World War III (23 page)

“You can’t possibly live out here all alone?”

“Nope, it’s me and my grand pappy and we don’t care for strangers,” she paused and glanced at Kye, “or the questions they carry with ‘em!”

“Where’s your grand pappy now?”

“Out chase’n mountain lions,” answered the girl, before turning back to skinning the hide in front of her.

“You mean hunting mountain lions,” replied Kye, examining the hide the girl was working on.

“If’n I’d of meant hunt’n, I’d of said hunt’n. I said chase’n and I meant chase’n.”

“Why on God’s green earth would anyone chase a mountain lion?”

“How else ya gonna catch ‘em,” answered the young girl.

“Ah, ha,” said Kye. “So you admit that he is trying to catch them?”

“Mountain lions in these here parts are overpopulated,” replied the young girl. “They encroach on the nearby ranches and farms, kill’n livestock and such. Folks round here depend on their livestock so when that happens they call my grand pappy,” she explained proudly, “and he chases them lions away.”

“I see,” replied Kye. “And when will your grand pappy be back?”

“Not sure,” replied the girl, as she punctured the rabbit’s stomach near its rectum and sliced up towards the neck. She then reached inside with her soft, tiny hands and withdrew the organs from within. Once the rabbit’s innards had been removed she began quartering the animal, dropping the sections of meat into a nearby steaming pot of water.

Kye stepped closer to the pot and looked inside. In addition to the rabbit he could see a medley of herbs and vegetables. He sniffed at the aroma and had to admit that it smelled absolutely delicious. His stomach made a low grumbling sound, loud enough that the girl heard it and giggled.

‘Sounds like your hungry mister.”

“I am,” admitted Kye. “It’s been a few days since I’ve had a hot cooked meal.”

“Why, don’t the military feed their soldiers?”

“Of course, but lately food has been scarce. Not to mention I’ve spent the last few days in the air flying missions and I haven’t really had the opportunity to eat anything hot or fresh,” explained Kye. “By the way I’m not a soldier. I’m a pilot in the air force.”

“Same difference,” snorted the girl, adding a little salt and pepper to the pot of stew.

“My name is Lieutenant Colonel Kye Williams, what’s yours?” asked Kye, extending his hand to shake the young girl’s.

“Sylvia,” she replied, shaking his hand after wiping hers on her apron.

“It’s nice to meet you Sylvia. Was it your grand pappy that caused the explosion and gave us the opportunity to escape?”

“The very same,” she said proudly. “He should be back any moment now.”

“Wonderful,” smiled Kye, “I’d like to meet him.”

As if on cue, the door swung open allowing a gush of wind to enter the small cabin, followed by an old man dressed in a bear fur coat and wearing a coon-skin hat. His wrinkled face was darkened from the sun and covered with a grizzly, white beard. In one hand he held a rifle and in the other a large, brown sack.

Kye’s eyes dropped to the sack when he noticed movement from within. “Hello,” he said, “my name’s Kye.”

The old man looked down at Kye’s outstretched hand as if it were dangerous before dropping the sack to the floor, and reaching out to grasp it. His steel blue eyes lifted to engage Kye’s, as he squeezed the younger man’s hand in a vice-like grip. Releasing Kye’s hand he grinned with satisfaction, as Kye rubbed his hand in an effort to get the blood flowing again. “I know who you are, Lieutenant Colonel Williams,” he said, in a deep, raspy voice. “I’ve been standing out on the deck listening to you for the past five minutes.”

“Why didn’t you come in and introduce yourself?” asked Kye, surprised by the old man’s strength.

“A man learns more from listening than from talking,” replied the old man, leaning his rifle against the wall by the door.

“I see,” said Kye. “And may I ask your name, since you seem to know so much about me?”

“My name’s Jeremiah,” said the old man, casting a wink in his granddaughter’s direction. A smile flashed across her face, as she continued to labor over the rabbit stew.

“Well Jeremiah, I’d like to thank both you and your granddaughter for saving my bacon out there today. If it wasn’t for the two of you I’m sure I’d be dead by now, or worse,” added Kye, remembering the stories of torture that he’d heard from pilots that his father had flown with in Vietnam.

“Of course,” replied Jeremiah, as he removed his heavy, fur coat and hung it on a peg on the wall. “If those bastards would’ve found ya they’d be peeling your skin off by now,” he added, almost as if he could read Kye’s mind. “Have a seat.”

Kye sat down at the kitchen table and watched Sylvia stir the stew, while Jeremiah disappeared into the other room. When he returned he held a large jug that made a sloshing sound when it moved. The old man sat down across from Kye and rested his huge forearms on the table in front of him. Kye was surprised at how strong and capable the man looked, especially for being as old as he was. Using his teeth, Jeremiah pulled the cork from the jug and spat it onto the table. With his finger curled around the small handle, he tilted his head back and took a large swig before offering the jug to Kye, who eyed it warily.

“Have some,” said Jeremiah, wiping the back of his free hand across his mouth. “It’ll put hair on your chest.”

Realizing that the offer was less of an offer and more of a demand, Kye reached out and accepted the heavy jug. He could smell the strong liquor inside before it had even hit his lips. The booze left an intense burning sensation as it rolled down the back of his throat and into his stomach. Kye coughed a little, clearing his throat, as he handed the jug back to the old man. “What is that?” he asked in a whisper, which was all that his voice seemed capable of at the moment.

“White Lightening,” answered Jeremiah, before guzzling down another large mouthful. “It’s good, ain’t it?”

“It’s good for starting a fire,” said Kye, coughing again.

“Well what do ya think I used to cause that explosion earlier?” asked Jeremiah, a mischievous grin on his face.

“Ah, I see,” replied Kye, rubbing his throat. His voice was slowly returning. “I don’t suppose you have any water?”

Jeremiah nodded to his granddaughter who quickly and silently brought Kye a glass of water. “Thank you,” said Kye, accepting the glass and guzzling down its contents. Without a word, Sylvia turned around and returned to her cooking. For the first time, Kye realized that she hadn’t spoken since the arrival of her grandfather. Perhaps she’d been raised to let the adults talk without any interruption, or maybe she was simply taking her grandfather’s advice, and listening instead of talking.

“So what brings you out this way hung feller?”

Kye looked into Jeremiah’s eyes but couldn’t tell if the old man was joking or serious. “You do know that we’re at war don’t you?”

“Of course,” smiled the old man, “but that doesn’t explain why you’re here.”

“I was on my way home from the coast after another bombing mission when I was forced to bail out,” explained Kye.

“Bail out,” scoffed Jeremiah, “you mean you quit fighting!”

“It seemed like the thing to do at the time,” explained Kye. “I was outnumbered and outgunned. In fact, it was a miracle that I was able to shoot down the other fighters before ditching myself.”

“And do you believe in miracles?” asked Jeremiah.

“I do now,” laughed Kye. “I believe it was a miracle that you were able to build a house this high up in the trees for one thing.”

This seemed to amuse the old man, as a smile slowly spread across his face. “Let’s eat,” he said, his voice booming in the small cabin.

Sylvia brought two bowls of steaming stew to the table and set them down in front of the men, before returning to the pot to ladle another bowl for herself. After pouring each of them a glass of water she sat down at the table next to her grandfather.

Kye had never eaten rabbit stew before, but he had to admit it was delicious. Taking a piece of bread from the center of the table, he dipped it into the broth, meat and vegetables before taking a bite. He quickly decided to introduce his family to rabbit stew when he saw them again, if he ever saw them again.

“It’s delicious,” said Kye, in between mouthfuls of stew. “Thank you!”

“My mama taught me,” explained Sylvia, a twinkle of pride sparkling in her eyes.

After they’d finished eating, Sylvia cleaned the dishes from the table and then washed them in a small wash basin. When she was finished with her chores she kissed her grandfather on the cheek before turning to Kye and saying, “Good night mister.”

“Good night,” replied Kye, “sweet dreams.” The young girl reminded him of his daughters back home. He felt a sudden twinge of pain in his heart when he realized that he may never see them again.

“Care for a stogie?” asked Jeremiah, reaching across the table and handing Kye a cigar.

“Sure,” he said, accepting the cigar, “thanks.” Following the old man’s example, he bit one end off and lit the other. When the room began to fill with smoke, Jeremiah stood up and opened the windows and front door, allowing the smoke to escape the small confines of the cabin. A crisp breeze blew in through the door and out the window, bringing with it the sweet scent of pine needles.

The two men sat there in silence, enjoying their cigars and listening to the peaceful sounds of the forest below. Kye was about to break the silence and ask Jeremiah what had brought him out to the middle of the forest, when he heard the sound of metal clinking against metal. His hand froze with his cigar halfway to his mouth, as he strained his ears for any further sounds from below.

He listened intently for a few minutes and was about to take another puff from the cigar when he heard the sound again, only this time it was louder and much closer. Kye glanced across the table at Jeremiah, who was leaning back in his chair with his eyes closed and his cigar clenched between his teeth. Although a thin tendril of smoke still rose from the cigar, the old man appeared to be sleeping, his chest slowly rising and lowering with each breath that he took.

Kye placed his cigar in the makeshift ash tray sitting on the table in front of him and was about to stand up, when the old man’s voice stopped him dead in his tracks. “Stay where you are lad.”

Kye looked across the table at Jeremiah, whose eyes were still closed, and whispered, “I heard a noise below us.”

“As did I,” agreed Jeremiah, “but unless you want them to hear you making noise up here, I suggest that you remain sitting.”

“Them,” repeated Kye, “whose them?”

“Same fellers that were following you earlier,” replied Jeremiah, opening his eyes and removing the cigar from his mouth. He snubbed out the cigar in the ash tray and then did likewise with Kye’s, which still had smoke rising from its cherry. “They must have a pretty good tracker with ‘em to have found you all the way out here. When they realize that your tracks simply vanish into thin air, they’ll double back around and try to figure out what happened. They’re persistent little shits!”

“What are we going to do?” asked Kye, resting his hand on the butt of his gun.

“We’re gonna have a little midnight entertainment,” said Jeremiah, gently kicking the brown sack that he’d brought into the cabin with him. The contents of the sack began to move and a grin slowly spread across the old man’s face.

“What’s in the bag?”

“A little something that I like to call, snake surprise!” said Jeremiah, kicking the bag again.

Kye could hear the hissing inside the bag get louder and louder with each kick that Jeremiah delivered.

“Would you like to do the honors?” Jeremiah asked, as he stood up with the bag in hand.

“No, no thanks,” said Kye. He’d always had a fear of snakes and had no desire to hold a bag full of them, especially angry, hissing snakes.

Jeremiah picked up his rifle, as the two men stepped through the front door and out onto the porch. The cold night air felt crisp in Kye’s lungs. He took a deep breath of the fresh air and had to stifle a cough, lest he give away their position. The dark sky above was illuminated with thousands of bright stars while the moon appeared an ominous blood red.

The two men didn’t have to wait long before the Chinese troops returned. They could hear them making their way through the forest about ten minutes before they came into view. Kye held his breath and peered out over the edge of the railing. Directly beneath him, about sixty feet below, were more than a dozen Chinese soldiers.

It was easy to tell which soldier was the tracker, because he knelt down in the dirt next to where Kye’s tracks mysteriously ended. In the darkness it was hard to tell what the soldier was doing, as he ran his fingers over the tracks. He whispered something to his comrades and the other soldiers immediately began to fan out, their guns held high and ready.

“They think you’re wounded and hiding somewhere nearby,” Jeremiah whispered into Kye’s ear, startling him. “Watch this!”

Kye could hear the amusement in the old man’s voice, as he untied the string holding the large sack of snacks. He leaned out over the edge of the railing and turned the sack upside down. Jeremiah shook the sack and Kye watched as more than a dozen snacks slithered out from its opening and fell to the ground below.