The heat hammered down on Sanchez’s shoulders as he crept through the jungle, rifle at his side. Ahead, the old shack’s broken windows gaped like toothless mouths in rotting wooden walls.
The rest of his troop had already combed this area, clearing it of any remaining rebels. But there could still be armed stragglers left behind.
Moving carefully, he eased into the shack, senses on high alert. An attack could come at any time, from anywhere. Slowly, slowly, into the heavy, cloying shadows, until he heard the dense buzzing of flies, smelled that awful, familiar, coppery stench.
He found the couple in the bedroom. They lay entwined in their own blood and fluids, riddled with bullets, their bloodied faces painted in silent screams of terror.
Sanchez laid down his rifle and sank tiredly onto his haunches, his movements thick and heavy. This damned war, he thought to himself. It turns man against man. It makes monsters of us. We murder the innocent, and the Devil laughs among the graves.
He felt the hairs on his neck stiffen. Something else was here with him.
There was a wild shriek and a screaming, flailing bundle of fury fell onto his back from the rafters above. Sanchez lost his balance and pitched forwards. As he rolled to the side, he got a glimpse of brown limbs, a tattered white dress speckled with blood.
He scrambled to one knee. Madre Dios, a girl. Matted hair, wild eyes in a dirty, tear-stained face —
He caught the glint of the knife as she flung it at his eyes. Twisting sharply away, he just managed to evade the blade. It thudded into the wall behind him.
The girl crouched before him, a child really, panting like an animal, vibrating with fear, an unspeakable trauma in her eyes. Sanchez shuddered. Her parents. She must have seen…
Holding up his hands, he spoke softly, trying to calm her. Don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you.
The girl stared fearfully at him, radiating pain and mistrust.
Are you hungry, he asked. Have you eaten? Wait. Here. For you. Slowly, he spread his rations on the floor between them, laying the food and water out for her to see.
—For me?
—Yes. Eat. Por favor.
She ate voraciously, tearing the food into shreds and stuffing it into her mouth, sneaking quick looks at Sanchez as if afraid it was all a trick and he would turn into a monster like the others. His heart contracted as he watched her. Fragments of remembered pain and torment bloomed quietly in his mind. Memories of his own shattered childhood. Another war. Other soldiers …
He knew now what he had to do.
Early the next morning Sanchez began the walk back, carrying the drowsy girl. The rising sun lit up the distant, misted mountains in hues of blue-green and gold. The future was an unknown. That was alright.
They were alike, he and she. They were both survivors.
For now, that was enough.
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Glossary:
Madre Dios: Mother of God.
Por favor: Please.
