I leveled the rifle at my friend and thought: ten is too young an age to die.
The woods were warm and muggy, and the mosquitoes feasted in the slathers of sweat on my neck and arms, but I stayed quiet, determined to see this through. The summer sun was high, buried inside of the leafy canopy. In my new moccasins, I felt like a Cherokee warrior tiptoeing through scratchy underbrush to ambush the enemy. Only the day before Paul was on my side, my partner even, but now there he was, unarmed and crouching beside the raspberry bush, hiding from me, knowing he was as good as dead.
The butt of the rifle felt cold against my cheek, and the splintery parts—where I had carved “Teddy” into the wood with my pocketknife—stabbed my skin. Still, I was so quiet. I stopped once, when a twig crunched underfoot, but Paul didn’t hear it. No surprise. When he was on my side, he’d say: “I’ll be your eyes.” Poor kid had such awful hearing. Made me feel almost guilty to kill him, the skin and bones that he was, beneath that oversized white Cubs jersey. Three more steps, I thought. Just so there is no dispute.
So quiet.
Crack! Crack, crack, crack!
The shots rang out. Paul leapt to his feet and ran.
“You missed me,” he shouted, laughing nervously.
“No way, man,” I yelled at him.
I knew he’d do that. Did he honestly think my aim was that bad? He was dead. I knew it; he knew it. But I chased him anyway. Paul was fast, I’ll give him that, and he cleared Shit’s Creek in a single stride—not a splash. Then he darted up the hill, a steep grade, grabbing slender tree trunks, leafy bushes, anything to quicken his climb.
“Hey, out of bounds,” I shouted. The hill pushed back on me somehow, and made me fight for every step. Roots snagged my ankle. A thorny bush sliced open my palm. I arrived at the top, broken and breathless, with no trace of Paul.
“Teddy?”
His voice rang, like an echo in a dream, from some dark place through thicker woods. I tiptoed, still the Cherokee, but not so much the warrior—my shaky breath giving me away to hidden enemies. Furious wings took to the skies above. A rustle to my right: a rabbit bounded in panicked zigzags. They smell danger, I thought. They’re fleeing.
“Teddy, come quick.”
The desperation in his whispered voice made me queasy. Men shouted in the distance amid the waning howl of plane propellers. The air tasted of real gunpowder: sulfur and pee, maybe. I pulled my cap gun to my nose, but now it just smelled like a toy. Paul’s voice hauled me in, my feet moving, my vision blurred. The leaves shook a thousand miles above, patches of clear blue sky poking through—a gentler world sat above these woods, but a war lurked afoot.
Then I saw the cave, and Paul’s voice escaped it like a bullet: “In here, Teddy.”
I passed through an inky threshold, thick and cold, my lame rifle perched hopefully on my shoulder. Then the thin pink band of dawn broke. Twin-prop planes roared overhead in a moonlit sky, toward the rising day. The grass reached for me like yearning arms of the dead, waist-high there in the clearing.
“Don’t kill me,” he whispered, pleading.
It was Paul, a stone’s throw away. I could hardly see him standing there wrapped in the night—just a vague torso resting on black stalks, eyes wide and bright as his jersey.
“Where are we?” I asked, not at all expecting an answer. Paul took in a pained, stuttered breath.
I lowered my rifle and turned. Vegetation crawled toward the darkness. The last of the planes passed overhead. Radio chatter laced the hidden spots behind Paul. Then I heard them shouting. Now, now, now! Bombs whistled through the air, slicing across the pink stripe of morning, one after another after another. When they struck the ground, it was like dad had taken me by the shoulders to force some good sense into me. The world was quaking and Paul was crying now—covering his ears. This he could hear.
Rifle slung over my shoulder, I ran to him and shouted over the rage.
“I’ve got you, Paul!”
“We’re gonna die,” he said, surrendering tears.
“I’m armed,” I said through grated teeth as I swung my toy gun around my body. “Let’s make for the woods that way. Stay low and I’ll cover you. I’m gonna get you out of this!”
Bent knees, covered ears, Paul kept his head below deck. But not me. I stood tall and aimed my rifle at the horizon where I could see men running our way, battle-hardened silhouettes rising from a low-hanging fog. Maybe they were good guys, who knows? I made Paul a promise, and I couldn’t take any chances. I fired, and the rifle jolted my body backward, sulfur spitting at my face. The men disappeared into the grass, but I heard them yelling, pursuing.
I chased after Paul. The trees were near, bombs whistling behind, elephant grass cutting at my arms and legs. Boots hit the hard ground behind us by the thousands. Bullets sheared the grass around me, but I kept my eyes on Paul, praying he’d stay on his feet and his jersey would stay white and pure.
We crossed the tree line, into a cold threshold that gave us both a shiver. The cave set us free, back into the woods, where the blue sky waited just beyond the leaves. Paul looked at me through sweaty, tearful eyes.
“Are we partners again, Teddy?”
I slung my rifle over his shoulder.
“Always, Paul.”
The faraway cry of twin-prop planes hid beyond a breeze. Soldiers’ shouts faded into another place, chasing after an enemy unseen.
“I’ll be your ears.”
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