North of the River

"Is the water from the fountain?" he asked.

"Uh huh," she said. "This one is for cooking. If you need canteen water I'll boil you up some more later."

"Thanks," he said, sitting in one of the chairs and setting his rifle down.

He watched curiously as she carried the dead seagull over to the boiling water and, holding it by the neck, submerged it in the water. She held it there for a few seconds and then took it out, shaking it a few times to get the excess liquid off of it. She then sat down in the other chair and pulled a small garbage can over so it was between her legs. She began to pluck the seagull, her ragged fingers pulling the feathers out in clumps. "The hot water makes the feathers come out easier," she explained when she noticed his interest. "And then, once it's cleaned, I can boil it up in the pot."

"Where did you learn to do that?" he asked. There weren't many modern teenagers who would know the cleaning procedure for a seagull. "Did you grow up on a farm or something?"

She rolled her eyes to the ceiling. "As if," she replied. "Before the war I was the daughter of a lawyer living in a house overlooking the river. I was in the most popular clique in a private high school. I had my own Jetta and I was dating a pre-med student in his second year at WSU. And now look at me. I'm plucking a fuckin' seagull so I can fend off starvation for another day. The only reason I know how to do this is I went on a mission for my church once down to Nicaragua and saw how the poor people fixed their chickens. I never thought I would have to do it myself."

"What happened to your parents?" he asked.

"Dead," she said simply. "About two weeks ago, when everything started to go to shit here and the chinks started blowing everything up along the river with artillery, our house got hit. The shell came down right in my parents' bedroom."

"Do you have any other family?"

"My grandparents are in Bend. I was going to go live with them but I was never able to get across the river. First, all of our tanks and trucks were coming across the bridges to hold off the chinks. And then they all started to go back in the other direction. And then, when they started evacuating the citizens across I was too scared to go. The chinks were shelling people as they tried to leave." She shrugged. "I guess I thought it was safer to stay."

"Well... you're still alive," he said. "Maybe you made the right decision."

She shrugged again. "How much longer will I be alive?" she asked. "Am I supposed to wait out the rest of the war right here?"

"When the chinks get across the river the fighting will move further south," he said. "There will just be an occupying force here. No more bombing and shelling -- at least not like it is now."

"Will they get across the river?" she asked. "The last news reports I heard said we were going to stop them here."

Now it was his turn to shrug. It was a bitter gesture. "I don't think anything is going to stop them," he opined. "There's so fucking many of them. I've watched them take every position we've held, every city we've tried to save. They swarm over us like army ants. We kill thousands of them on foot, we blow up hundreds of their tanks with the AT-9s and with our own tanks, and they still keep coming. We hardly have a chance to dig in and take a stand against them before they're overrunning us. And when their tanks and foot soldiers aren't advancing, their helicopters and their arty and their airplanes pound the shit out of us. They drop napalm on us. They drop cluster bombs on us. They strafe us with their choppers." He shook his head. "The Columbia is a big river, but I don't think it's going to stop them."

She shook her head sadly. "This fucking war," she said. "Why the hell didn't we nuke them when we had the chance?"

"Because we never thought they would get this far," he said. "We could've annihilated China, India, and Japan back in the beginning without them being able to annihilate us back, but we didn't do it. No one wanted to make the decision to do it. And now we can't. They have all those Russian nukes under their control now. The first time someone fires off a nuke, it's holocaust city."

"And is this better?" she asked. "Destroying every city they go through. Killing hundreds of thousands with tanks and machine guns and airplanes instead of nukes?"

"I don't know," he said. "I don't even care anymore. I'm just a foot soldier, some stupid ass kid who thought it would be static to sign up for the army and go kill some chinks for my country. How old are you, seventeen?"

"I turned eighteen two months ago," she said, somewhat huffily.

"Well, I'm not much older than you. I was in high school this time last year, starting to think about where I wanted to go to college."

She smiled nostalgically at his words. "I remember what that was like," she said whimsically. "I was gonna get a cheerleading scholarship, can you believe that?"

He looked at her. Despite the dirt on her face and the filth on her clothes, despite the tangled mess that was her hair, he could tell she was a very pretty girl, far prettier than any he had ever touched. She was the epitome of the high school elite. "Yeah," he said with a smile. "I can believe it."

"What about you?" she asked. "What were your plans?"

"Computer systems engineering," he said.

She raised her eyebrows at the mention of this. "You mean you were a... a..."

"A nerd," he said. "About as nerdy as they come. I was captain of the chess team, founder of the computer club. I used to carry a PDA with me to class. Beer used to make me throw up. The only time I ever smoked pot I had an allergic reaction to it. The only girls who would have anything to do with me were the ones who wanted me to do their math homework for them."

"Wow," she said, trying to equate the image of the former Conner and the present one. "You seem so... so... un-nerdy now."

"Six months on the line will do that to you," he said. "I feel like I'm forty years old now. Like I've seen everything, done everything a man can do." He shook his head. "It's not really a good feeling, you know?"

"Yeah," she said, plucking another clump of feathers free. "I know."

When she got the last of the feathers free from the bird she reached inside one of the desk drawers and pulled out a large butcher knife. She chopped off the bird's head and neck. "This is the gross part," she said with a wince. She then forced her small hand through the hole in the top and began to pull out the guts of the bird, dropping them in the garbage can. Conner watched her impassively, unable to be disgusted by bird entrails. He had seen too many human entrails lately. At last, she pronounced the bird clean and dropped it into the pot of boiling water. She adjusted the propane flow a bit and then covered the pot with a lid.

"How long will it take?" Conner asked her.

"About two hours," she said. "Think you can wait that long?"

"I think I'll make it," he replied, stifling a yawn. "Do you mind if I... uh... kind of nod off for a while? It's been a few days since I got any sleep."

"Go right ahead," she said. "Do you want me to wake you up when the bird is done?"

"Yeah," he said. "I'm looking forward to a home cooked meal."

She laughed and started to say something else, but before it could come out of her mouth Conner was half asleep in his chair.

"Here," she said, reaching under the bench and pulling out a sleeping bag and some blankets. "Go ahead and lay down here."

"I couldn't," he said, eyeing the sleeping bag like it was a feather bed. "I'm filthy."

"You're no dirtier than I am. Go ahead. I insist."

"Well," he said, standing, "if you insist."

The rumpled sleeping bag and pillow was the most comfortable surface he'd laid on in the past month. This time unconsciousness did not just creep up on him, it assaulted him. Within three minutes he was snoring loudly, his rifle curled up next to him.

+++++

Her hand on his shoulder brought him awake. He sat up suddenly, going instantly from deep sleep to full alertness, his hands snatching up his rifle, his eyes tracking for trouble. He felt his heart hammering alarmingly in his chest as it went from 56 beats a minute to 130. Maddie was the only person in the room, her blue eyes wide and startled.

"Jeez," she said, a little defensively. "I didn't mean to scare you or nothing. I just thought you'd better eat."

He took a few breaths, allowing himself to calm down. The ability to wake in an instant was something he'd developed in his first week of combat, something he feared would stick with him forever, even if he did somehow manage to survive the war. "Sorry," he told her. "Sometimes you have to... you know... jump up and start shooting when you're on the line."

"It's okay," she said. "You just scared me a little."

Outside, the sound of artillery shells, jet aircraft, helicopter gunships, and muted explosions went on and on. But there was something about the quality of the light coming in from the window that didn't seem quite right. It was too dim. And then there was the fact that he felt almost rested, a sensation he hadn't been familiar with in quite some time. "How long was I asleep?" he asked.

She gave him a sheepish smile. "Almost ten hours," she told him.

"Ten hours?" he asked incredulously. He hadn't had ten hours of sleep at a stretch since before leaving his parent's home in Omaha.

"I know I shoulda woke you up when the bird was done, but you were, like, way asleep. You were snoring and everything. You seemed like you needed to sleep more than you needed to eat so I... you know... just ate the bird myself and then went out and got you another one a couple hours ago."

"You mean... you left here and then came back... and I never woke up?" He wouldn't have thought that even possible, so attuned was he to the sound of nearby movement.

"You didn't even move," she said. "You stayed in the same position the whole time."

"Damn," he said wonderingly. "I really must've been tired."

"Your bird is done now though," she said brightly. She picked up a plastic plate with a skinned and boiled seagull sitting atop it. "And I boiled up some fresh water for you too."

He smiled, putting the rifle over his shoulder. "Thanks, Maddie," he told her. "But... uh... before I eat, I kinda have to... you know... use the latrine."

"The latrine?" she said, confused for a moment. Suddenly, she brightened. "Oh, you mean the bathroom." She then blushed. "I've uh... like... just been using... uh... the manager's office across the hall. There's not an actual toilet or anything in there, so you have to... you know?"

"Go on the floor?"

She nodded. "It's kind of... uh... messy in there."

"Believe me, it can't be worse than some of the places we've had to use on the line. Which way?"

She pointed and he got up, leaving the security office and walking across the hall. He opened the door and the smell of latrine hit him immediately. He found an unused corner and took care of his business. When he returned, Maddie was still blushing, obviously embarrassed at what he'd seen in there. He thought about offering some reassuring words to her but thought better of it. Deep down inside he was still an awkward teenager from the computer club and she was a member of the high school elite. He had killed hundreds of chinks, survived everything they could throw at him, and had become about as hardened a combat veteran as a man could become, but he still had very little experience with girls. He sat down in one of the chairs and put his rifle on his lap.

"Here you go," she said, handing him the plate. "I'm sorry there aren't any... like... knives or forks or anything."

He shrugged. "I guess you won't get as much of a tip then, will you?"

That earned him another smile. He returned it and then dug into the bird.

The meat was every bit as greasy, foul tasting, stringy, and tough as she'd promised. But it was food, something his body was crying out for, and he ate it gladly, peeling long strips from it and sticking them into his mouth by the handful. He chomped and chewed aggressively for the better part of twenty minutes, destroying the breast, both legs, and the wings. He would have gone after the meat on the underside as well but Maddie warned him it was unpalatable.

"Thank you, Maddie," he told her as she wrapped the remains in a plastic bag for later disposal. "That was the best goddamn seagull I've ever had."

She giggled. "I aim to please," she told him.

The light was nearly gone from the sky now, imparting a dim duskiness to the former security office. Conner left the desk seat and settled down on the floor, his back against the wall. He yawned, surprised to find he was still tired. Maybe seagull meat had that same natural sedative that turkey meat had. Anything was possible, wasn't it? Maddie settled against the wall across from him, her tennis shoe clad feet nearly touching his.

"How long will that go on?" she asked, nodding towards the window, where the sound of explosions and artillery shells continued.

"For a while," he told her. "Two or three days maybe. The chinks are gonna pound the shit out every defensive position they can identify south of the river. They'll hit them with arty, strafe them with helicopters, and drop napalm on them with planes. They'll want to kill as many of us as they can before they try crossing the river."

"It must be horrible," she said, shaking her head.

"It's not a picnic," he agreed. "I'm sitting here wondering if I'm actually safer on this side of the river."

"So what happens now?" she asked him. "What are you going to do?"

"I've kind of been avoiding thinking about that," he said.

"Sorry."

"It's okay," he assured her. "I guess maybe I have to. I can't stay here forever. You can't either. Even if the chinks don't find you in here, you're not gonna be able to go on living off seagulls for very long. You'll get scurvy. And eventually, someone's gonna come along and blow this building up on general principals."

She looked a little frightened at this thought, which obviously hadn't occurred to her.

"Anyway, I'm sure I've been listed as MIA by now, that they've sent my parents the email explaining I'm just another soldier presumed killed or captured in the pullback from Vancouver. The army has already written me off." He shrugged. "They won't miss me much. The army that is, not my parents. They're probably worried sick about me, wondering if I'm dead or on my way to some chink POW camp."

"My grandparents are probably wondering the same thing," she said. "Is there any way to get out of here? To get back to our own side?"

"Not to the south," he said. "All the bridges across the Columbia have been blown. If the chinks push across they'll put up pontoon bridges once they secure a bridgehead on the other side, but I don't think they'll be letting us walk across them. It's a little too cold and a little too far across to swim, and even if we tried, either the chinks on the north side or our guys on the south side would just pot us out of the water anyway."

"So we're stuck here?" she asked. "Behind the lines?"

"That depends," he said, an idea starting to occur to him.

"On what?"

"On how well you know how to climb mountains."

"Mountains?" she asked. "What do you mean?"

"The chinks are driving down a narrow corridor," he explained. "They're contained between the Cascades and the ocean. As they move further and further south, they leave a few reinforced battalions behind to seal up each pass through those mountains to keep us from hitting their supply lines and getting forces in their rear. We're guarding the other side of each of those passes to keep them contained in their corridor. If we can get to the other side of the Cascades, we'll be back in friendly territory. But the only way we'll be able to do that is to stay well away from the passes. That means going over the mountains in the most impassible place possible, where it's completely inconceivable that any vehicles could get through. There won't be many troops guarding a place like that. Probably not any, just random helicopter sweeps."

"How long would it take to do something like that?" she asked.

"This is your home," he said. "You tell me."

She ran the geography of the state down in her head. "It would take a long time," she finally concluded. "A few weeks, I think, if we're just walking."

"That's about what I figured," he said. "And I'll add on a few more weeks because we won't just be strolling along. We'll have to hide and slink and move mostly at night. Hell, I'm not even sure we'll be able to get out of Vancouver without getting captured. And even before we try it, we're gonna have to secure enough food and warm clothing to carry us through. We're not talking a cakewalk here."

"No, it doesn't sound like it."

"You might not want to come with me," he said. "I have to get out of here. Or I have to try at least. I'm a soldier and if they find me they'll either kill me outright or send me to some fucking POW camp for the rest of the war. You're a civilian caught in an occupied area. I don't imagine it's a lot of fun living under chink occupation, but you might stand a better chance of living through the war if you stay put."

"No," she said immediately. "I'm going with you."

He smiled again, feeling warmth inside, but also a fear -- fear at being responsible, fear at being a failure in front of such a beautiful girl. "Okay then," he told her. "At first light tomorrow we'll start thinking about a way to get our hands on some supplies. How does that sound?"

"That sounds static," she said, beaming. "In the meantime, though, we're about to lose the last of the light. I'm gonna get some sleep, if that's all right."

"By all means," he said. "I think I'll do the same. I know I just slept all day, but I still feel like crashing out."

She took off her heavy jacket, revealing a flannel shirt beneath that was only marginally cleaner. She kicked off her tennis shoes and then unzipped her sleeping bag, folding it all the way back. She lay down on her back and pulled the blankets over herself. She looked up at him as he unzipped his tattered boots and kicked them off. When he started to head towards the far corner of the room, she asked, "Where are you going?"

"Just over here," he said. "Hopefully I won't snore too loud."

"It gets, like, really cold in here at night," she said. "Why don't you share the blankets with me? You'll be a lot warmer."

He felt himself blushing. Was she actually offering to let him... let him sleep with her? In her bed? "Uh... well... uh, that's okay," he said. "My BDUs are pretty warm. I've been sleeping outside all winter."

"I would be a lot warmer too," she said softly, her eyes bright and inviting. "Please?"

He swallowed, all of his high school awkwardness flooding back to him, his brain screaming at him to just leave, that this was some sort of a cruel setup, a practical joke precipitated by one of the jocks, a joke that would end with his underwear around his neck or his head in a toilet. But another part, a part that had faced battle, that had seen many of those same jocks blown to pieces because they were too big and too clumsy and too dumb to survive, that part gave him the confidence he needed. "Well," he said, "if you really want me to."

"I really want you to," she said, pulling the blankets back and patting the space next to her.

He set his rifle down on the ground next to the bed and then unclipped his web gear, shucking it off. With it went his extra magazine (which only had 13 rounds in it), his two frag grenades, his canteen, his first aid kit, and his radio with the dead battery. He set it next to the rifle. He then unzipped his BDU jacket, shrugging it off and setting it on the desk where he'd eaten earlier. He winced a little as he caught a whiff of the odor his body was giving off and wondered for a moment if he should put the jacket back on to cover it.