“Now what?” asked Ronnie.
“That all you do is ask dumb questions?”
Ronnie looked back and blinked as if to confirm the answer.
Kirby, used to his dense friend and giving the orders, said, “First, give me back my knife.”
Ronnie did so, returning it handle first.
Kirby turned to the far end of the shell hole, sheathed the blade, and pointed towards the desert. “Go back up and fetch your pack. We need a blanket and supplies. But before you go, give me some water.”
Ronnie put away his own knife and unclipped his water carrier before tossing it to Kirby. Not waiting, following instructions, Ronnie climbed out of the shell hole.
Kirby returned to the unconscious woman. Still kneeling, he grabbed her left shoulder and rolled her face up, eliciting a groan in response. Eyes still closed, bruised, filthy, chin covered in dried blood, with her mouth hanging open, he noticed a missing tooth. But through it all, he found her somewhat pretty.
Although alive, Kirby wasn’t sure of the extent of her injuries. He reached down and pushed her left eyelid open. A blood shot eye, the ball rolled back, greeted him, and he let go. Head trauma, he suspected. Maybe a bad concussion. Knocked out cold. Not sure what he was doing, he twisted open the hydration system and poured a small trickle of water into the corner of the woman’s mouth. At first, she didn’t respond, and then, involuntarily, a tongue emerged. It flicked at the liquid. Kirby poured a little more, most of it dripping away, but through cracked lips, her tongue re-emerged. Then he spotted her name tag. It read “McMichael.”
A pack landed nearby causing Kirby to jump. A second later, Ronnie emerged and, bending down, he pulled out a blanket.
Still on a knee, Kirby snatched the fabric from his buddy, wetted a corner, and used it to wipe the woman’s face. As the grime and blood came off, beyond the scratches and a missing tooth, he found her even more attractive. But for a reason he couldn’t fathom, anger welled. He turned back to his friend and pointed towards the woman’s feet. “I think she’s hurt in the head. Take off her boots and socks.”
Ronnie paused for a moment, as if confused, and then with a shrug followed orders. He unlaced her boots and pulled them off one by one. Next, he removed her socks and tossed them aside.
Kirby finished wiping the woman’s face and rolled up the blanket. He lifted her head, placing the material underneath acting as a pillow. Cushioned by the cloth, she moved her head back and forth, but didn’t regain consciousness. Satisfied she remained out, Kirby shifted his gaze downward and pointed at her belt. “We gotta search her. Help me take off her combat belt, pants, and shirt.”
“We gonna strip her?” asked Ronnie, a smile appearing.
Still pointing at the woman, Kirby explained, “This here’s an enemy combatant that we ourselves done captured. We gonna be heroes. First, we gotta do a thorough search. So yeah, to do it right, I figure we need to undress her. It’ll make it easier. Find out if she got weapons or secret orders. She might be carrying contraband. Help me get her pants off.”
“Got it,” replied Ronnie, and he bent over and undid her belt and the cinches on her combat pants. Afterward, both men stood and together they grabbed the woman’s pant legs and pulled hard. They had to tug twice, and on the second try, the woman lifted her head and let out a loud groan before dropping down. With blood trickling down her outstretched legs, naked from the waist down, neither Kirby nor Ronnie took notice. Instead, holding her pants between them, together they stared at a tuft of dark hair.
“She damn sure is a woman,” said Ronnie.
Kirby, his anger growing at the sight, shook his head. “She’s the enemy. You gotta remember why we’re fighting these people.”
“They done killed our vice president,” said Ronnie, his eyes drinking in the view.
“Yeah…” Kirby agreed, “…but that’s just a start. See, these people ain’t right. We and them is different as night from day. You said it earlier, that’s why we’re fighting. In fact, these people aren’t really people at all. Now they may be human, walk upright and all, but they sure as hell ain’t people.”
“Then what is they?” asked Ronnie, still ogling.
Kirby stopped and stared at the exposed woman. Dark hair protruded from between her legs, and he licked his lips. He’d try to explain. “They’s the enemy. Not human as God willed it, because they don’t think right. They got an affliction. A true malady. Like this gal right here…” he pointed at the naked form and continued, “…she ain’t no woman like we know. Not a real woman ’t all. Most likely a lesbo, or a Muslim, maybe both. They condone, celebrate, and tolerate all that heathen crap. Damn well bet she ain’t a Christian. And what the hell do they have women out here fighting for? We stopped that years ago. It’s uncivilized.”
Kirby paused in his tirade and dropped his hand. He spat off to the side and glowered at the female splayed before him. In growing anger, he continued to explain, “She might be an atheist. You know, the ROAS is full of them. Most of ’em are. No, they ain’t got any good human qualities ’t all. More like animals.” Kirby stopped for a moment when another thought struck him. “That’s the whole reason we split away from them years ago. But now we’re back, because it’s our Manifest Destiny. It’s our birthright to keep our country strong, spread liberty, and reunify the United States. And this thing lying here, with her legs spread to God and country, well, she ain’t right. None of ’em are.”
Ronnie, gazing at the woman, said, “Damn straight.” As if snapping from a spell, he looked up and asked, “Now what?”
Above, the sky had turned almost black. Looking up at the gathering darkness then back down at the half-naked body, Kirby felt a strange desire mixed with anger. “We ain’t got much time. You search her pants. I’ve gotta find out if she’s hiding something inside herself. Maybe contraband. Then, like we do with cigarettes, I’ll share and give you a turn to look.”
Ronnie looked at his buddy with a cocked head and watched Kirby unbuckle. Not saying a word, Ronnie seemed to understand and stepped back to rifle the woman’s pants and wait his opportunity.
Belt loosened, on his knees, Kirby maneuvered in front of the prostrate female. With Ronnie and the pipe at his back, Kirby stared at the helpless woman in disgust. Anger and want mingled together. Red in the face, Kirby dropped his pants. Between outstretched legs her nakedness beckoned, and the sight increased his anger. He told himself she was a slut, an enemy, and he hadn’t a choice. What came next was her fault. With the back of his hand, he pushed her legs farther apart. A groan came in response. The reaction caught him off guard, and his anger intensified. She had no right to protest. It was time to show her. For leverage, he gripped her left ankle and used it to raise her leg. The higher he lifted, the more he hated and lusted.
Heart racing, holding her ankle above his shoulder, it took a moment for Kirby to register a peculiar gurgling sound coming from behind. Distracted, he turned and saw a nightmare. Ronnie was staggering, his throat slit from ear to ear. From the fatal wound, crimson blood squirted in long arches matching the beat of a dying heart. Before he could react, his friend collapsed into a heap.
Horrified, Kirby dropped the woman’s leg. In a single panicked move, he tried to stand and spin to face the threat, but his pants tangled around his ankles and he fell. Before he landed, someone was on his back driving him to the ground. Pinned, he tried to breathe, when he detected a punch to the ribs, then another, and he wheezed. More punches, one after the other, and pain ripped through his soul. He wheezed again emitting a misty cloud of blood. The punching and pain seemed to last forever and, despite his efforts, he felt himself starting to drift away. With a jolt he was wide awake. One last attempt to live! Panicked, he kicked his feet and struggled. Then he saw it emerge from the darkness. Terrified by the specter wearing a robe and white hood from the past, a moment later it reached out and pulled him into the eternal night.