? If no one knows I'm leaving, how far could I get before they hunt me down?

32


When I speak again, my voice sounds a million miles away—in my head I'm already back at my quarters, packing. "I gotta go." "You're not thinking what I think you're thinking," Alden warns, and then he sighs. "Jesus, Jace, you can't be thinking that. No. I won't let you. I'm not going to—" "I've gotta go." I'm not just talking about off the phone. Before he can say anything else, I hang up and leave the office. When the phone rings again, a distant sound behind me, I ignore it. I've got to find Tomas. He's mine and I want him back.

33


Chapter Four When I approach my quarters, I'm not surprised to find Alden on my front step, waiting. He's in his MP uniform, the white sash around his arm glowing in my porch light, and for a moment my step falters. Maybe he's not just here to talk me out of leaving; maybe he's going to stop me, anyway he can. But this is Alden, he wouldn't do that to me, we've been friends for so long. Still, I approach the porch with caution, eying him. "Hey," he says, watching me. He can see I'm ready to bolt so he doesn't even stand. No sudden moves, isn't that what they taught him? Don't scare the suspect... In the white light from the naked bulb he looks old and haggard. This is how he will look thirty years from now, an old man, if he lives that long. It scares me to think neither of us may see tomorrow, let alone the other side of fifty. "You shouldn't be here." I unlock the door. He pushes up from the step and follows me inside, closing the door behind us. "Tell me you're not going." I toss my keys on the couch and head upstairs. "Then don't ask." I wish he wasn't here. He's going to make this harder than it already is, and what if he tries to stop me? What then? I can't hurt him but I'm leaving, my mind's made up—not even Alden will stand in my way. In the bedroom I pull out a knapsack and begin to toss clothes onto my bed, shirts and pants and underwear, socks 34


and a few things of Tomas's in case he needs them. "Alden, I don't want you to get involved in this—" "Too late," he says, sitting on the edge of the bed. He watches me shove the clothes into the bag. "It's called AWOL, Jace. They'll find you. It may take a while but they'll be behind you every step of the way. Every time you pay a toll, every time you write a check, every time you buy gas, they'll know. They'll hunt you down and court martial you." I dig through my closet, pulling out things I'll need for the journey: a compass, a mess kit, pocket knives and twine and anything that might help me find my boy. With a shaky laugh, I tell Alden, "That doesn't scare me anymore. What can they do? Throw me out of the service?" "Arrest you," he points out. But I shake my head. "The only thing I'm afraid of is not finding Tomas. I can live without the military, Al. But how can I hope to live the rest of my life without him? I can't do that." But he tries again. "Let them do their job," he pleads. "They'll find him. Maybe they already have. Maybe—" "I'll find him." From the bedside table, I pick up a frame that holds a photo of the two of us at Coney Island, taken back when I was still flying and the air space over the City wasn't a war zone. In the photograph, Tomas stands behind me, arms around my waist, hands clasped over my belt buckle. His chin rests on my shoulder and I lean back against him. We're both smiling like there's no place we'd rather be than there on the boardwalk in each others' arms. 35


That was back when we first met, when his hair was a mass of curls I loved to clutch in fistfuls when we made love, when the thin lines around my eyes weren't yet visible and I didn't get dizzy if I stood for too long. He was fresh out of school and full of ambition, and that time we spent at Coney Island was the last week of his civilian life, before he was assigned to the 49th and they sheared his curls like sheep's wool. The day of the haircut, he came to my quarters with a harsh frown marring his features—he knew I loved his hair, and he was so afraid I'd be upset that it was gone. I remember I made him stand at the foot of the bed and strip off his clothes to prove to me they hadn't shaved everything, and then he crawled into my arms, naked and warm and laughing, and I spent the rest of the day rubbing my hand over the prickly cut of his hair. A tear falls from my eye and lands on the glass covering the photograph, a drop like rain that blurs my lover's face until I brush it away. "I'll find him, Alden." I will, I know I will. I'm the only one who's looking for him, the only one who wants him back. After I tuck the photo into my knapsack, I cinch the bag shut. Hefting it on one shoulder, I sigh. "Well?" I'm expecting him to try and talk me out of leaving. I'm expecting him to stop me. "You can't get off base without orders." I nod—I know this. During war the base is on lockdown; I won't be able to just drive through the gates without orders stationing me elsewhere. 36


I haven't thought this through yet, but the early notions of a plan are beginning to form in my mind. I could hike through the woods to the next town over, hotwire a car in the Wawa parking lot, and worry about getting through our lines at the Bridge when I get there. Alden stands and shakes his head like he doesn't believe he's doing this. In a quick, harsh whisper, he says, "I've got papers to get to the Bridge. I meant to tell you when I called but..." He shrugs. "I've been assigned to the front. POW duty." "Shit," I breathe. "I'm sorry." I can imagine the horror of policing rebel prisoners; Alden's too good a man for detail like that. And into the fire—God, I pray, don't let me lose him, too. "You leave in the morning?" He grabs my arm, pinching his fingers around my wrist until I meet his eyes. His sad, puppy brown eyes, that stare at me, urgent, trying to tell me something without words, trying to make me see ... "I have orders," he says again, keeping his voice so low I have to strain to hear it. "Papers to get off base. I can leave at any time..." He trails off, waiting, the expectation in his face hopeful that I'll get what he's saying before he has to reveal anything more, anything that might get him into trouble... "They'll ask for ID." He wants me to take his papers, use them to get to the Bridge? Then it wouldn't just be me in over my head, it'd be his rank up for grabs and I can't do that to him. "They'll know I'm not you and they won't let me through." 37


"I'm taking my Jeep," he whispers. "I'm not traveling with the other guys—driving up by myself, they won't check the back. They won't know to look for you." Tempting. I could slip out unnoticed and get into the camp at the Bridge without any hassle. "If you get caught—" "We won't. Jesus, Jace, how long have we been pals? You'd do it for me, I know you would. Remember that girl in Watertown? You got me out of that." I laugh. "That was nothing compared to this." A pregnant teenager isn't something the service strips rank for. "This is a direct violation of orders—" Alden shrugs, grinning that devil-may-care smirk of his I can't refuse. "I'll say I didn't know you stowed away. They'll believe me. How else are you going to get to the Bridge? Walk?" When I try to twist free from his grip, he won't let me go. "Jace, trust me. Please. I know how much he means to you. Let me help." "I don't want to get you in trouble." He smiles over that. Leaning closer, he whispers in my ear, his breath ticklish. "Don't worry about me." **** Alden needs one hour to get ready to ship out. I tell him we can wait until morning but I suspect there's a part of him that thinks I'll run before that—now that I've agreed to let him help me, he's not going to let me get away. Since I'm already packed, I roam through the rooms of my tiny housing unit, touching the things I can't take. I know I'll never see them again; Alden is right, I'm going AWOL, and 38


once I walk out that door, I can never come back. When I find Tomas, we'll have to go away, somewhere far from the military and the war and anyone who may know me. I'm giving up the service to find my boy. I'd give up my life, if necessary. In the bedroom I sort through albums of photographs, each one a memory snapped onto film, a moment captured into the forever emulsions of the picture. Tomas and me in Wildwood, on the Flyer before they tore the old roller coaster down. The two of us at his mom's place in Philly, hugging each other tight for the camera. The first Christmas tree we put up, that year he bought me the thin gold chain I wear around my neck beneath my uniform. Even now the metal shifts along my collarbone when I breathe, reminding me that although I don't know where he is, he's thinking of me. On the credenza in the hall I find a set of tiny earrings, diamond studs that he likes to wear but leaves over here because Rosser hates jewelry on his men. I scoop up the studs and stick them in a pocket on my upper thigh, hoping they don't get lost before I can give them back. In the bathroom I finger his razor and consider throwing it in my bag but then I decide not to—I want to see those curls again. On the back of the toilet rests a weathered bandanna, as blue as Tomas's eyes, the kind of doo-rag he covers his head with when he's not on duty. Picking it up, I press the soft cloth to my face and almost choke on tears that rise unbidden inside me, locking my throat and stinging my eyes. This bandanna still smells of him; it's got that fresh, clean scent that clings to his short-cropped hair and the knot hangs 39


onto the sweet smell of the soap he uses. I close my eyes and see him in my mind, just out of the shower, cinching this bandanna over his buzz-cut after he towels off. The vision of him standing where I am now, naked and glistening and wet, his hair hidden by this scrap of cloth ... I bunch the rag my fist, wanting to touch that image, wanting to make it real. Without thinking, I tie the bandanna around my bicep like Alden's MP cloth—this is what I'm fighting for. I take a last look at my bed. I don't know how long it'll take to find Tomas, or how many sleepless nights I'll spend bunked wherever I can manage to hole away, or where I'll be able to rest my head and close my eyes without the military breathing down my neck, watching my every move, waiting to catch up with me. I can live without the feel of the soft sheets or the pillows beneath my head, the warm blankets wrapped around me, but I'll miss the memories created in this bed, the times spent in Tomas's arms, the love we've shared here. I'll miss these quarters, too, and the things we did to make this stale apartment a home. The times I came in late from the office to find him cooking dinner and wearing nothing but an apron that hid his eagerness to see me. The kisses on the sofa in front of the TV, the two of us cuddling close, holding hands. The way he came over after I went to bed, letting himself in and climbing the stairs without a sound, undressing in the darkness before slipping beneath the covers to snuggle against me. Laughter ringing off the bathroom walls as we messed around in the shower, both of us slippery with water and soap and giggling like fools in love. 40


Downstairs, with a final look at the TV and its blank screen, I take a deep breath and click off the porch light, plunging the world outside into a deep night. Pulling my field jacket over my fatigues, I heft my knapsack onto one shoulder and slip out of my house like a thief in the night. I know I won't be back.

41


Chapter Five We have a plan. It's Alden's plan, but because he has the most to lose and it sounds like it'll work, I go along with it. He's leaving for the front tonight. While I said goodbye to the life I used to lead, he was calling his second in command to see that their unit left the base in the morning. Alden and I would already be on the road by then, almost eight hours ahead of them and that much closer to the front. That much closer to finding Tomas. I walk the three blocks to Alden's quarters as planned, head down and chin tucked into my collar, watching the sidewalk move away beneath my feet until I feel a little woozy and the concrete threatens to loom up and smack me in the face. Damn equilibrium. I haven't been the same since that day we ran maneuvers eighteen months ago and my plane took a nose dive. In haunting nightmares for weeks afterwards, I still struggled with the seat release, trying to get the hatch open, trying to eject. The world was a whirl of blinking lights and screaming controls, the ground spinning up on me way too fast, the throttle jerking in my hand until it was just easier to let go. Tomas was the only thing that kept me from giving in when my plane seemed desperate to kill me. Even now I have to close my eyes against the memory—I feel the world start to shake apart, I hear the klaxon warnings blare in my ears and it's all I can do to put one foot in front of the other and keep 42


moving. Al's expecting me—keep walking, Captain. Keep walking. When I woke up after the crash, bruised and sore but alive, I found Tomas by my bedside, hands clenching mine, head resting on one shoulder, exhausted from his ceaseless vigil at the hospital. I curled my fingers around his—even that hurt, but it was the first time I'd moved since they admitted me and he woke at my touch. He kissed my knuckles and my wrist, smoothed the hair back from my forehead and gave me a sad smile. Before he called the nurse he leaned down and kissed me, the sweetest kiss I'd ever known—I almost lost that in the crash, almost lost him. Heaven could never be this wonderful, not without him there beside me. Then, for the first time since we'd begun dating, he whispered he loved me. Tonight, in the chilly night air, with the sounds of soldiers mobilizing for war still faint echoes in the darkness around me, I remember his words, I love you. He's out there somewhere, waiting for me to find him. Alden's light is off when I sneak into his yard. That's part of the plan, too. No one sees me crawl into the back of his Jeep and scurry beneath the blankets he's spread out there. If anyone ever finds out, he can claim he didn't know I hid away. God, I hate putting him into this situation, but he told me he'd do it because we were pals, best buddies for years and he wanted to do it, he had to. "Shit, Jace," he'd said before he left my place, "if you don't let me help you out, I'll follow you anyway, and how long do you think you can walk when 43


I'm driving behind you? You know this is the only way. You'll get to the Bridge in no time and you'll find Tomas faster if I help, you know?" The cargo area behind the front seats of his Jeep smells of stale perfume and musty flannel, scents that tickle my nose when I try to breathe and I bury my face into the crook of my arm as I sneeze. Outside the wind picks up. Every time it whips the canvas roof, it flaps in the darkness, a loud sound like a gunshot in the night and I freeze, sure someone's found me, sure they saw me, they know. Come on, Al, I plead. Isn't it time to get going? All I'm doing is lying here, waiting, when Tomas's out there, I don't know where, I should be looking for him already. Dull footsteps echo along the sidewalk, a scuffle of boots that stop at the back of the Jeep. I hold my breath as I hear the scrape of someone tacking the plastic window back into place. Alden left it open and told me to climb through, he'd play it off like he didn't know it wasn't secured. And now he slaps the side of the Jeep, a long rasp of skin along canvas, before he climbs into the front. I peek out enough to make sure it's him. It is. I'd know that shock of hair anywhere, the uncombed, disheveled look Alden prefers because the girls like to try and tame it, running their fingers through its length to smooth it down. When he closes the door and starts the Jeep, he asks in a soft voice, "You back there?" "Yeah," I whisper. "If you don't want to do this..." He turns the radio up to drown me out. 44


"I want to," he says again, putting the Jeep into gear. "We're friends, dude. I have to do this." I know what he means. If the tables were turned, I'd like to believe I'd do the same for him. As long as it didn't involve losing Tomas, a part of my mind whispers, and I crush the selfish thought, even if it is the truth. Beneath me the floorboards rumble as Alden pulls out of his driveway and onto the street. I count the red lights—with the base on lockdown, only the Mahone Avenue main gate is open to traffic. There are four stop lights from Al's quarters to the gate. We get through the first two lights fine, the green glow sliding along the back like a wash of neon splashed inside the Jeep, and the third light turns yellow as we pass beneath it. But the fourth light is already red. How much longer is this going to take? My disgusted sigh makes Alden glance back at me in the rear-view mirror. "Just hold on." A car idles to a stop beside us, and I see Alden's hands tighten on the steering wheel. "Fuck." Before I can ask what's wrong, he says, "Stay down. You'll never believe who's next to us." "Who?" I clutch the old blankets tighter around myself. Do I really want to know? "Major Keagan." Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I have the luck of the damned. He flashes a quick grin out the window and I could die. There's an unspoken rivalry between Alden and Max, always has been; each trying to one-up the other for some obscure reason I've never understood. My suspicion is that despite her 45


ice queen demeanor, something about Maxine Keagan gets Alden's motor running. Maybe because he knows she'd never have him, or maybe she wants him but doesn't date below her rank. Whatever the reason, it doesn't surprise me to hear an engine rev in the night. Please don't race her. I can just see it, MPs flying out of nowhere ... who would they stop? The Captain over the Major, always. When Alden steps on the gas and the Jeep roars beneath us, I caution, "Al, don't even think it—" The light turns green and I hear the car beside us race off into the night, engine growling with displeasure, while Alden eases off the clutch. I want to smack that stupid smile I just know is spread across his face, knock that wild laughter out of him. "Jesus," I mutter, punching the back of his seat. "Fuck, Alden, I don't believe you. I thought you were serious—" "You should know me better than that." I didn't know if he'd do it or not. Alden's unpredictable at times, always out to have fun, always looking to lighten the mood. I reach out and smack him in the back of the head, but it only makes him laugh harder. As we approach the gate, he sobers up and slows down. "Show time," he whispers, rolling down his window as I burrow beneath the blankets. As he stops in front of the guard post, he drawls, "Hey there." "May I see your orders please, sir?" comes the terse reply. It's a woman our own age, maybe a little younger. I try to place her into one of the faces I've seen on guard duty but can't. "Sir?" 46


I can picture the grin Alden's giving her, that smile that makes girls think they're the only one he sees, and he turns on the charm until the car feels too warm and I have to fight to not throw off the blankets I hide beneath. "Nolen, is it?" I hear his papers crinkle as he hands them to her. "What's a pretty girl like you doing out here on a starry night like this? You should be sipping white wine in front of a fireplace, curled up in someone's arms—" "Your orders, sir," she says again, but this time there's an interested lilt to her voice. Do we have time for this? She must be looking over his papers because she murmurs, "Ooh, a captain." "Captain Romero," he says, "that's me. But if you let me buy you a drink, you can call me Al." I suppress a groan. You can call me Al ... Tomas is lost in battle and Alden has to hit on the guard tonight. She's not buying this, is she? "Isn't that an old song or something?" she asks with a giggle. "I'm on duty, sir" "What's the B for?" Alden wants to know. As she tells him Betty, I suppress the urge to scream. This isn't a bar, we aren't picking up chicks. Can't we get going already? Alden's smile must ratchet up a notch because the guard giggles again. "Well, Betty, how about a drink when I get back, then? Something for a lonely soldier boy to look forward to?" "Sure," she agrees. 47


I hear the rustle of papers being handed back, and from the whiff of her perfume, I assume she's leaned in closer to the car. I grip the blankets tight, afraid to move, to even breathe lest she find me. Her voice is low between us. "Be careful, Alden." "I'll try my hardest," he replies. Then he starts the Jeep up again and pulls away. About damn time. A few minutes later he says, "We're clear." I toss the blanket off and frown at him. "Something for a lonely soldier boy to look forward to?" He shrugs. "She was cute. Besides, I have to have some reason to come back, don't I?" Sudden sadness tightens my throat. I won't be coming back with him. Climbing into the front seat, I buckle the seat belt around myself. Into the quiet night, I say murmur, "I might never see you again." It's the truth, and the words hang between us like stones, dragging us both down and deadening the already somber mood. Alden's smile fades until he's just staring ahead. I want to apologize for something but I don't know what. "You know," he says, "and don't take this the wrong way, but..." He sighs. "Tomas has the world, you know? How lucky can one person be? He's sexy, he's wonderful, he's spoiled rotten and you can't hate him for it. You just can't." Before I can ask what he means, he adds, "I'm not saying I like you like that, Jace, don't think that's what I'm saying here. I like my girls, you know? But I miss the way we used to be, back when it was just the two of us, when Tomas 48


wasn't everything to you and—I don't know, I'm not jealous, not really. I just miss the way we were, is that so bad?" "You can't help the way you feel," I mutter. God, I feel like shit now. Alden's going through all this for me, not for Tomas but for me, and it's going to be the last thing we ever do together, this is it. After I leave him at the front, I can never come back and hang out over his place or go out to the movies or out on a double date, Tomas with me and the girl du jour on Alden's arm. "Al, I'm sorry..." He shrugs in that 'I don't really care' way he has that tells me it bothers him more than he lets on. "You can't help it, either. Tomas is lucky he has someone like you. I hope he knows just how lucky. When you find him, you tell him that for me. Tell him I think he's the luckiest boy in the world, because he has you. Okay?" "Alden—" I start, embarrassed, but he shakes his head. "You tell him that," he says, stubborn. Because I don't want to argue with him, I nod in agreement. Satisfied, he settles back against the driver's seat. "Get some sleep, Jace. It's been a long day. I'll wake you when you need to drive." I slouch down in my seat and rest my head back. As my eyes slip shut, I whisper, "I am so sorry, Alden." I have nothing else to say. I never knew he was jealous of Tomas—I never thought he had reason to be. We were always friends, and Tomas never changed that. He liked Alden, and Alden always joked with him, the way he joked with everyone. But I guess beneath the smiles and laughter, he 49


missed all those times when it was just the two of us, him and me against the world, those late nights and fun times without anyone else. When Tomas came into my life all that ended. I wanted to spend every moment with my boy, and I guess Alden felt pushed aside. I never meant for that to happen. I never meant for any of this to happen. I should be in my bed, Tomas holding me tight, the thought of war still distant rumblings like thunder on the horizon. In a short time I've lost my lover and now I'm going to lose my best friend, too. I just hope I can find Tomas and not lose them both in the process.

50


Chapter Six Al's right, it has been a long day. I'm more exhausted than I thought possible. In the passenger seat, I close my eyes and let the rhythm of the road and the radio playing low lull me to sleep. I think of Tomas, the way he looked back at me the last time I saw him, racing across base in the early dawn, a hint of a smile on his face and love shining in his eyes. I hope he's somewhere safe, unhurt and waiting for me. I hope he's lying somewhere underneath the same stars that shine down on me through the windshield, and I hope he's dreaming of me. **** I dream of when we first met. It's May all over again, two years ago when every night stretched away like a promise, our days eaten up with maneuvers over the border, long flights and practice exercises and bogey hunting in the twilight hour when the Canucks seem to come out of the skies to take potshots at our men stationed on the front. This was before the war moved into our own country, the fighting along the edges of the U.S. like flames crumpling the edges of paper before burning further inland. I was flying then, the 123rd's crack-shot pilot who could hit a target in a dead spin before pulling up and away—I made the hardest stunts look easy, and I prided myself in my accuracy. No one shot like me. No one had the aim, the grace, the sheer luck that seemed to follow me, clinging to everything I did. In the 51


cockpit of a plane no one could touch me. My squadron called me "Ace" but I hated that, it sounded so pretentious. I was just a boy with iron wings who knew how to fly. That May evening I managed to snag some down time away from the barracks and headed on over to the Bulldog with Alden, one of the worst bars off post and the only place to be on warm spring nights. This night was no different, and by the time we sidled up to the bar, the place was already alive with music and drinking and laughter. Al ordered drinks and forgot all about me, turning his attention to a pretty redhead with sergeant's stripes on her arm. I scanned the room, looking for action myself, but the place was crawling with grunts and I didn't see anyone new. I was ready to call it a night before things even got under way. And then I saw a group of teenaged boys in the corner, sharing a table and snickering over bottles that I knew weren't soda. They screamed raw recruits to me—who let their lily asses in a place like this? It was only a few months until graduation but still ... "Hey Al," I said, tapping his back to get his attention. But he was wrapped up in his girl and didn't turn around to talk to me. It usually went like this: in an hour or two he'd give me some lame excuse why he needed to take her home and would I mind walking back to the barracks by myself tonight? I turned back to the bar and downed my drink, staring at my reflection in the mirror behind the glasses and wondering if I'd ever be as gutsy as Al, just walk up to someone and somehow manage to talk them into going home with me. 52


I couldn't imagine myself like that. I couldn't... Then I saw Tomas for the first time. He was a vision in the mirror, an angel in a room full of devilish recruits. At the table full of new recruits, he stopped to pick up his drink before heading my way. He had a smoldering look in his eyes that burned down my spine and curled into my groin. Even in the dream, two years later, that look still haunts me. It's the look of a predator; something I've never seen before, not turned my way. That night it excited me as much as his thick hair did, his pretty pout, the way his thin white Tshirt almost glowed in the dim lights of the bar. When he leaned beside me, I frowned at him, unable to believe he was staring at me. I didn't dare believe his sunshine smile or the way his eyes ignited when he breathed, "Hey." "Hey." I took another swallow of my whiskey to steady myself. Up close he was intoxicating. If I were more bold I might've touched his hand where it rested on the bar, just to assure myself that he was really here beside me, but I'm not like that. As much as I'd like to be, I'm just not. But he surprised me. "You're Captain Rickert, aren't you?" When I nodded, he hurried on. "Jesus, you're amazing, man! I saw footage of your flight tonight—how do you do it? You make it look so easy. I can't believe you're here. You! I mean, Jesus." I felt my face heat at his sudden gush, the way he grinned at me. When he leaned closer, his hand rested high up on my thigh, a touch that I told myself didn't mean a thing, but I couldn't deny the way it set my skin aflame. "Captain Rickert," he said again, stars in his eyes like I was someone 53


famous, someone more than just a grunt doing his job. "Jesus." Maybe it was the whiskey still tickling my throat. Or maybe it was the thought of walking home alone when Alden took off with his girl. Or maybe it was that hair, the way it fell like a thick curtain to his shoulders, the dark length shining like dull metal in the recessed lighting of the bar. Maybe it was his eyes, the way they sparkled like my drink, or his sporty cologne that filled my senses and made me weak. Whatever it was, it took over my mind and from the corner of my eye I watched myself in the mirror, detached, as if it were someone else smiling back at him, not me. Someone else placing my hand over his, on my leg. Someone else wrapping my fingers into his palm and someone else's voice that murmured, "Don't call me Jesus. My name is Jace." "Jace." Someone else tightened my hand around his. Later that evening, someone else asked him to come home with me, keep me company, and grinned when he said yes. **** I remember his kisses that night, eager and warm and impossibly sweet. I remember the way I pressed him back against my mattress, his body heavy beneath mine, our breath ragged in the darkness of my room. I remember fistfuls of his hair, soft like cotton in my hands, and I remember him moaning when I shifted my knee into his crotch, the hardness there turning me on. 54


He sighed my name over and over again, his hands fumbling beneath my shirt, fingers pinching my nipples, palms smoothing over my skin. An hour later a key scraped into the lock and we flew apart, terrified as my roommate came in and clicked on the light. With one look at Tomas's disheveled hair, his unbuttoned shirt and my naked chest, my own shirt discarded somewhere on the floor, Mendenhall took a step back and mumbled, "Sorry, man. I didn't know—" "I was just leaving," Tomas said, busying himself with his buttons. Lowering his voice, he whispered, "I gotta go. My CO..." He shrugged, a helpless gesture that reminded me he was only eighteen and newly enlisted at that. "I gotta go." I walked him back to the bar, hoping he'd stay, but he had a training exercise the next morning and needed to get back to his barracks. At his car I kissed him again, the parking lot dark and deserted, and he grabbed my shirt before I could pull away, his eyes searching mine. "Can I call you?" he asked, that pout tugging at his lips again. I brushed back his hair and smiled. "I'll be upset if you don't." "Tomorrow, then," he whispered, kissing me once more before he got into his car. I watched him drive away and knew he was going to be mine. I just knew it. **** I still feel that kiss when I wake up, blinking back the bright morning sunlight that falls through the cloudy 55


windshield of Alden's Jeep. It's cramped in here but I manage to stretch myself awake, yawning and shaking my head to clear the memories that masked themselves in my dreams. "Morning, glory." Wiping my eyes, I grin. I'm surprised I managed to sleep at all, with what's going on. Maybe I was just so exhausted, so drained, that I couldn't stay awake if I tried. "Morning." When my stomach growls, I hug myself to quiet it and stare out the window at the scenery zooming by. These trees that hem in this empty stretch of highway defy the thought of conflict somewhere up ahead, and it feels unreal to be rushing headlong into battle when the trees just wave at us, their leaves rustling in our wake. "Are we making a pit stop anytime soon?" Alden laughs. "I thought you'd never ask." I'm surprised he didn't stop somewhere along the way as I slept, but he knows I want to get to the front quickly. It's only been a day since the initial blast ... is that all? It seems like a lifetime has passed already, years of wondering where Tomas is, of missing him, of getting up the courage to leap into this search myself. A few miles more and we pull off the road at a dingy truck stop, an eyesore in the bright light of day with its faded sign and boarded up windows. But there are a few other cars in front, a handful of motorcycles and a semi around the side, so we stop for something we can eat in the car. It's not even seven yet, but Alden wolfs down two greasy burgers before he reclines the passenger seat to sleep. "You doing okay?" 56


I hear the drowsiness in his voice. "Fine," I mutter. As fine as I can be, I guess. Before long Alden's snoring and I turn the radio to a news station in the hopes of hearing something from the front. The reporter talks of more bombing, more dead, more missing. I should be up in a plane, flying over the City now, my squadron flanking me on either side, their guns covering me as I spiral in for a hit. I've never felt as powerless as I do right now, when the Army can't use me and Tomas needs me and I can't drive fast enough, my foot on the pedal until we're speeding along the road, the trees rushing by in a green blur. In another hour Max will call my quarters looking for me. How long will she let the phone ring? How many times will she dial before sending the MPs to check things out? And then she'll notice Alden's gone, and that won't be good. Despite whatever Alden thinks he can do to talk his way out of this, I know we're both in over our heads. And then what? Max will know where I've gone. She saw the desperation in my eyes yesterday, heard the despair in my voice. She'll know I've gone after Tomas. Will she send an alert out in her next report to the men at the Bridge? Captain Jace Rickert, AWOL, deemed dangerous, approach with caution and detain until further notice? Or will she give me a few days, sit on my disappearance because we've served together for years and she knows I'm nothing if not tenacious and I'm not going to just surrender when they corner me? Please, Maxine, I pray, stepping on the gas as the tires eat up the road between us and the Bridge. Just give me two days, that's all I ask. Two days. I'll be at the front by 57


tomorrow, and I just need a few hours to find out what the fuck Rosser thought he was doing when he sent my boy out on a recon mission. I can't do that if they're dogging me. Just two days, that's it. Two days. I'll go after Rosser, find out where he sent the scouts, and that's where I'll look first. I'll go into the City if I have to, alone if necessary, anything to get Tomas back.

58


Chapter Seven The road disappears beneath us as I drive. When the sun begins to set, coating the rear-view mirror with a bright orange that leaves me blinking and blinded, Alden takes the wheel again. He drives through the night. I try to stay awake but the steady rhythm of the road dulls my senses and before I know it I'm in that forest again. I'm calling for Tomas, but his voice comes from all directions and I don't know where he is. I call out, frantic because I know he's around here somewhere. He's so close I can smell his cologne and taste the shampoo he uses, a clean scent that chokes me with tears, I miss it so much. Tomas! Right here, he tells me. He sounds far away but I know that's not right. I know he's nearby, I can sense it. I feel him reaching for me but I can't see him. I tear through the trees and rip aside the undergrowth but he's not there, he's not here— "Jace!" I jerk awake at the sharp tone of Alden's voice. Opening my eyes, I see him frowning, concern written across his face. "Jesus, man," he mutters. "Don't scare me like that." "Like what?" My mind still clings to those trees and the sound of Tomas's voice. Instead of answering, he tells me, "We're making good time." 59


I must have been talking in my sleep ... I've never seen that pale fear blanch his face before, or that slight shake to his fingers that he tries to hide by twisting them through his short beard. There are no other cars on the road. Come to think of it, I haven't seen another car all day. We're the only ones out it seems. Everyone else is staying in, out of the war and away from the Bridge, right where we're headed. Outside the night is deep, the sky darker than I thought possible, and a glance at the clock on the dashboard tells me it's already after midnight. I don't remember when I dropped off but I didn't think I'd been asleep that long. "We should get there by evening tomorrow," Alden's saying. He looks at the clock and laughs, a scary sound that he cuts off before it gets out of control. "Today, I mean. Are you sure you're okay?" "I'm fine." I tug my jacket closer around me and slide down in the seat. Still tired, I don't feel like talking—the dream bothers me more than I'd like to admit. When I close my eyes I still see those trees, hiding Tomas from me, distorting his voice and making me think he's close when he isn't. I cross my arms in front of my chest because they hurt to hold him again, they ache something fierce and feel so damn empty that I have to hold something, even if it's just myself. Alden sighs beside me, but we've known each other so long, there's a part of him that senses my desire for silence and keeps him quiet. 60


I push the trees from my mind but still hear my lover's voice, echoing through me like the distant crash of waves, pulling at my blood, driving me to find him. I squeeze my eyes shut. Oh Tomas. This time when I sleep, I don't dream. Not of the trees, not of our memories together, not of Tomas at all. And somehow, that's worse. **** It's a little before noon the next day when Alden's cell phone rings. I'm driving, Al asleep beside me when the ring cuts through the still air. My knuckles clench the steering wheel, whitening beneath my anxious grip. The phone rings again. I shouldn't answer it; it's Alden's phone and isn't for me ... what if it's one of his men? I should just let it ring. But what if it's Tomas? I look at the phone where it rests by the gear shift. What if it is Tomas? He has Alden's number. Would he think to call it? If he tried the house and you weren't there. Damn that voice—I want it to be right. I want it to be Tomas on the other end of the line when I pick up and I want him to tell me he's okay, he's waiting for me and he's safe, he's alive... I snag the phone before it can ring a third time. Alden shifts in his sleep, muttering low, but doesn't wake. Thumbing open the phone, I hold it to my ear. "Hello?" "Where the fuck are you, Captain?" It's Max, the anger in her voice coiled tight. 61


Fuck. I shouldn't have answered—now she knows I'm with Alden, it's all over, she knows, she fucking knows. The Jeep veers to one side of the road and I swerve back into my lane. "Jesus," I mutter. Even though we're still the only car on the road, the thought of smacking into the median doesn't thrill me much. Suddenly I'm eighteen all over again, stuttering for something to say as a drill sergeant yells in my face, trying to make the boy in me a proud soldier. I wedge the phone between my ear and shoulder and steady the vehicle with both hands on the wheel again. "Maxine—" "Don't Maxine me, Rickert," she replies hotly. This is it, the end of whatever friendship we had. I can almost hear it break between us when she snaps, "You get your ass back on this base and now." "Major." I search for words to explain myself, but she knows where I'm headed—she knows I'm doing this for Tomas. The idea that she might think I've thrown everything away for nothing angers me. She should know me better than that. But she isn't listening anymore. "You and Romero both," she continues, talking over me as if I don't exist. "You're both in it now. I tried to help you, Captain. I did all that I could and I thought it was enough. I can't keep you out of prison now. Shit!" Her curse startles me, and I'm not sure if she's angry just at me or angrier at herself for not thinking I'd slip away. In a calmer voice she adds, "Get back here, Jace. Maybe I can cover this up, say you ran some errands for me, I don't 62


know. Just get back here and we'll smooth things over, okay? Just—" "No." I'm not going back. I shake my head for emphasis and almost dislodge the phone from my ear. "I've got to find him, Max. I'm sorry." She sighs. "Jace—" "I'm sorry," I say, even though I'm not. "I'm not coming back without him. I can't." For a long moment we listen to each other breathe, the distance between us crackling through the phone. Finally, she sighs again, a tired sound that makes my head ache. "Then there's nothing I can do," she says. "I'm going to have to call the general, you know that, right? I can't just sit on this—" "Give me a few days," I plead. "Max, how long have we known each other? You know where I'm going. I'm not just flying off the handle here and you know it. Give me a few days to find him, can you at least do that?" "No, I can't. I can't." Fine. "Goodbye then." As she fumbles for something more to say, I close the phone, ending the call. For good measure, I thumb the ringer off, too. My hands tremble as I slide the phone back into its cradle. The Jeep pulls to the left again, threatening to leave the road, but I tug the wheel back and beside me Alden snorts in his sleep. A deep rumble shakes the ground and the wheel twists in my hands. Shells. We're closer now—Alden was right, we'll be there tonight, just in time for the evening mess. 63


My palms are slick with sweat where I clench the steering wheel. I can't believe Max asked me to come back. I can't believe she thought I would. **** Before we pass the first checkpoint, I wake Alden up and hide in the back seat beneath the blankets while he takes the wheel. I assume Maxine has alerted the guards by now, sent a fax to the front and maybe the MPs are already assembled, waiting for us. God, I can't believe he managed to talk me into letting him help. This isn't just my rank anymore; it's his as well. Max won't let this die, and Alden might never get that drink with the soldier back at the guard house after all. Alden slows down as we reach the outskirts of the camp. This time there's no flirting with the guard when he hands over his papers. A thin tension stretches between us. I'm afraid to breathe, afraid to move; my legs cramp, my nose itches, I want to yawn and can't. One move and the soldier at the window will hear or see me and then it'll all be over, Tomas will be lost to me forever, I'll be court-martialed and Alden will lose everything because of me— "Move on," the guard says. When Alden pulls away I sigh, relieved. How can I hope to move through the camp unseen? Every soldier who looks my way will haunt me. I'll be too terrified to ask anyone anything, I'll be too afraid of discovery. Just find Tomas and don't worry about anything else. 64


Yes, nothing else matters. Nothing but Tomas. Nothing but finding him and bringing him home. Wherever that will be. With a shaky laugh, Alden glances back in the rear-view mirror. "Shit." He's nervous. I can see fear shining bright in his eyes like headlights in the growing twilight. "That was close. Damn, I thought they knew..." I climb into the passenger seat and fumble with the seat belt as he slows down for a detachment of soldiers crossing in front of the Jeep. He's still upset that Max called—I told him about it earlier and I should've kept my mouth shut but he has a right to know he's probably in as much trouble as I am now. "Do you think the major's called us in yet?" he asks as I give up on the belt and settle back into the seat. In a quieter voice he adds, "Jesus, Jace." I nod. "Yeah." He doesn't have to say anything else—I know exactly what he means. The soldiers pass and Alden eases the Jeep forward. I'm not sure quite where we're headed but the camp stretches out around us on all sides, soldiers cleaning their weapons or eating or just watching us, their eyes already dull from the constant shells exploding nearby. Tents hug the ground, covered with a black soot that glistens in the dying light, foxholes buried beneath them to protect our men as much as possible. The earth is black as well, dead and destroyed where the first bombs hit, and I have to look away from the long bags lying to one side, bodies waiting for the mortuary unit to ship them home for burial. At least Tomas isn't one of them. 65


And then I see Rosser, standing with another officer, his jacket slung over one shoulder and his aviator shades pushed up on his head. He's laughing, laughing! The thought that he finds anything amusing here infuriates me. Tomas is missing and he has the audacity to laugh— "Stop the car," I say, my voice terse. Alden slams on the brakes. "What's wrong?" I'm already out, my door left wide as I stumble to stand. Inside the Jeep, Alden calls out my name but I ignore him. I have my sights on Rosser. He doesn't see me approach and laughs again, a taunting sound that tattoos itself into my mind. Who the fuck does he think he is? As I step up to him, I call out his name. "Brook Rosser." Now he turns, now he sees me. That devilish grin of his slips, just for the briefest of seconds but I saw it, I saw it. "Captain Rickert," he starts. That's as far as he gets before I punch him in the jaw and send him staggering to the ground.

66


Chapter Eight Rosser glares up at me as he massages his jaw. "There went your bars, Captain," he spits, his lower lip flecked with blood. The thought of being stripped of rank doesn't scare me. "Where is Tomas?" I lunge for him, hands fisting in his shirt, arms straining to haul him up. Anger clouds my sight, blinds me to everything but his smirk and his blood and his laughter, still echoing in my mind. Then Alden is there, holding me back, shaking me loose from Rosser. "Stand down, Jace." I shrug off his hands. "I can't." Rosser eyes me as he stands, the warrant officer beside him helping him to his feet. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he mutters, "What the fuck's your problem, Captain?" He glances at the blood streaked there before he flicks it away. "I thought you were grounded." "Where's Tomas?" When he doesn't answer, I go for him a second time but Alden grabs me again, lacing his hands around my elbows and pulling me away. "Where the hell is he, Rosser? Where did you send him?" "I don't know what you're talking about." Rosser's eyes don't quite meet mine. I was right, he sent Tomas on a recon mission, I just know it. I get one arm free from Alden's grip and swing at Rosser, but he jumps out of the way and my fist just glances along his stomach, not much 67


of a blow at all. "Fuck, Captain. Romero, you saw him hit me? Don't say you didn't." Behind me Alden growls, "Just tell him where you sent the scouts, Rosser. And we'll leave." Rosser's gaze shifts from me to Alden and back again, but there's something in my face that makes him drop his aviator shades over his eyes to hide them from me. Rubbing his jaw, he frowns. "They went to the Bridge." The Bridge. Fuck. "How the hell could you send them there? Rosser—" "I didn't know," he whispers. The cockiness drains from his face and for one bare moment I see how scared he is. He knows he shouldn't have sent his men out there and now he knows he'll have to answer for it, not just to me but to the major; he knows he's in deep and it terrifies him. "How could I have known?" I feel Alden's hands loosen and take the opening to lunge at Rosser again, pushing him back to the ground. He falls like a crumpled doll and stares up at me through those aviator frames that make him look blind. I can't see his eyes but his frown, still a little bloody, makes me sad. "If he's dead," I start. But I can't finish the thought; I won't let myself think that, I won't. Instead I kick Rosser in the thigh and turn away from the scene, leaving them all behind—Rosser, Alden, the soldiers who stop and watch us. "This isn't over, Lieutenant" I swear to him. "If I can't find him, I'm coming back for you." I don't know what I'll do if I can't find Tomas, but Rosser doesn't want to find out, I promise myself that. 68


**** Alden wants to go with me to the Bridge but I tell him no. He's done too much already and probably can't talk his way out of any of it now, but I don't want to get him in any deeper than he already is. Max likes him. Maybe she'll believe whatever story he comes up with to explain why he drove me to the Bridge, but I can't let him follow me any further. "I'm sorry," I whisper, hefting my bag over my shoulder and avoiding his eyes. "Me too." He sits behind the wheel of the Jeep and the engine idles in the darkness. The sun is gone now, the camp unlit to keep it hidden from the rebels. We're at the edge of the encampment, the ground sloping away beneath me in a rocky tumble that's hard to navigate by day and will be impossible without light, but I'm going to go for it anyway. I hope I don't break anything on the way down. Beyond that lies the sandy, trash-strewn bank of the Hudson River, which I hear in the night, a quiet lapping along the shoreline. Overhead, a few gulls call to each other with a disenchanted sound that breaks my heart. Tomas is out there somewhere. Over my shoulder the Bridge is just a dark shadow against the darkened sky. My boy is out there in that darkness. I have to find him. Alden frowns at me, the lights on the dashboard casting deep shadows along his face. "Take care." I nod. "Find him." "Will do." I'm going to try. I consider hugging him, or shaking his hand, or something. I know I'll never see him 69


again and there should be some final contact, something to solidify this moment between us and validate the way we feel for each other, but neither of us makes a move. I've never had to end a friendship before. Affairs are easy—just a final kiss, maybe a hug or a pat on the back, a 'see you around, give me a call' that doesn't mean anything but it's okay because he's not planning to call or come back anyway. But friendships? God, I've known Alden for years. I can't imagine him not being a part of my life. I can't imagine not being able to call him up just to chat or hang out at his place, or hear his laugh again, see the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles. I remember when I started getting serious about Tomas—Alden was the first one I called. Before I even told Tomas I loved him, I told Alden. He laughed and said he never thought I'd say those words, and then he just happened to show up that night right in the middle of dinner to check Tomas out. Just passing by, he said, but I knew better. "God," I choke, hoping I don't cry. "I'm going to miss you." Alden's frown deepens. "Tell him what I said. He's damn lucky to have you. Tell him that." "I will," I promise, nodding. For a second I think he's going to lean over and hug me, but then the moment stretches out too long and it's gone. There's no way we could touch each other without feeling awkward. Years from now I'll regret this, I know I will. I step back and close the door. "Goodbye." 70


I don't know if he hears me or not, but he raises one hand in a half-hearted gesture and sort of waves before he puts the Jeep into gear and drives away. Goodbye. If he didn't hear it, does it mean I didn't really say it? I wonder if he said it, too. I shift my bag into a more comfortable position and watch his taillights until they disappear into the camp. Then I turn and begin to pick my way down the rugged slope, that one word neither of us really said still echoing in my mind. Goodbye. **** There's bombing throughout the night, distant shells that shake the ground as they erupt around me. Sometimes the rocks tumble away from under my feet and once or twice I slip, landing hard on my butt, threatening to knock the wind out of me. When this happens I lie in the night air, rocks digging into my spine, exhausted and sore and too damn frustrated to push myself up and continue on. At one point a shell explodes near me. I hear it whizz through the air like a dragonfly and then it shatters the world, sending me sprawling down the incline, cutting my hands and face with shrapnel. My knees ache, my pants torn and bloody where I scrape them open, and it's all I can do not to give up. Tomas is waiting for me I remind myself. That's the only thing keeping me going. It's too dark to see and too dark to go on, but I can't stop now because somewhere out there Tomas waits for me. I can't let him down. 71


Hours later I reach the shore, stumbling through thick sand covered in bottles and cans and decomposing cardboard boxes. A thick, black sludge congeals along the shoreline, an oily debris that's built up over the years, poisoning the river and its wildlife. Animal and human both. I step into the shallow water of the Hudson, my boots squelching in the muck and the mud as I squint at the dark cityscape across the way. No lights illuminate the broken buildings; there's no power in the City. When this skirmish started, the government cut off all commodities to the rebels. The water laps at my boots like a dog, and I wish I could wade through it without splashing but that doesn't happen. Trash floats around my feet as I walk south, in the direction of the Bridge. Now that I'm at the shoreline, I notice things I couldn't see from the ridge. I notice people, dozens of them, homeless bums or displaced soldiers, or maybe a few rebels that have grown tired of the war already and don't want to return to the squalor of the City. Ragtag lowlifes, for the most part, people caught in this no-man's land between us and them. Random limbs poke from discarded boxes; fires flicker in barrels or tin cans, struggling to stay aflame in the scant breeze that blows in off the water. Wide, white eyes stare at me from dirty faces, fear and distrust written in each. As I approach a couple of young kids huddled together, I try to sound casual. "Hey. I'm—" The ominous click of a shotgun silences me. "Keep walking soldier," a gruff voice mutters behind me. 72


Hands raised to show I'm unarmed, I do just that. The further I travel up the shore, the more people I see, cast off and discarded like the trash that floats beside them on the river. I nod at a few of them, but get no response. I don't try to speak again. I'll find Tomas on my own, without their help. But with each step I take, the sand sucks at my shoes, encumbering me. My arms feel like they drag the ground; the knapsack slung over my shoulder bears down on me with the weight of the world. At some point, the shelling begins again, but I'm too damn tired to care. As the people along the shoreline scurry out of sight, hiding in their cardboard homes or pressing against the rock jetties to keep from getting hit, I just blunder on, kicking through the thick sand. All I want is Tomas. I'd walk through hell to get to him, and part of me believes I'm doing just that. Some time before dawn, the shelling stops. There's a dull glow that clings low to the horizon on the other side of the river, the sun peeking through the battered buildings as if unsure whether or not it's safe to rise. I clamber over a stone piling, slick and grimy with spray from the river, and stumble on my way down the other side. From somewhere ahead of me, a bark of laughter splits the night. Glad someone finds this amusing. I look up to see the faint glow of a barrel fire. Suddenly I realize how weary I am, how every inch of me burns or stings or hurts, and I just want to curl up on the ground and die. But I can't—Tomas needs me. So I stagger to my feet and approach the barrel. 73


As I come closer, I notice three people huddled together, two men and a woman, bent over the barrel for warmth and light. The woman is light-skinned with light hair that curls around her face and down her back in a ragged ponytail, her large almond eyes taking me in. One of the men wears a hooded sweatshirt that hides everything, but he glances up and I see a wickedness in his face that scares me. Maybe I shouldn't stop here. They won't want to help me any more than the others did. The Bridge should be just ahead, I can keep moving, I can— "Hey." The second man speaks, startling us all. Something in his voice makes me think it was he who laughed. He's got a shock of thick hair that's too long for his face and a thin line of a beard trimmed beneath his lower lip. In the firelight he looks almost puckish, the light dancing in his eyes like sprites, his hair golden like rays stolen from the sun. His friends glare at him for a moment before turning back to the fire, forgetting about me. "Shut up, Nuri," the other man mutters. The woman laughs, a deep, rich sound in the night. Maybe they'll feel less threatened by the soldier uniform if they know I'm not looking for a fight. "I'm looking for a friend of mine." But the man in the hoodie snorts. "He ain't here," he says, as if that's the end of it. "Go away." "Sloan," Nuri chides. The woman laughs again. There's a tension between the three of them that's thick and cloying like the oily smoke coming up from the barrel. Sloan pushes back the hood of his 74


sweatshirt to glare at Nuri, who ignores him. Dark shadows cling to Sloan's dark eyes, and his red hair is disheveled and cut close to his scalp. He looks like an angry alley cat, ready to pounce on Nuri and tear him to shreds just for saying his name. I wonder how Nuri can just play it off like there isn't a death ray stare pinning him in place. "Um, really, it's okay," I stutter, backing up. "I can see he ain't. Sorry to bother you." "No, wait." Nuri stretches out one fingerless gloved hand to catch my wrist. His touch burns along the cuts made in my skin from the rocks earlier, and I twist out of his grip. "Who are you looking for?" I study him for a minute, taking in the earnest look in his eyes, wondering if he's just humoring me or if he can really help. I glance at his friends: the woman watches me but Sloan stares into the fire and tries to pretend I don't exist, even though I can see his jaw clench when I clear my throat. "My friend," I tell them. "He's a soldier, a head taller than me, with light hair, brown, though it looks darker because it's cut so short. Piercing blue eyes. A sexy pout—this ringing any bells?" The woman shakes her head but Nuri just stares at me. I wonder what's going through his mind right now, what's flashing behind those mercurial eyes. I stare into the depths of those eyes. Now that I've started talking about Tomas, I can't stop. "His platoon was assigned to a recon mission on the Bridge when the first bombs struck. I just—I just want to find him, you know? I just have to know if he's alright. If he's still alive." 75


With the words finally spoken, the air turns cold, and the woman grips Sloan's hands in her own. He shakes her away and growls, "We haven't seen him. Now get." Fine. I give them a brave smile. "Thanks anyway." I start to walk away when Nuri calls out, "Hey soldier?" I turn, hopeful. With a lazy shrug, he adds. "I might have seen him. I might know where he's at." "Really?" Suddenly my heart pounds too fast, my skin is too tight and slick with sweat. Someone's seen him ... but what if he's wrong? What if it wasn't Tomas he saw? But what if it was? "Where is he?" I whisper. Nuri shrugs again. "I said I might know." His eyes narrow as he looks me over, my dusty fatigues, the bag on my back. "What's in it for me?" "Anything," I promise him. "Just tell me where he is and I'll give you anything you want. Anything at all." "Money," he says. I nod. I have money, back at the house. When I tell him this, he shakes his head. "No, I want it now. I want something of value, something real. I can't trust you." Reaching into the pocket of my pants, I pull out Tomas's diamond stud earrings. They're replaceable; he is not. Walking back to the barrel, I hold out the diamonds until they sparkle in the firelight. I can see them reflected in Nuri's wide eyes. They're huge stones, and cost a small fortune but Tomas is worth every penny and more. I'll give Nuri a million of these diamonds if he can tell me how to get my boy back. "Are they real?" he breathes, reaching out for them. 76


I close my hand into a fist and pull away before he can touch the earrings. "One carat each." I spent money I saved for years on these stones. No price is too high where Tomas is concerned. "I'll give you them both when we find him. Deal?" Even Sloan's grumbling stopped when he saw the stones. "Deal," Nuri whispers.

77


Chapter Nine I show them the picture of Tomas and me at Coney Island. "His hair is buzzed now," I tell Nuri, who tries to pass the photo but Sloan won't take it. The woman, who Nuri calls Clay and Sloan calls bitch, takes a cursory glance at the picture and walks away, disinterested. I watch her kick at the sand on her way to the water before Nuri hands me back the photograph. "This was only taken last year." "He's cute," Nuri says. Beside him, Sloan scowls into the fire, a low growl rising in his throat that Nuri ignores. "What's his name?" "Tomas." I put the photo back in my bag and watch Nuri's dancing eyes glisten in the firelight. "His uniform says Tait. You say you've seen him?" Nuri shrugs in that noncommittal way I've noticed he has, like he knows more than he wants to let on. "Few days ago. On the Bridge." My heart skips in my chest. "Yes," I say, unable to keep the eagerness from my voice. "His unit was on the Bridge when the war started." Sloan laughs at that. "The war's been going on for years, soldier." He doesn't use my name, though I told them both to call me Jace. "It's just official now. Some asshole in a stuffed suit didn't like the bomb that fell on his men and suddenly it's a war? Then what was all that shit that happened before?" Before I can answer Nuri clears his throat, cutting off further argument. I have to remind myself they've lived here, 78


they've seen the border skirmishes between the rebels and the military. This isn't just footage on TV to them—this is real. Here, on the sandy banks of the river, the Bridge looming somewhere in the distance, a trash fire guttering in the night ... this is real. This is what they don't show on the five o'clock news. For them, maybe the war has always been going on. Maybe the recent bombings don't mean anything to them because they're nothing new. They've become desensitized, living out here on the edge. They've grown immune. "Tomas Tait," Nuri prompts, trying to get the conversation back. "You've seen him?" I prompt, hopeful. "Few days ago, I said." There's that shrug again. "On the Bridge. Five soldiers together? Does that sound right?" I nod, encouraging. "Two women, from the swing of their hips. They got midway when the bombs fell." Midway. The bombs hit the camp, not the Bridge. That means that Tomas was out of range and God, that means he's still alive! "What happened then?" I try to stay calm, but my mind is whirling out of control. Oh thank you, sweet Jesus, thank you— Nuri interrupts my thoughts. "They turned around when the bombs hit." He stares into the fire as if he's seeing it all over again, written out in the flames sputtering into the night. "Headed back to camp. One of them fell—" "Tomas? Was it Tomas?" But Nuri shakes his head. "I don't think so." He reaches into his shirt and pulls out a fistful of silver chains. 79


I groan. My God, he's got dog tags... "This one," he says, extracting one chain from the group. I turn the thin aluminum over in my hand, my fingers feeling across the name as if it's written in Braille, and by the light of the fire I can just read it. Ward, Joseph M. I hate myself when I sigh in relief. "Dead?" Nuri nods and takes the dog tag back from me. For a moment I consider holding onto it—it belongs to this man's family, not these derelicts on the beach—but I need Nuri on my side, I need him to tell me where Tomas is, so I hand it back over and watch the shiny silver wink out beneath his dingy shirt. "My God." "He was the only one," Nuri says. "The others were taken prisoner by the rebels. Led like this—" He laces his hands beneath his head, elbows out to either side, as if he's reclining back on a warm summer day, soaking up the hot sun. But the only light here is the fire, and it casts long shadows on his face, making his chiseled features a macabre mask. They took Tomas prisoner? I want to shout. I want to scream into the night because they've taken my boy and there's no way the military is going to get him back now, not if he's a POW, not until the war is over, and who the fuck knows when that'll be? That's why getting him back is my job, I remind myself. Yes, it is my job. I'm the one who's going to find him. Me. Meeting Nuri's flickering gaze, I ask, "Where did they take him?" For a moment I think Nuri is going to back down, 80


there's a sudden fear in his eyes I don't like one bit, but then I remind him, "The diamonds?" "I'll show you," he whispers. Sloan turns away from the fire and stalks into the night. **** The woman isn't going with us. "Traveling with a soldier on the Bridge," she says, glaring at me haughtily, "it's a death wish. I'll not go." "Fine," Nuri says, tossing sand into the barrel to snuff out their fire. "Stay here." But she isn't through. "You wouldn't go, either, if you had any brains. Always thinking with your wallet. Your wallet or your dick—" "Shut up, bitch," Sloan growls. The look he throws her way silences her. He hands Nuri a gun—he's not going, either, but he won't say why and Nuri doesn't ask. "There's a clip in there," he says, his voice low as it carries over to where I stand, waiting. "Don't hesitate to use it." Nuri nods. The woman wraps her arms around herself and clutches her sleeves in her thin hands. "I don't like this." And then Sloan is there, a handful of her hair in his fist, bringing her to her knees with a cry of pain. "You don't have to fucking like it," he tells her in a hard voice that cuts through her protests. I get the feeling he doesn't like it, either, but he's thinking of the diamonds I have in my pocket and how much he can get from a dealer for them. "Sloan," Nuri warns, shoving the gun into his belt. 81


Sloan lets go of the woman's hair and kicks at her, but she scurries out of his way. With a sigh, Nuri turns to me and shrugs. "You ready?" I nod and fall into step beside him as he heads off down the beach. I can't imagine living like this—in this squalor, among people who fight like rats, huddling around a fire with no place to sleep, nothing to eat, nowhere to go ... "Are they always like that?" Nuri laughs. "Yeah," he says, dismissing it as nothing much. Is that what we're going to be like? I wonder as we shuffle through the sand and trash along the river. When this is all over and we can't go back to the base, when we have to run from the military at every turn, is this what Tomas and I will be like then? I hope not. I pray to God it never gets this bad for us. At least we'll have each other. That's little comfort here in the early dawn, with the sun just beginning to climb out of the City, the first rays pinking the Hudson and illuminating the Bridge that looms ahead like an ancient temple. It's little comfort because Tomas isn't here right now, with his strong hands and tender lips, to smooth away my fears and tell me everything's going to be okay. **** The Bridge was old before my time, built hundreds of years ago when the City wasn't the hovel it is now, back when the streets were newly paved and shining, when the buildings glistened in the sun, when the lights of a million stars 82


twinkled along the river at night. But then the border wars started and the City filled up with rebels—people unhappy with the government, aided by foreign powers. Branded as terrorists, they took over the island, isolated it, and swore allegiance to no one. The Bridge became a no-man's land, a palpable symbol of division. No one ventures farther than midway across, and until the other day there were just threats of war, skirmishes along the Bridge that never amounted to anything. Until the rebels bombed our camp. And Rosser sent Tomas to midway? I still can't allow myself to believe that but it must be true, because my boy is gone now and the only person who can help me is only after my diamonds. By the time we reach the Bridge we've lapsed into an uneasy silence, and I half expect him to use the gun Sloan gave him to force the earrings from me and leave me here on the beach, no closer to Tomas than I was when the night started. But the gun stays in his belt, shoved down the front of his pants like he's afraid I'll fight him for it. Beneath the Bridge the shadows are opaque, and Nuri grabs onto my jacket to make sure I keep up with him. "Don't want you to wander off," he says, his laughter echoing off the metal and concrete that entombs us. "Gee, thanks." I swat his hand away when he tries to ease it into my pocket. I'm not in the mood for his games. "Tomas?" I remind him.

83


"They probably took him to the Dump." Nuri leads me over to where thick cabled struts reach up to touch the underside of the Bridge. Tall pillars hold up the structure, attached to cables that creak when the wind blows, and way up against the bottom of the Bridge, a wooden walkway spans across the water. Each pillar has a concrete shield wrapping its base, as tall as I am and covered in scribbled graffiti. Nuri climbs up onto one of the heavy shields and, perched on its thin edge, reaches down to help me up. "Where's the Dump?" I clamber up beside him. For a minute I wobble unsteadily on my feet, the concrete shelf narrow beneath me, but then I hug the pillar and the feeling of falling passes. "Nuri?" As he edges around to the other side of the pillar, I follow carefully, my boots shuffling along the concrete. "Where are we going?" "Into the City." He's somewhere up ahead but his voice sounds distant and hollow and flat. "The Dump is just on the other side of the Bridge. It's a prison, of sorts. I'm thinking that's where they took your soldier boy." As I come around the pillar, I see him step out onto one of the suspension cables supporting the underside of the Bridge. Then he lets go of the pillar to stand like a trapeze artist on the cable. "Come on." I laugh at him. "You're nuts," I say, incredulous. I watch him cross the cable, arms out at his sides to balance himself. "Where the hell are we going?" "Across the Bridge," he says, glancing back at me as if I'm the stupid one. "We have to get to the City, right?" He slides 84


out a little further on the cable and glances back at me, daring me to follow. "Come on." "Nuri..." I don't know about this. "What's wrong with using the Bridge to get across?" Nuri sighs as he reaches for the wooden walkway above him, a narrow beam that swings out over the water and appears to follow the Bridge across the river into the City. "You're asking for trouble, the way you're dressed." He pulls himself up onto the walkway. For a heart-stopping moment he hangs out over the water, too far up to be safe, and I can just imagine the sound his body will make when he falls, the slap as he hits the ground, the crack of his spine, and I close my eyes against the image, sure I'll hear him scream at any moment, sure I'll hear him fall ... "Jace?" I swallow thickly and open my eyes to see him crouched on the walkway, grinning like a cat. "You coming, or what?" "Jesus." I look out over the cable spanning the space between us, the river roiling beneath me. I can't do this. I can't even fly anymore and Nuri wants me to cross this cable? I just can't. Then I think of Tomas, hidden away in some place Nuri calls the Dump, waiting for me. I'm his only hope, the only one who cares. I remember the way he looked back at me the last time I saw him, that smile on his lips, the sparkle in his eye. That's the image I keep in my mind as I step out onto the strut supporting the Bridge. The cable sways beneath me and I freeze, steadying myself before I dare to move again. God, Tomas, his name a mantra in my head, helping me put 85


one foot in front of the other. I don't dare look down. Tomas, oh God, Tomas. When I reach Nuri, he scoots down the walkway, further along beneath the Bridge, and this time it's easier to climb up, it's easier to follow him. I keep my mind focused on Tomas and my gaze on Nuri's back, and try to tell myself the wood isn't slick with spray from the water below, it doesn't sway in the morning breeze, it's perfectly safe. Look at Nuri— he steps along the walkway with fast steps like an alley cat breezing across a fence. As if this is nothing. "You have to keep moving," he tells me as I try to catch up with him. "If you stop, you'll fall. And it's a long way down. The secret is to keep moving." Keep moving. I can do this.

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Chapter Ten The walkway angles up along the side of the anchorage, a steep slope that I slip on once or twice, the wood moldy and old this close to the water. Where it runs along beneath the Bridge, the walkway evens out, but it's still warped in places and creaks eerily when we hurry along its length. I keep one hand on the concrete strut beside me, leaning against it to stay away from the sheer drop to my right. The wood is no more than a foot across, just a narrow plank suspended out over the water at an impossible height. I don't look down because then I'll fall. And the water is so far away, rushing below us with a swift current I don't like one bit. I shouldn't be doing this. The military was right, I shouldn't be up so high because it makes me dizzy and I'm going to fall, I know I'm going to fall— "Watch it," Nuri growls, pushing me back when I stumble into him. We're about halfway now, the sun a little higher in the sky and casting long shadows from the Bridge's towers out over the river, but when I look past Nuri there's still so much farther left to go. "We're nearing midway," Nuri tells me in a quiet voice, shuffling along the walkway. "Keep it down. If the wind turns they'll be able to hear us. They don't have to be marksmen to lean over and take pot-shots at us, you know?" I nod. The thought of trying to dodge a bullet when the only way to go is down doesn't appeal to me much, so I keep my mouth shut and one hand on my head to steady myself as 87


I follow behind Nuri, taking tiny steps so my boots don't echo off the wood. I can do this, I tell myself. I can do it for Tomas. When we're past midway, Nuri says there's not much farther to go. "Another ten minutes, tops." "How long have we been walking?" It seems like years have passed since I first stepped out onto the cable, daring my body to keep me steady. Nuri shrugs. "Fifteen minutes? Twenty? Something like that." That's it? It doesn't seem right, but the shadows out over the water haven't moved much so I guess he knows what he's talking about. Ten more minutes, I tell myself, trying to ignore the sudden excitement coursing through my veins. Ten more minutes and I'll be in the City, and that much closer to finding Tomas. I can't wait. Finally we reach the end of the Bridge, and the walkway here slopes down along the anchorage to a short platform with a thin metal ladder bolted into the concrete wall. Nuri hurries down the walkway and stops on the platform, waiting for me. I can do this, I remind myself, but I don't like the narrow wooden plank that I have to skip down and I don't like the water and sand below it, mingling together like smoke from a gypsy's pipe. I don't like any of this one bit, and suddenly I'm falling inside, my body locked into place as everything within me tumbles. The world sways around me, the sand below and the concrete overhead switching places until I don't know if I'm 88


standing still or if I really am falling, everything is a kaleidoscope of sensation, swirling around me until I can't breathe, I can't move, I can't even think— "Jace?" Nuri calls out from a million miles away. "Come on, this is the end. Come on." This is the end... I take a step and the plank drops away. My foot never connects with anything solid and I stumble. "I can't." It's all I can do to ease myself down to the wood. I pull my knees up to my chest and lean back against the concrete anchorage, and close my eyes against the vertigo swimming around me. "You don't understand. I just can't do it." For a minute I think he's going to laugh at me. Me, a soldier, can't find the courage to walk down a wooden slope no longer than what, a hundred feet? If that. Then I think he's going to go on without me, circle around and head back to his friends, just forget about me altogether. He'll leave me sitting here until I really do fall, and then my body will catch up with the rest of me and I'll die on this strand of sandy shore, so close to finding my boy, so damn close— But Nuri surprises me. Maybe he's still thinking of those diamonds I have in my pocket. Or maybe he really wants to help out, I don't know, but whatever his reason, he takes a deep breath and in a gentle voice, asks, "What about Tomas?" What about him? I want to say, but my lips won't move because my mind is already remembering his sunshine smile and azure eyes, the way he smirks when he's horny and the way his hands know my body so intimately, his fingers 89


hardening me at a touch. Here on this tiny walkway, beneath this lumbering Bridge that creaks when the wind shifts, I feel him holding me, his arms around me strengthening me. In the crash of the slight surf I can hear him whisper my name. "Tomas," I murmur. God, please. Behind my closed eyes I see him stretched out in my bed back on post, his nakedness peeking through covers rumpled around him. He's on his stomach and sleeping in—it's a Sunday last summer. I can almost still smell the honeysuckle outside the kitchen window, and downstairs the game is on because Alden was coming over to watch the playoffs. Before he stopped by, I slipped upstairs to check on Tomas, who came in late the night before, fresh off TDY. I eased the door open—even here on this Bridge I almost hear the faint squeal of the hinges as I stepped into my bedroom and saw him lying there, arms curled beneath the pillow, one leg pulled up to his chest, a sliver of the sun slanting into the room to etch across his buttocks in a golden ray. The hair on the back of his thighs was downy and glistened in the light, so fine that it was almost translucent. Before I realized it I crossed the room to trail my fingers up the length of his leg, brushing through that soft hair with my short nails. I could see just a hint of something more, something darker hidden between his legs, something warm and oh so soft, something I couldn't help but touch. As my fingers caressed that secret flesh, Tomas moaned in his sleep and arched his back, pressing himself further into my hand. Suddenly I didn't want Alden to come over, I didn't want to go back downstairs—I just wanted to crawl into the bed 90


beside my boy and wrap him in my arms and wake him with slow, sleepy kisses. I wanted to hold him close and never let the moment end. But Nuri calls my name again and the moment is over; it's been gone for awhile and I'll never have another like it if I don't get up and get moving. With the feel of Tomas still on my skin, I push myself until I stand with my back against the anchorage. I don't open my eyes because then I'll lose the image of him in bed, and right now that's the only thing keeping me from tumbling to the ground. I put one foot in front of the other, shuffling down the slope of the walkway, one hand out to steady myself, the other pressed tight against the concrete beside me. Somehow I make it to the platform. When Nuri's hand catches mine, I stumble down next to him and only then do I dare to open my eyes. "Thanks," I whisper. My voice shakes more than I'd like it to. Nuri shrugs in his noncommittal way. "Everyone's got something they're scared of." "It's not that." I feel the need to explain to him that I wasn't like this before my accident; it was the fall from the sky that screwed with my mind, leaving me dizzy and disoriented. I want him to know it's not the way I really am; it's nothing more than a handicap I want to laugh away. But he shrugs again and starts down the ladder, his shoes ringing off the metal rungs. "So you couldn't do it alone," he says, his voice drifting up to me as he climbs down to the ground. "So you needed someone to help you through it. What's the big deal? We all need something to make it 91


bearable. That's why you're going after him, isn't it? Because he makes it all bearable for you? He makes it all worthwhile?" Hell yeah. The ladder is cold and wet in my palms but I ignore the bite of the metal into my flesh because somewhere up ahead, Tomas waits. **** I don't know what I expect. The City has been a cornerstone in the media for months now. Even before the skirmishes started, it was a gathering place for derelicts and punks and all sorts of unsavory types. The hardest soldier didn't take leave into the City if he could help it, and few ventured there after dark. I guess I thought there would be miles of barbed wire stretched across the beach like a concentration camp, armed guards at well-placed intervals, rats scurrying from my feet and buzzards circling overhead. So when Nuri and I climb up the small dunes and over the short rail, I'm a little disappointed at the empty parking lot we find ourselves in; a few old cars here and there, nothing that will run anymore, and a rickety shopping cart rattling across the cracked pavement when the wind blows. Nothing more. The faded sign of the five and dime hangs by a prayer and what's left of a handful of wiring, and I'm surprised to find we're the only ones here. It's still early but I expected so much more. We're fighting this? Where are the people? Where are the bombs and the guns and the rebels crying for our blood? This 92


isn't the City I imagined. This isn't anything at all but a rundown, abandoned piece of land where people once lived, a ghost town dried up and threatening to blow away on the next strong breeze in from the sea. "This is it?" I whisper, and Nuri shrugs again. He's seen it a hundred times, I'm sure, and it means nothing to him now. "No guards?" "They're at the Bridge." Nuri leads the way across the parking lot to a deserted alley, and we kick our way through the litter and trash cans strewn between the brownstone buildings. The streets are empty except for a few people here and there, huddled into themselves on doorsteps or propped against store fronts with shattered display windows. Broken glass is scattered along the sidewalk; it crunches beneath my boots as I follow Nuri. No one notices us, and those that do look up turn quickly away. The fact that I'm a soldier doesn't mean anything here. At the end of the street Nuri leads me down another alley, this one narrow and dark. Above us metal fire escapes creak in the early morning air, sad sounds like melodies half remembered from a dream, and I walk hunched over because I'm convinced they're going to fall on me. Misreading my posture as apprehension, Nuri says again, "They're at the Bridge. What's there to guard here?" I don't know. When we step out of the alley there's a thin blonde woman squatting in a doorway nearby, and at her feet a little girl picks at stunted grass that grows in the cracks of the sidewalk. I glance at the woman and she snatches the girl up, 93


folding the child into her arms as if she thinks I'll steal her away. Nuri nods at her but the woman's scowl only deepens, and she glares at us until we're out of sight. "The Dump's just up ahead," Nuri says. The Dump. I envision a large, rambling junkyard, cast off furniture and discarded automobiles decaying in a maze of garbage and trash. At least I'm not disappointed; that's exactly what it appears to be—a junkyard. A trash dump. I can see the sun wink off links in the metal fence, and as we get closer, the constant squawk of gulls crying fills the still morning. If it's like everything else here ... I following Nuri's lead to duck behind a tireless Chevy that sits on the curb, a few yards from the gate, ... this will be a piece of cake. No guards, no arms, nothing. Just walk in, find Tomas, and go home. No problem. No problem. Only this isn't like everything else here, I can see that when I peek over the open hood of the car and see two big men in front of the chained gate. The black guy has to be one of the largest men I've ever seen, and the look on his face terrifies me. The other man is all muscle and I think I could take him on if I blindside him, but I don't even want to think about fighting that gangster dude. The Army would've paid dearly for a soldier like him. "Fuck," I whisper. Beside me Nuri nods. "That's Chug and Rich," he says. "Sloan knows Chug so he'll talk to me but you? He won't even ask your name. He'd just as soon hurt you as look at you." "I believe it." Shit. "Tomas is in there?" 94


"Let's see." Nuri slips away, staying low to keep out of sight, and I follow behind him, trying to put those guards out of my mind.

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Chapter Eleven Nuri leads me down another alley and through a shattered window into an abandoned warehouse. Glass crunches under my boots as we weave our way through a maze of boxes that must've once been stacked neatly into aisles but now lay scattered around, broken and scavenged. "This isn't as bad as I thought it'd be," I whisper as we hurry along. He laughs. "What? You think you can take Chug and Rich yourself? No offense, man, but you ain't exactly the poster child for the Army, you know? Rich could break you in half, and don't even get me started on Chug. He and Sloan go way back. I don't think you want to fuck with him." I shake my head, a gesture Nuri doesn't see as he ducks beneath a hanging section of conduit and pushes open an old steel door. Bright sunlight floods the dusty warehouse, blinding me, and I hit the back of my shoulders on the conduit when I stand up too soon. "No, I mean the City itself," I try to explain. "It's nothing like I imagined it would be. Where are all the guns? All the rebels? This place is dead. It's no real threat." "Inland," Nuri says, jerking his thumb back the way we came. "The leaders are in the heart of the city, and that's where all the people are, all the weapons. They keep prisoners out here so they don't really have to deal with them, you know? And the homeless just sort of wander around, those of us who aren't for one side or the other. We don't want to be a part of any of the fighting, not any more. 96


So we cling to the edges of your world, hold on here as best we can, and hope that we're not the first thing that gives when the shit hits the fan." Outside I see the tall fencing that surrounds the Dump. We've circled behind the block now, the gate hidden from view. Towering mountains of tires line the fence and I can't see inside but Tomas is close. I can almost smell his cologne on the scant breeze, even though it's been days and I know the scent has faded from his skin by now. My throat closes—he's on the other side of those tires and if I can just reach him, if I can just touch him one more time, I'll have him back again. Without waiting for Nuri, I hurry to the fence. "Hey!" Nuri calls out, a low hiss in the still air. "Jace! Get your ass back here!" "I can't." My fingers scrape along hot rubber as I throw the tires aside, trying to dig a hole, someplace I can get through, somewhere I can see— A hand falls on my shoulder, startling me, and I whirl to find Nuri rolling his eyes at me. "This way," he says. I nod as I follow him to a small opening in the piles of rubbish. It's just a tiny spot along the ground where the tires don't quite meet, but it's a way in. "Jesus, you're a thick one," he mutters. "You want them to hear you? You want them to know we're out here? Jesus Christ, what—" Kneeling down, I push past him and press against the fence, my fingers curling through the links in the chain. Through a growth of thick ferns I can see where they're keeping our men prisoner, the stench from burnt tires and 97


fermenting garbage ripe and vivid around me. Inside the Dump there's a small trailer propped up on cinder blocks, the windows gone and the door torn open. In the doorway I see Second Lieutenant Livy Essner, braiding her hair and singing a soft, sad melody that drifts to where I am and makes me want to cry. There's a long jagged cut on her cheek that's stitched with dark thread and bruised around the edges, and a dull pain in her eyes that shines in the sunlight like the glass shattered along the scant grass. On the ground by her feet sits Second Lieutenant Simpson, a pretty girl with thick curls that she wears pulled back into a loose bun at the nape of her neck. Her face is covered with dirt and grime, her shirt is tied around her waist, her thin olive undershirt soiled with sweat. She rests her head against Liv's knee, her fingers entwined in the laces of Liv's boots, and that's two of the missing. Add in Ward who died and that makes three. But where's the other one ... Vasquez? And Tomas—where's he? "Fuck this!" I hear someone shout, and there's Second Lieutenant Vasquez, a hot tempered kid who's been Tomas's roommate since they both enlisted. He comes from around the back of the trailer, leading a muscled guard who's got a rifle aimed at his back. He glares at Simpson and Essner for a moment before kicking dirt in my direction, but he doesn't notice me. None of them do. When the guard shoves the rifle into Vasquez, he slaps at the weapon before throwing himself to the ground, scowling at the water pump beside the trailer and ignoring the guard. "Fuck you." 98


The guard brings the rifle's stock down hard on Vasquez's shoulder. I hear the solid smack of wood against bone and see Vasquez flinch in pain, his face reddening, but he bites back any outcry. He's a soldier—we don't give in that easily. When the guard raises the gun to strike at him again, Essner stands up from the doorway and says, "Leave him alone." For a moment I think the guard will laugh at her, but then he turns towards her and I know he's going to hit her next, I just know it. I can already hear the sound his hand will make across her cheek. But she raises her chin and meets his level gaze, daring him to hit her. After a breathless minute he calls her a slut and stalks away. Once he's gone, Essner sits back down on the step, Simpson leaning against her knee again, and she asks, "You okay, Luis?" In a thick voice Vasquez mutters, "I'll live." Where's Tomas? I wonder. I feel a tug at my thigh and swat away Nuri's hand as he tries to get into the pocket where I keep the diamonds. But when he tugs again I scoot away from the fence and sit back on my knees, glaring at him. "What?" Where the hell is Tomas? "He there?" Nuri asks, looking back over his shoulder to keep an eye out for any guards. "I don't see him." Maybe he's inside the trailer, or around the other side, where Vasquez was, where the guard disappeared to when he left. Maybe— Nuri shrugs. "He's in there." Holding out his hand, he adds, "Give me the jewelry." 99


"I don't know he's there." But we've come this far and I did tell him I'd pay him for his help so I pull out the diamonds and hand them over. They're only stones, but a sudden sadness fills me as I watch him pin the diamonds into his shirt. Tomas's diamonds, earrings I bought for him. I can buy him more. As long as I have him again, I can live without the diamonds. I can always buy him more. "So now what?" Nuri shrugs again and stands up. Brushing the dust from his knees, he says, "Now you get your boy. My part's done. Have fun." As he starts to walk away I call out, "Wait!" He stops and turns. Rising to my feet, I hurry after him. "What am I supposed to do? Just walk up and demand him back? How am I supposed to get inside there?" I point back to the Dump behind me for emphasis. But Nuri just gives me a maddening grin. "You wanted me to help you find him. I did. You never said help you rescue him. You're on your own for that. Bye." He jogs across the empty lot to the warehouse and I stare after him in stunned disbelief. He'll just leave me here, is that it? Kneeling in the dirt and crushed cigarette butts and coarse grass. That's it? Apparently so. He slips through the door and is gone, my diamonds with him, and I still don't know if Tomas's really here or not. Fuck. Behind me I hear the scrape of a boot against the fence, and then a soft voice whispers, "Jace?" Tomas. 100


That's his voice, I'd recognize it anywhere. I hear it in my dreams, in my thoughts, and when I hear it now I throw myself to the ground, crawling through the small opening in the tires again to snag the fence with my fingers and press my face against the cold metal links. "Tomas?" My voice trembles as I pull out the stubborn ferns growing in my way. And then he's there, his lips kissing mine through the thin links of the fence, his hands folding over my fingers, his breath so sweet and quick and his eyes twin seas I never thought I'd drown in again. "Jesus, Jace," he sighs, his fingers reaching through the fencing to brush along my face. "Is it really you? I thought I was imagining things. I heard you and God, I just wanted to cry. I thought it was my mind playing tricks on me." Tears cut through the dust on his cheeks and I wipe them away, kissing him even though he's on one side of the chainlink fence and I'm on the other, and the metal grows warm beneath our skin where we press together as it tries to keep us apart. "What are you doing here? You shouldn't be at the front. You're grounded, Captain." I laugh. "I'm worse than grounded now." I can't stop looking at him, I can't tear myself away. My hands hunger for him, my skin burns with his touch, and he smoothes his fingers over the tiny cuts along my brow, a slight frown on his face. "Max wouldn't let me come find you." In a quiet voice I tell him about Alden, about how I've left the base and I'm not going back, about the forest in my dreams and how we'll find 101


those trees and live there forever, hiding from the military that wants to kill him and hunt me down. Tomas's frown deepens; he knows how much it means to me to lose the service, but he means so much more, and I'd lose everything just to have him again. "I love you," he sighs. I kiss him again. I can't get enough of him; I don't want to let him go. Now I just have to get him back. **** He tells me there's a small tear in the fence farther down, and I push through the tires to find it, a jagged place where the links have been cut and bend up like deadly spikes. A thin stream of muddy water spills through the torn fencing, run-off from the water pump, and for a few minutes I pull on the fence, thinking I can widen the hole, get it large enough for the soldiers inside to crawl through. But the metal is stronger than it looks, and the only thing I succeed in doing is getting my pants damp with mud where I splash in the water. "Fuck." From the other side of the fence, Tomas hangs his head in defeat. Then he looks up at me, that smirk on his face telling me exactly what's on his mind, and it's got nothing to do with the Dump or his friends behind him, watching us. "That's what I'm thinking." I have to laugh because I'm thinking the same thing. I have been since I found him. Tomas reaches through the opening in the fence and lets his hand trail down my calf, leaving liquid fire in the wake of his touch. "Only not in such a bad way." 102


"God, I missed you." I catch his hand in mine and kiss it. His nails are dirty and he needs a bath, but right now I want him so bad my knees weaken at the thought of the two of us together, naked and eager and so hard, so damn hard for each other. "When I get you out of there..." I let the sentence trail off like a promise. I can't put into words what I plan to do when he's free and there's nothing between us, nothing keeping him out of my arms. He gives me a crooked grin. "Damn. Get me out of here now." "I'm trying." I don't know exactly how I'm going to do that yet. I hold his hand, his fingers curled around mine, and sit down on the ground, my back to the fence. He sits down on the other side, his back against mine, and lets me think. How long the guards will be out of sight, I don't know. If I could only think of some way to cut through the fence and get to them. I don't know how I'm going to get him out. I just have a few items with me, no big armory to scare the guards with, nothing to threaten them into giving back what's mine. Nothing to barter with, either: the diamonds are gone, and I'm sure they don't want anything else from my knapsack. I consider doing what I told Nuri I'd do, just walk up to the front gate and demand my boy back—maybe it'll surprise them, they'll have a good laugh and say sure, take him, just because they like my spunk. But somehow I doubt it.

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"You'll think of something," Tomas whispers. His faith in me brings tears to my tired eyes. "I knew you'd come for me, Jace. I just knew you were on your way." I squeeze his hand in both of mine. "You're mine," I tell him. "I can't live without you. I don't want to learn how." He turns and through the fence I feel him kiss the back of my neck, his lips warm and damp against the cold metal links.

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Chapter Twelve I don't know how long we sit there, back to back, holding hands. Livy comes over and tells me she knew I would come, if only for Tomas. "But I'm glad you're here," she sighs, glancing over her shoulder to make sure the guards aren't around. "You'll get us out of here, right?" Before I can answer, Tomas nods. "He'll get us out." The conviction in his voice, his belief in me, makes me hope that I do get them out. I have to—I can't let him down. "Company," Vasquez hisses from across the yard. I scramble to my feet, diving out of sight behind the tires I've scattered along the ground. I hear Tomas whisper he loves me, and when I dare to look out, Livy's helped him to his feet. The two of them lean against the fence, standing together to block me from view. When the guards step around the trailer I recognize one of them as the man who hit Vasquez before, and the other is the guy Nuri called Rich. It's obvious they're brothers, and they're both holding rifles aimed at the ground. I'd rather not find out if those weapons are loaded, but I'm sure they are. A quick look at the guards' faces and I'm sure they're fully loaded, maybe even cocked and ready, and there's no doubt in my mind that they wouldn't hesitate to shoot. Fuck. I glance around the empty lot, the warehouse, looking for something, anything, that might help me. My mind riffles through everything I packed—the Swiss Army knife, the mess kit, our clothes—and I try to recall what I might have seen on 105


my way over here, but this is a deserted city. There's nothing here that would help me free them, nothing at all. How the hell am I supposed to get Tomas out of this place? Inside the Dump Simpson jumps up from the trailer steps, stepping in front of Rich before he can go too far. I hear her ask him what time it is, when they'll get something to eat, if they've heard anything from the front. I grin at his flustered responses to her rapid-fire questions. I know she's trying to keep them away from the fence, where Tomas and Livy stand in front of the small gap, where I'm hiding. Even Vasquez joins in, pestering the other guard until he threatens to hit him again with the stock of his rifle. They're doing this to keep me unseen, so I can help them. I need to help them. Only how? I don't know. Slipping away from the fence, I ease around the tires and start toward the front gate. I want another look at that other guard, the one Nuri called Chug. I know I can't take him but right now I'm thinking if I get in a lucky punch or two, maybe I can get his rifle and then I'd be someone to reckon with. I just need to take another look at him and get those thoughts out of my head now because I know he's too big for me. Shit, a guy like that can crack me in half, but finding Tomas infused me with a healthy shot of courage and now I'm thinking I can take on the world, I can bend steel and stop the sun from rising. Anything if Tomas thinks I can. Anything for him. There's a part of me that knows that's just my lust talking. When I reach the front of the Dump, I peek around the corner 106


and take one look at that Chug dude and damn, I think, pressing back against the side of the fence, out of sight. He's gotten bigger since I first saw him. And I thought I could take on that? I look again. Chug leans against the gate, a bored expression on his face, the stock of his rifle resting on the ground. He's talking to someone, I'm not sure who, but when I edge out just a little farther I see someone squatting on the ground on the other side of him. When Chug shifts I catch a glimpse of a dark blue sweatshirt, a shock of bright red hair ... my God, is that Sloan? I can't believe he's here, but I'd recognize those piercing blue eyes and that wicked scowl anywhere. What's he doing here? Where's Nuri? From far away I hear the steady chop chop chop of a helicopter across the river, and Sloan glances up at the sky, his frown deepening. When Chug follows his gaze, Sloan says something to distract him, something that makes Chug laugh and turns his attention away from the chopper. I look up but all I see is the faded denim sky that stretches away forever. A few gulls circle above the Dump amid a thin smattering of clouds spread out like taffy. The helicopter sound grows louder but it's probably just the overcast sky, distorting the noise. It's only the military across the Bridge—a supply Huey or a med chopper, nothing more. Suddenly a hand closes over my mouth. Stupid! my mind shouts as my heart pounds in my ears. Staring at the sky and now you're caught, how fucking stupid is that? 107


I turn and find myself staring wild eyed at Nuri's smug grin. "Shh," he breathes, nodding at the front gate. Slapping his hand away from my mouth, I glare at him. "Jesus." I whisper, but he hushes me again. I can't believe he's here—didn't he leave?—but I can't deny I'm happy to see him. Him and Sloan both. Now the odds are a bit more even, assuming they're here to help me out. "I thought you left." Nuri shrugs. "I did." He glances at the sky and I follow his lead, but even though the chopper sounds impossibly close now, I don't see it. I don't see anything at all. "But we were ... persuaded to come back." "Persuaded?" I'm not following this. "By who? What are you talking about?" The helicopter's over us now, I can hear it, the sound almost deafening in the thick afternoon air. "Nuri?" I ask, raising my voice so he can hear me. "What's going on?" "The cavalry's here," he says, pointing up. Now I see it, a dark Huey descending from the sky like a bird of prey. Its blades stir up a thick wind that whips at my clothes, my hair, stinging my eyes and blowing trash out of its wake. "Nuri!" Sloan shouts. Nuri grabs my arm, pulling me after him. I see Sloan with a gun to Chug's head, the rifle kicked away. Sunlight winks off the diamond earrings Nuri wears at his collar, and I'm not following any of this at all. I thought Nuri said Sloan and Chug were friends? What's with the gun? Whose chopper is that coming down inside the Dump? What the fuck is happening? 108


"Nuri!" Sloan calls again. I trip after Nuri as we hurry to the front gate. Letting go of my arm, Nuri fumbles through Chug's pockets for the keys. "What's going on here?" I demand, but my voice is lost in the whirl of the chopper's blades. "Nuri? What's—" Nuri tosses a key ring at me. I catch it in both hands and stare at it, confused. "Open the gate!" he tells me. I stand there for a moment, unsure. I have the key. I can let them out, I have the key, I can get my boy. Inside the Dump, the chopper lands and I see an American flag painted on its green side. It is the cavalry. From the cockpit, my former bunkmate Mendenhall raises his hand, grinning. Then the door opens and a handful of soldiers pour forth, men and women from the 123rd, from my unit, my unit. They're led by Major Keagan, who's shouting orders over the sound of the blades. I scrape the key into the lock. For a heart-stopping moment it doesn't turn, the lock refuses to budge, the gate stays shut and I'll never get in, I'll never get to Tomas and I'll lose him all over again... "Jace!" I look up to see Alden trotting from the chopper, heading my way. With nerveless fingers I twist the key again, and this time the lock disengages. When Alden reaches the gate, he slides it out of the way. "Shit, man," he drawls, clapping me on the back. "You found him, didn't you? I knew you would." "Alden, what's going on here?" Soldiers are all over the place; the wind raised by the helicopter still blinds me, but I see our men in green everywhere at once, and the guards are on the ground, the 109


fencing is being torn down, this place is being destroyed. "Alden?" He laughs at me. "Max said to find you," he explains. "So I did. Or rather, I found someone who knew where you were." He points at Nuri, who waves jauntily. Sloan sees the military presence and lowers his gun. Taking a step or two backwards, he glares at me before he turns and runs down a nearby alley. Nuri follows, the two of them disappearing like dreams by the light of dawn. At the look of confusion on my face, Alden explains. "Max came down to the front, hell bent for your head. She swooped down on me like some crazy bird of prey, I'm telling you. All the sweet talk in the world wouldn't calm her down." "Max?" I still don't quite get it. With a nod, Alden shrugs. "I told her you went to the Bridge by yourself to find the soldiers. Oh my God, Jace, you'd think I pissed in her coffee! She had a fit. I thought it was 'cause you'd gone AWOL and whatnot, you know—" Alden loves doing this, frustrating me with his long, rambling explanations of things I need to know now. "Al! Jesus, spit it out." His grin tells me he's enjoying this. "She sent a detachment of MPs to the Bridge to look for you. Lead by yours truly, natch. We see that guy there messing around down by the shore and detain him. When I see the diamond studs pinned on his shirt like a general's stars, I ask where he got them. I mean, hell. They're yours, I know they are—not everyone carries around rocks like that, 'specially not some 110


bum living under the Bridge. But he gets all huffy and swears they're his, an even trade. So I ask if he's seen you." "Okay, but how..." I point at the helicopter, piloted by Mendenhall. With a vague gesture, I sweep my arm to include the Dump, now riddled with our men. "I mean, why—" Alden shrugs. "That kid tells me you're just over the Bridge at a Dump, can't miss it from the sky. Before I can get another word from him, he scrambles free and disappears under the Bridge like a damned troll. I head back to camp and the major has the 123rd standing by, ready to fly wherever I tell them to." Glancing behind him as the first POWs head for the chopper, he shakes his head in disbelief. "You found them, Jace. You did it." "I didn't..." I went AWOL, remember? I want to shout. Does no one remember this? No one wanted to find them but me and now suddenly I'm a hero? I don't get it. I don't get it at all. "Where's Tomas?" And then I see him. He's limping as he walks to the chopper, and for the first time I see blood staining his legs, bright and dark. There's a ragged hole torn in one of his knees that wasn't there before. "Tomas." I push past Alden, push through the soldiers that stand between us until I catch him in my arms. He's here, here, where he belongs. He's never felt so alive, so real, and I cover his face with kisses, my hands smoothing over his buzzed hair, my arms holding him tight. He hugs me close, burying his head in my shoulder. "Oh thank you," I pray. He's mine again. Mine. "Tomas." 111


He cries my name and his fists tighten at my back, clenching handfuls of my jacket. I'm never going to let him go.

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Chapter Thirteen Somehow we make it back to the camp. I remember Tomas holding me, my head against his chest and my eyes squeezed shut against the vertigo spinning through my body. I remember the faint smell of his cologne, dim but still there, still clinging to him, and I remember clenching his dog tags in my hands until the thin aluminum turned warm beneath my fingers. I remember hearing him laugh at something Alden said, the sound bubbling beneath me, cutting through the deafening noise of the chopper like an angel's voice. I never thought I'd hear that wondrous laugh again. I want it to fill my world and never disappear. I fight the soldiers who try to take him from me when we land. "I'll be okay," Tomas tells me, kissing the tears from my cheeks. I hold onto his hand where it touches my face and swear not to let him go. Behind me Alden says, "He's wounded, Jace. Let the doctors take a look and then you can see him again." "I love you," I whisper. Tomas kisses me again before the soldiers lead him away. It breaks my heart to watch him limp after them, but when I take a step to follow, someone stops me. I turn to shake off the hand holding me back. "Alden, I have to—" But it's not Alden standing there, it's Maxine, and the look on her face leaves no room for argument. "Come with me, Captain." 113


I'm still reeling from the flight but I can't say no. I fall into step beside her, and she keeps a hand on my arm like she thinks I'm going to flee. I consider it but I can't run away now. Tomas's alive, he's here, and I'm not leaving again without him. Max ducks into a tent that's been set up for her here at the front. Inside there's a long table with a chair behind it, and she motions for me to have a seat. I sink into the chair and lean my head back, trying to keep the world from spinning so fast. "Major," I start, "I'm sorry—" "Fuck that," she growls. Like a cougar she pounces, pulling me up in the chair until we're face to face and all I can see is her fury, livid in her icy eyes and the cruel twist of her mouth. "You listen to me, Captain," she hisses, her voice low. I nod hurriedly—I've never seen her like this, not at me. "I gave you leave. I shouldn't have, but I did. Two days' leave, do you hear me?" I nod again, even though I'm not sure what she's talking about, but if anyone asks, she gave me leave. "After those two days," Max continues, her gaze boring into me, "you were to report to the front. I can't cover the fact that you punched Rosser but I can at least explain why you're here. You'll have to pay for that fight yourself, Rickert. I can't help you there." "Thank you," I whisper. Max just shakes her head. "Don't thank me." The rage falls from her face. Standing back, she lets go of my collar and sits on the edge of the table, pinning me with an evil stare. "You should never have left base—" 114


"I know." She continues as if I didn't interrupt. "You had no clearance, no papers, no orders to be here." I nod. "I know." "Your being here is in direction violation of my command." She glares at me until I drop my gaze. I pick at the dust on my pants and sigh. "I know, okay? I fucking know already." I think that's the end of it. I can't believe she's covering for me but I know I'll pay for it at the office. Extra paperwork, I'm sure. I can see it now, years behind that desk, projects and reports and presentations and God, I should've just stayed gone. But she's covering for me and if that ever gets out it'll be both our ranks. At least I'm still in the service. I can go back to the post and the quarters are still mine, Tomas and I will spend another night in my bed. We won't have to worry about living like Nuri and Sloan and Clay, scrounging to make it through the day, struggling to survive on the edges of the world. And now Tomas is wounded, I remind myself, which means he's out of commission for awhile, so maybe we'll get to spend some time together after all. "Max, I'm sorry. I don't know what else to say." She rubs her eyes. "You did it," she tells me. "I didn't believe you could, Captain. I didn't think you'd make it past the Bridge and you did. You found them. You proved me wrong." "Max—" 115


"I gave you leave," she says, stern. I nod. "Rosser's been pulled from the 49th for his stunt with the recon mission but you still have to answer for that fight. You should never have hit him, Rickert." I grin at the memory of Rosser glaring up at me from the ground, blood on his lips where my fist met his face. "I'm sorry," I say again, but this time I don't really mean it. Max shrugs. "He deserved it, I'm sure." There's a gleam in her eyes that makes me laugh. "And you know you're chained to a desk until you die, right? For this you owe me big, Captain. I'm not going to let you forget it." "I won't." I can't. She claps me on the shoulder. "Go find your boy," she says. "You're both on the next APC heading back to post tonight. And don't pull this shit again." "Sir, yes sir," I say, grinning. I salute her when I stand up from the chair, a crisp salute that makes her laugh. And before she can tell me again I leave, hurrying to find Tomas. **** There's a low building at one end of the camp that used to be a storage facility of sorts, but now it's been converted into a makeshift hospital. I stop a doctor and ask where my boy is. "Tait, room 7," she tells me, reading off her clipboard. With a wink, she adds, "These doors lock, Captain. Keep that in mind." I grin at her and hurry down the hall. The door to his room is ajar, but I knock as I push my way inside. "Tomas?" 116


He's sitting on the edge of the bed dressed only in boxer shorts and a clean T-shirt. His left leg is bandaged, the white gauze bright against his dusky skin. I remember the doctor's advice and lock the door before I cross the room, and then he's finally in my arms, our lips pressing together with a sweetness I thought I'd never taste again. "Oh God, Jace," he moans, pulling me down to him. Grinning, I tell him we should take it easy. "You're wounded." My hand brushes over the bandage that covers his upper thigh. "How'd that happen anyway? You weren't hurt when I found you at first." "One of the guards got a little trigger happy when the chopper landed," he says, catching my hands in his and pulling me closer again. He smiles against my lips as we kiss. "I got a leg full of buckshot but I'll be fine. We can do it if we take it slow." I laugh at his eagerness. "It's only been what, two days? Three? You left Friday." He pouts, ducking his head and giving me those big puppy-dog eyes that he knows will get him whatever he wants. "It's been a lifetime," he whispers. One hand trails down my stomach, unbuttoning my pants. He lets his fingers persuade me; they slip beneath my pants, easing the zipper down as they clutch at me. I can't deny him anything, and I'd be lying if I told him I didn't want him now. I'm already hard when his hand reaches into my boxers, and his grin speaks for itself. "Please, Captain?" he sighs, kissing my neck, his lips damp and warm and delicious where they suck beneath my ear. "We have to take it slow." 117


He pushes down my pants as I ease him to the bed, and he watches as I undress, his eyes devouring me. He whimpers at my nakedness, reaching for me. I pull off his boxers, careful around the bandage, and then his shirt is thrown away. The white wrapping on his thigh only accentuates his beautiful body, the golden hue of his skin in the light cast by the bedside lamp, the dark hair that kinks at his crotch. "Tomas," I sigh as I climb into the bed beside him. There's petroleum jelly in one of the drawers of his bedside table, a standard among medical supplies. The jelly warms as I slather it on my erection, and Tomas's lips find mine when I enter him. He drapes his leg around me and we move slowly, our passion restrained in this hospital room, where anyone could hear us if they listened for the creak of the bed or our soft breathless moans. As I thrust into him, his teeth sink into my shoulder in an effort to keep his gasps quiet, and his nails scratch along my back, trying to pull me closer, further, deeper into him so I'll never find my way out. I kiss his neck, his cheeks, his hair, and when I come I sob his name and promise I'm never letting him go again. He kisses my damp face and tells me he's never going to leave. Afterwards we lie in each other's arms beneath the thin covers, his leg thrown out on top of the blankets because he says it's too hot with the bandage on. Already his wounds are beginning to heal, and I have to slap his hand away when he 118


tries to scratch at them through the gauze. "Tomas, stop it," I admonish. He grins as his hand finds me through the covers. He squeezes gently and damn, I'm hard again already. I can't wait until tonight, when we're back in my bed on post and there's no threat of anyone finding us together there. "It itches," he tells me, his hand straying to his leg again. I catch his hand in both of mine to hold it still and don't let him shake it loose. "Let it itch," I say, kissing his ear. When I lean my head beside his on the pillow I see the tiny hole in his earlobe where he's been pierced and I remember the diamond earrings I put in my pocket before I left my quarters, intent on returning them to him. The earrings that are gone now. "I brought your diamonds but I had to give them away." He looks at me, a frown on his face. "What'd you bring them for? You could've been killed for them." "I thought..." I shrug his comment away. "I don't know. Doesn't matter now anyway, does it?" I wish I had those earrings now. I want see them sparkle in this light, against his skin. "Tomas, I'm sorry." But he laughs. "I'd rather have you than the diamonds." I kiss him and promise to buy him more. "I'm not letting anyone take you from me again. You hear me, soldier?" He nods, burrowing his head against my chest as I hug him close. "You're mine. I won't let anyone forget that." Not him, not the military, not anyone. THE END 119


Stay on top of the latest news by joining one of the yahoo loops sponsored by Aspen Mountain Press. For news only, join: [email protected] If you enjoy chatting with others and finding out about special contests as well as our latest releases, please consider joining [email protected] If you enjoyed War Torn by J.M. Snyder, you may also enjoy Scarred. Read on for an excerpt of J.M. Snyder's futuristic tale, Scarred. Excerpt: I'm surprised he's paying. Most regulators try to talk me into giving them a tab, which I try not to do because that's an open invite right there to come back and that's the last thing I want. But it's quiet in here now, the noise from his men trapped outside beyond the window panes, and he hasn't raised his voice at me, hasn't touched me, and there's something to be said for that. Another time and place, he might be just a normal boy on the other side of my counter, paying for a meal. This close I see he's about my height, maybe a few inches taller, and he's my build, too, though more muscle than me, not as filled out in some places, bulkier in others. Those eyes are like silver dollars winking in the lights overhead, and the scars across his nose just add to his boyish air. I wonder who he'd be in a different world, if he'd still be this soft-spoken, this polite. I watch his fingers as he toys with the cash—he has big hands, with scuffed knuckles and scraped palms, and 120


I wonder if they're as deceiving as the rest of him. If they're as soft, as gentle, as his voice when he prompts, "Sir?" Sir. It's the sir that makes me undercharge him, I decide, not his hands or his voice or his eyes. "Five's fine," I tell him, taking the offered bill and turning away. "Have a good night." He doesn't leave. Instead he leans on the counter, stares at my mouth and says, "We need a place to stay." Here it is then, what I've been expecting since they walked through that door. The proposition. Let me fuck you and I'll keep the men away from your sister, that's what those words mean. Bend over and we won't trash your place. I've heard it all before. How could I even think he might be someone different? My voice hardens. "There's a boarding house down the street. Kyla's. She's got extra rooms in the back, don't let her try and tell you she doesn't." He watches as I wipe down the counter. It doesn't need cleaning. It's just something to do to keep from meeting his steady gaze. He's trying to get a bead on me, I know he is, and as long as I don't look at him, he can't really pin me down in his mind. Go on, I plea silently, feeling him watch my every move, the circular motion of my hand as I rub the counter, the muscles in my arms flexing. Go on, don't say another word. You said you weren't like everyone else, remember? So prove it already. Just say goodnight and go. I should have known better. So he has pretty eyes, so what? So he has manners and a nice smile and a soft voice. He's still a regulator, he's still one of them, those men who ride through this war-torn wasteland and control what's left. 121


"You don't get my drift," he says in that damnably quiet voice of his, and then, when I don't reply, he wants to know, "That girl? What did you call her, Delia?" Involuntarily my hand closes into a tight fist, a gesture he doesn't miss. "Who's she to you?" "My sister," I tell him through clenched teeth. "I'll not have your men stay the night—" "Just me," he corrects. Yes, that's what I thought. Now I look up and I see the hunger in his eyes, the lust, the need, and damn it the hell, I was right all along. I don't realize there's a part of me that hoped he might prove different until I feel my heart twist angrily in my chest. Fuck him. "I guess I can't really say no, can I?" He shrugs. No would be stupid, no would dissolve this civil discussion into a brutal rape, no would send Tarn up the back stairs for Delia and Ravid in here with his knife. I can't say no. That's not even an option. I let this kid have his way, a quick fuck and a bed, and it's over with. He might smack me around a bit but I'm not thinking of me anymore. I've been hit before. I'm thinking of the girls upstairs. I'll get by as long as I think of them. Touching my hand, he trails one finger down an old scar that's healed crooked along my thumb, more of McBane's handiwork, when I made the mistake once of trying to shield myself from his blows. "I'm gentle," he murmurs, tracing the scar. "I'll not hurt you, I promise." 122


That's something I've never heard before, and the faint press of his skin against mine rouses my blood in a way I'm not sure I like. I don't like it, I tell myself, I won't. But when he looks at me with those mercurial eyes, I find that I can't look away, and his hand covers mine with an unexpected warmth that surprises me. "One night, sir," he says. There's that sir again. "That's all I'm asking." One night. And he's asking so sweetly, too, like there's nothing else at stake here, we're just two boys looking to find something together, and that's not the way it is, not at all. He's not even asking, not really—I say no and this whole charade, this whole pretense, is over. He signals to his friends and they come back in, hold me down, he takes what he wants anyway. That gentle crap is just another lie. But his hand on mine is softer than I imagined it would be, his touch is gentle, and he holds his breath as if I might actually say no after all. I stare into his depthless eyes and think I've had worse. A lot worse. And it keeps Delia safe ... I pull my hand out from under his and attack the counter with renewed vigor, hating the small part of me that is almost looking forward to a tender touch, sex without pain or blood, sex with him. "Fine," I say, defeated. If it keeps his men away from Delia, then fine.

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