Broken Road (9 page)

“I think I’ll go now.” She said in barely a whisper, “It’s getting late. . .and you’re up so. . .you don’t need anyone out here.
 
EJ will be on his way back soon anyhow. . .”
 

Riley struggled to read the expression on her face.
 
It was a cross of many emotions, sadness, anger, despair, longing.
 
It was a mask he’d never seen her wear before.
 
He didn’t know it, didn’t know how to respond to it or if he should even do so.
 

“Okay.” He said finally and she turned to walk the five feet to the hallway closet to retrieve her coat.
 
She pulled it on and turned quickly, heading for the front door.

“Misty?”

She turned hesitantly to face him again. There were only a few feet separating them
 

“Yes?”
I want to tell you what happened. I want to let you in. I need you to tell me it’s all going to be okay.

“Never mind.”
 

“Bye.” She said, opening the front door and stepping out into the humid night. He closed the refrigerator door.
 
He wasn’t hungry. Riley closed his eyes and fought back the urge to go after her.
 
His fists were clenched and he felt he could hardly breathe.

“Bye.” He whispered into the empty room as the door shut behind her.

“Come on, Riley. We’ll have a good time. I promise.”
 

“I’m not really that hungry.” He avoided making eye contact with his grandfather. He knew he had his heart set on going down to the café. Riley just wanted to stay home.

“I’m starving and I’m not going to let you eat one more can of these old spaghetti rings. A man needs real food after a while, son.”
 

He felt guilty. Since he’d gotten back he’d spent a lot of time at the house, behind closed doors and curtains, eating whatever he could find sitting in the back of the pantry. Usually it was something out of a can. His sleeping schedule was still messed up and he was rarely awake in time to eat breakfast or supper with his grandfather.
 
So, he was usually on his own and up until now it had worked out okay. But it was true he was tired of peanut butter sandwiches and he wouldn’t resort to eating that one rogue container of SPAM at the back of the pantry and pretty soon they’d be out of deer jerky. His grandfather kept begging him to go into town and eat at the local café.
 

“Please.”
 

“Grandpa. . .”

“Please, Riley. It’s time to get out of the house for a bit.”

“Fine.”
 

“Some fresh air will do you good. You’ll see.” He tried to smile. His grandfather seemed so happy about it and Riley supposed it should make him happy too. He got up and went to the hooks by the door where they kept their hats and keys. He grabbed one of his old hunting caps, closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He didn’t want to drive. He paused as he wrapped his fingers around the cold, sharp edges of the truck keys. It took so little now to trigger the memories. His mind wandered and before he knew it he was back there on the road where the first of his nightmares began. He could still hear Ricky’s voice, as if he were standing right next to him again.

“Hooah!” SPC Ricky Marcelino yelled as he ran up behind Riley and knocked the helmet out from the crook of his arm. They were heading for the convoy after a 0400 wake up call and a breakfast MRE.

“Ricky, come on, man.
 
Why do you always have to do that?” He bent down and picked up his helmet dusting it off.

“I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday, Corn Boy!” He hated that nickname. They gave it to him because he came from Nebraska and the only thing they knew about it was that corn grew there. It was stupid but it had stuck.

“How’d you find out about that?” Dammit, the last thing he wanted was for anyone in the squad to know about his birthday. That meant trouble.

“Why wouldn’t you want anyone to know?” Ricky was barely able to conceal a smile.

“Guess, ‘cause you’re all a bunch of practical jokers. I helped last time remember?” It had been fun he had to admit. But the last thing he wanted was to be on the receiving end of that stick.

“It wasn’t that bad. Private Heldoff survived didn’t he? And he got a nice cold beer for being such a good sport.”

“Well, I don’t want to wake up with crap on my face or shit in my boots. Even for a nice cold beer.”

“No, sir! It would be awful to give the same gift twice. I’ve got something better in mind for you.”

“What?”

“You get to drive today.” Riley stopped in his tracks.
 

“What?” Marcelino shrugged.

“I thought Cap said you were driving.” Ricky always drove,
always
.

“Guess he found out it was your birthday, Corn Boy!” Ricky 1-2 punched him in the ribs.

“I’ve only driven it once out here before, Ricky, you know that.”
 

“Well, you did such a bang up job that you get another turn.”

“Really?”
 

“Hell, no!” Ricky was laughing.
 

Riley knew it had been a less than stellar performance on his part. He had driven it to the gate and back a few times that was all and it was enough. Back at base during training, his mistakes had nearly taken out a security fence, demolished the newly delivered mine-protected clearance vehicle dubbed the ‘Buffalo’ due to its massive size and gotten the practice convoy ‘blown up’. His CO had nearly strangled him and threatened to kick his ass from base to bejeesuz if he didn’t get his shit together. It hadn’t been one of his finest moments as a soldier. That’s when he’d been paired with Richard ‘Ricky’ Marcelino, a veteran Buffalo driver who had already driven the metal beast during deployments to both Iraq and Afghanistan. Riley, on the other hand, even though he’d been in the service a while, was still considered a rookie driver with only about two to three years of experience state-side and on his first deployment to Iraq.
 

“Then why am I driving?” He asked trying to erase all the horror stories he’d heard from Ricky himself. All it took was one wrong move and innocent people died.
 

“We’re clearing Dead Man’s Row this mission.” Ricky’s tone was serious now.

“Is that supposed to mean something to me?” Riley was faking it. Of course everyone at Forward Operating Base knew about Dead Man’s Row. It had earned its name not from the locals but from the soldiers killed trying to clear it.

“They say it’s the deadliest road in the entire region.”

“That’s what they say about all of them.”

“Naw, this is for real. They lost two Buffs, a Husky and five guys last time they tried to clear this road.”

“How far did they get?”

“Seven miles, man. Seven frickin’ miles in five days.”

“How long is the road?”

“30 damn miles long. No one’s ever cleared it, man. No one.”

“So we’re supposed to do it?”

“Well, we are the best? Right?” Marcelino put out a fist clearly expecting Riley to do the same. He hesitated. Ricky might be the best. Whether Riley would live up to that same reputation remained to be seen.
 
He sighed. Helmet on, gear slung over his shoulders, Riley punched Ricky’s fist with his own and grinned.
 

“So I guess I’m driving.”
 

“Like I said someone must’ve told ‘em it was your birthday, you lucky SOB! Hooah!” Ricky slapped him on the back.

“Hooah!” Riley replied, following him to the waiting Buffalo. God, if only Ricky had been the one driving that day, maybe things would have turned out differently.
 
If only. . .
He felt a hand on his arm and he was back, standing at the door again.

“Riley? Riley, are you ready to go?” EJ Favreau stood just a few feet away from him, cap in hand and an eager smile on his face. For a moment, he had to think about where he was and what he was doing. His eyes were squeezed shut. He still had the set of keys clutched tightly in his hand so tightly, in fact, he could feel them cutting deep into his flesh.

“Riley?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you okay, son?” He felt EJ’s hand settle on his arm.
 

“I’m ready. Let’s go.” He opened the front door and motioned for his grandfather to go ahead.
 

“I can’t wait to order some of Doreen’s fried chicken! I bet you didn’t get much in the way of that in your MREs did you?” The older man chuckled.
 

“No, sir.”
 

 
Riley took the steps slowly, feeling each crunch of gravel from the driveway beneath his feet. The old blue ’76 Chevy was parked back in the barn where he had left it shortly before he deployed. His grandpa used it to ride out to check on the cattle and as kids he, Brandon and Misty used to ride on the open truck bed, holding on to the large buckets of cow ‘cake’ dressed in their old denim. The wind blowing in their hair, the truck jostled them like the contents of the buckets making them giggle. There was nothing as free or as beautiful as the open landscape of the Nebraska prairie.
Every swell and gentle curve of the green hills surrounding him was confirmation that he’d left the desolation of the desert behind.
 
EJ opened the passenger side door and slowly made his way into the vehicle. The worn red vinyl seat remained just as torn and covered in silver duck tape as when he had left. An old pine tree car freshener still hung from the rear view mirror beneath.

“Come on, Riley! There won’t be anything left of that noon special if we don’t get going.”
 

 
He gripped the door handle for a moment before finally opening it and getting in the driver’s seat. He inserted the key and heard the engine turn. The engine was a purr compared to the Buffalo’s massive one. He could hear Ricky’s voice telling him what to do.

“All right now, you know what to do. Let’s get going.” Ricky’s muffled voice rang through their headsets. They took their place in the convoy and made their way toward the gate. So far so good.

Riley put the truck in reverse and pulled out of the barn. It was as if Ricky was right there with him.

“Okay, nice and easy, now.
 
Once we’re out of the gate you know the drill, Riley.”
 

“Be aware, be on the lookout and don’t be in a damn hurry.”

“Not unless you wan’t to get us blown from here to kingdom come.” Ricky grinned.

Riley turned the truck and headed down the gravel drive toward the road into town. He was starting to get nervous. His thoughts were caught between the present and the past. Each move he made now while driving the old Chevy seemed to have an echo in the desert. He saw the first familiar mile marker and swallowed hard. They’d be there soon. That’s what Ricky had said too.

“We’ll be coming up on the first checkpoint soon.”

“It feels like it takes hours just to make it a few feet.” Riley’s grip tightened on the wheel and he could already feel the sweat trickling down the inside of his uniform.

“More like a few inches.”
 
Ricky replied.

“Ain’t that the truth.” Riley said keeping his eyes on the road.
 

The memory of that conversation was suddenly interrupted when his grandfather turned on the radio to a local station and Riley slowly picked up speed. It had been a long time since he’d been down the road into town in the driver’s seat of his old truck. He watched the landscape go by out of the corner of his eye as they drove. He noticed everything.There were houses about every few miles or so, with rows of metal mailboxes out front and old barns in the back. Fields were ready for harvest and cattle were roaming the pastures. He was home not back in Iraq but as hard as he tried to tell the difference between the two, Ricky’s voice kept dragging him back.

The sign for town came into view. There weren’t any signs like that when they’d driven the Buffalo into the village. All they had was the route commander’s say so and Ricky’s confirmation as they went along. It was all Riley needed to know. He could remember every detail and every conversation he’d had with Ricky that day and he was reliving them even as he sat in silence next to his grandfather.
 

“Don’t miss your turn.” The older man said and it reminded him of the moment Ricky announced they had arrived.

“Okay, here’s the village. First checkpoint coming right up. So slow it up. Keep your eyes open.”

“There’s a bunch of locals everywhere. What are we looking for?” Riley scanned the streets. One side was lined with
 
vendor stalls for a makeshift market and the other side was crowded with a row of children playing.

“Keep your eyes open for anything that doesn’t look right.Remember don’t assume that just because it looks like a duck, quacks like a duck or walk likes a duck it’s a duck. It’s probably a damn bomb.”

“That’s reassuring.”

“Once the Huskies get done scanning we’ll get into position. If they find something we’ll go and dig it up just like we trained.”

“Just like that, huh?”

“Just like that and I promise if you don’t get us killed, I’ll buy the beers for your birthday when we get back.”

“Well then, I better not get us killed.”

“I’d appreciate that.” Ricky teased as they passed a group of locals standing around an old man with a wooden cart piled high with small bundles of cloth and rock.

“All vehicles, all vehicles, halt the convoy.” The voice of the Army Route Clearance Commander, Captain Shane Jenner, came through their headsets. The locals quickly dispersed and the old man disappeared with his cart around the corner.