Courage (11 page)

Donai laughed. “Gotta do what it takes to keep ‘em alive. Now for Rox.” He finished recording Aerigo’s vitals on a digital clipboard and turned to the girl.

“Damn it! Where’s my brain today?” Jenna circled Roxie’s gurney and took a look at the girl’s poisoned arm. “The main reason I went looking for you. Rox moved this hand.” She pointed to the swollen, bruised appendage.

Donai stared wide-eyed a moment, thinking. “Either it was an Aigis thing, or just a spasm. That arm looks too far gone to be optimistic, though.”

“So what now?”

Donai rounded the gurney and gave Roxie’s poisoned arm a good, long look. “Jenna, since you’re the Sensor of the team, would you mind staying behind to keep a constant vigil? Rox is in an advanced stage of the poisoning. Look at her eyelids.”

“She’s dreaming.”

He nodded. “And more than that. Keep up a regular injection of antivenin and corticosteroids. She’s still deep in the red. Page me if anything happens.”

Chapter 9

Roger finished ironing the last pleats into the left sleeve of his BDU, then donned the rest of his uniform, enjoying the warmth the iron generated. The sensation brought back memories of childhood, the mornings where he’d waited for his adoptive mother to finish ironing his clothes before he headed off to elementary school. It was a simple, comforting memory to have, and all the more cherished, since his sister had been alive then.

He fastened the last button and crossed to the modest bathroom of his dorm room stationed on the USAG Stuttgart base in Germany. His uniform looked to code, but his face still looked like he’d seen a ghost. He held out his hands in front of him. At least they weren’t shaking anymore. He left the bathroom and plopped himself in front of his MacBook on the other side of the dorm, then picked up the letter Baku had left him.

Roger--

Sorry to shock you once again, but I never actually took your physical body from Germany. I only moved your soul. I do suggest grabbing the soonest plane ticket to home you can find, so you can say goodbye to the rest of your family in person. You and your fellow soldiers don’t have much time left before I must mobilize you. Your family will give you the strength you need.

Take care.

--Baku

He flicked the letter aside and flipped open his computer, still unsure of what to think about what had happened to him.

If it was true, then his soul had spent hours away from his body, across the Atlantic. He could have sworn he’d physically been there. He had touched and felt the world around him, smelled the conference room’s stuffy air. There hadn’t been the slightest clue that he wasn’t there, that his body was still lying in bed in the middle of a German afternoon. It was almost night now on base.

Roger went online and bought a one-way ticket to D.C. that departed in four hours. Plenty of time. He closed his laptop and began packing. His motions were mechanical and swift thanks to his military training. All his shirts, pants and boxers were rolled, socks balled up, and toiletries tucked into their respective slots in a small zip-up bag. He stacked everything into his duffle bag, and packed his laptop, money, ID badges, and iPhone in a simple laptop bag that had two pockets. The only things he lacked were deployment papers from his NCO, but he’d already been emailed by the Sergeant to just hurry up and get his ass to where it belonged. Wherever that was. Apparently, according to Baku, it was in D.C. Hopefully his family wouldn’t make a big scene over his first time being bumped up to active duty.

Roger double-checked to make sure he had his phone, wallet and keys, then shut off all the lights and locked the door behind him. A few fellow soldiers marched along the barracks’ hallway, but paid him no mind. They had no clue what was going on.

Roger exited the barracks and followed his compulsion to head to the base chapel. He didn’t believe any of the organized religion crap--not one bit, be it Buddhism or Christianity, or anything in between. They all claimed to be the one true religion and had visions of total global religious domination, so why bother with any one of them? In the end they just wanted people’s money. Perhaps he could’ve just called or texted Mike, but he feared falling into a heated argument. Instead, he decided to go to the first church he came across.

He followed the lighted sidewalk across a tidy lawn dotted with pines and spruce. The sun was still setting shortly after seven, casting the base in beautiful shades of red, orange, and yellow. Straight ahead was a stout white chapel bathed in sunset colors. It had a giant wood cross just to the right of the mahogany double doors.
So Christian it is. Whatever.

Once he reached the double doors, he checked behind him to see if anyone was watching. Of course no one was. Nobody cared who went to church when. Even he never gave the chapel a second thought when he passed it. But for some reason Roger felt like he was committing a taboo by entering a place he hated in hopes of finding solace.

Roger pushed one of the doors, and it swung open with a wooden groan. He slipped inside and closed the door behind him, then put his back to it. The seven ’o’ clock mass was going on. He purposely thunked his head on the door, kicking himself for forgetting. A few people turned to glance at him, but other than that, no one paid him any heed, not even the preacher. The pews full of heads devotedly looked forward at the modest altar and the female pastor, who wore a dress suit and had a Bible tucked under one arm.

The last thing he wanted to do was sit in on a brainwashing session. But still, he felt like there was something here he needed--not faith, or a newfound love for religion, but something else. He’d been an atheist for so many years, and now he’d met God in person. Not even the best-trained soldier could mentally brush that off, even if they still didn’t believe Baku was who he’d said he was. There’d been an undeniable energy about Baku, something godly or whatever that exuded a sense of peace. But there’d been waves of anxiety mixed in, anxiety that hadn’t been his own.

Roger took a seat on the floor in one corner of the back of the church and put his phone on silent. He resisted the temptation to take out his laptop or put on headphones. No one had shooed him out of the church, and he felt it appropriate to let these people enjoy their brainwashing session in peace. Why bother going out of his way to be rude? They weren’t harming anyone sitting in those pews.

Someone let out a low
psst
and Roger looked up. A woman in her BDU waved him over to the very last pew and patted the space next to her. Roger shook his head and tuned out the sermon.

* * *

At around 7:30, the flock rose from their pews and filed out of the church. Roger got to his feet, eyeing everyone warily. Again, no one paid him any mind, not even the lady who’d beckoned him to the pew. Roger headed for the altar, more specifically the preacher lady, who was placing her Bible atop a wooden bookrest. He stopped at the foot of the dais and waited to be noticed.

The preacher, a short Hispanic lady with black hair gelled to her head and tied back in a twirl, glanced at him. “You, sir, look anything but relaxed.” Her voice lacked a Spanish accent, instead sounding like she was from New York. She carried herself like a tough girl out of a rough neighborhood as she circled around the altar and stood before him on the carpeted dais.

Roger straightened up, but kept his feet spread as if he were standing at ease.

“Do you need a confession or something? This is the Protestant church, not the--”

“No, ma’am. I--” He sighed. “I don’t really do the whole religion thing.”

“But yet you’re here,” she said with a raised eyebrow.

“But yet I’m here,” he agreed. He sighed again and thought a moment. The church was totally silent when they didn’t talk. The silence filled Roger with sense of being watched--not by anything scary, but a big, invisible pair of eyes from above and behind the altar. He knew it was just his childhood expectations acting up, but he couldn’t seem to dismiss the feeling. “I guess... I guess I want some answers, or something. I don’t really know why I’m here. I just felt a need to come.”

“Well let’s sit down then.” She gestured to the first pew. “I’m Officer Garza, by the way.”

“Corporal Alcadere.” They shook hands and took a seat. Roger plopped his belongings on the floor next to his feet.

“Are you related to the President?”

“Yes, ma’am. Just his nephew, though.”

“That doesn’t matter,” the preacher said with a shake of her head.

“I apologize. Reflex reaction.”

“No problem. So what’s up?”

Roger studied the contours of his duffle bag, seeing if he could tell which layer was what item of clothing. The bulges of the green nylon yielded no answers. “May I just be frank?”

“Go ahead.”

“I’m an atheist, but I met God, and he asked me and the other soldiers to fight for him. Do you believe me so far?”

Garza stared at him with both eyebrows raised. Roger couldn’t tell what she was thinking and that frightened him. “I think so. Go on.”

He leaned back in the pew and folded his arms protectively in front of his chest. “I agreed to fight for him--not because he asked me to, but because I believe it is the right thing to do. To serve and protect our country, and apparently the whole world.”

Garza smiled. “You should read the Sermon on the Mount. I think you’d like it. A chunk of the Bible is spent explaining the right and wrong ways to spread the word of God. For you, by choosing to do what is right because you wish to do what’s right is doing the will of God.”

“But I’m not doing God’s will. I’m just doing what’s right.”

“And by that, you do God’s will, believer or no. Contrary to common belief, you don’t have to be a believer to carry out God’s will.”

Roger looked at Garza. “I don’t want to do ‘God’s will,’” he said, making quotes with his fingers. “I live life for me, my family, and my country; not invisible people who claim to see all and know all. Why does every good thing I do have to be claimed as what some invisible man wants me to do?” Baku had denied seeing and knowing all, but Roger found it hard to dismiss such a preconceived notion, even though he was glad it was wrong.

“I thought you said you met God in person.”

“I did! Well--” Roger sighed yet again. This was all so frustrating. Part of him wanted to storm out, but the other part of him wanted Garza to see things his way. “He
asked
me to participate in this war. He didn’t say ‘Roger, I’m sending you off to go fight and die ‘cause that’s what I want you to do.’ He explained the situation and left it up to us to decide, then talked some things out with me one-on-one.”

“That’s amazing,” Garza said, no sarcasm in her voice.

Roger recoiled. “Wait, you believe me?”

“Of course. God usually speaks more subtly, but you make it sound as if you were face-to-face and having a verbal exchange.”

Roger looked away and studied the altar and its religious adornments. Why
had
Baku made an exception to his usual behavior and shown himself? It couldn’t be just because he was so skeptical of Baku’s existence. Was he expecting every last one of them to die and decided it didn’t matter if he broke character?

“Whoa, steady there,” Garza said, snatching his upper arm.

Roger felt lightheaded. He leaned against the pew and concentrated on taking deep breaths. Death wasn’t entirely frightening. What happened after death was unknown, but everyone died in the end, so there wasn’t any point in fearing it. What made him feel lightheaded were all the implications behind a god showing his face to select people around the world. So many things would change if society believed him and the rest of the soldiers. They just had to compete with people who believed they were either Jesus or the Devil incarnate, or some other religious figure, along with all the fanaticism that tarnished organized religion. “I’m fine,” he said, barely managing to squeeze the words out. “I just wish I knew what drove me to come here.”

Garza let go. “Confusion, it seems,” she said. “I used to be an atheist myself.”

Roger looked at her, wide-eyed.

“I was young and thought I knew everything. Believing in something I’ve never seen or felt was a stupid idea, so I stayed home while my parents went to church. But around age fifteen, one of my grandmothers died, and--you’ll either believe this or you won’t--” Garza’s voice tightened “--I saw her standing in my mother’s flower garden while I was doing homework on the back porch.”

“You weren’t just seeing things you wanted to see?” Roger would have loved to see the ghost of his sister, to see her smile one more time, maybe even laugh and wave to him. But he got nothing of the sort. Just a silent, emotionless gravestone, along with a hole in his heart.

Garza shook her head. “It was a tiny garden squished into a quad of an apartment complex. That garden was the last place I expected to see a ghost, much less the ghost of my grandmother. But what’s even stranger is that whatever photo with her in it would always be found crooked or out of alignment with what surrounded it. My family and I took it as a sign that she was still with us. I couldn’t help but question what I thought I knew after that.”

Roger could do nothing but nod. What could he say to that? He believed her, and now he wished his sister had left him some sort of sign that she was well and still with him and the rest of the family. His parents were still faithful to Christianity, but they’d never reported any strange sights or events. “I believe you,” he said softly.

“Thank you. Should I get you some water or food? You still look rather pale.”

“No, ma’am.” He faced the pastor again. “I just need my brain to stop running in circles.”

“I’m not sure how to help you, other than knock you unconscious, but I don’t think that’s going to help.” Garza gave him a wry smile.

Roger laughed softly. “The whole believer-nonbeliever thing isn’t what’s bothering me, I guess. I don’t do organized religion, but at the same time I don’t care if other people do, so long as they don’t go on murderous crusades in the name of one invisible entity or another, and don’t put me down for being an atheist.”