Salvo
By Owen Cartwright
He looked down again and realised
his pal Tommy was no longer standing by his side; he was on the ground
lifeless, his head cracked open like an egg.
A second sound rang out, a gunshot, barely seconds after the first but
it had seemed like a lifetime.
This shot hit Orson. It hurt like hell, but not the way he had
always imagined it, as a sharp intense pain.
No, this was more of a burn like the business end of a red hot poker
being forced into his thigh and it hurt like a motherf …
His legs crumpled underneath
him. Orson fell to the ground face
first, getting a mouthful of dust in the process. He felt his trousers start to saturate with
his own blood, he felt it pumping out of his leg. There he lay, silent for a second or two in
the dust under the hot unforgiving sun waiting, waiting for the next shot, the
one that would finish him, the sound of his watch ticking down the last few
seconds of his life, thousands of miles from home and the people he loved.
He rolled onto his back and just
waited, whispering, “C’mon you bastard,” through gritted teeth, “finish it.”
But the next shot never came. He looked at what was left of Tommy, the guy
he had grown up with in Muscle Shoals, Alabama.
He was closer to Tommy than he was to his own brother, but what lay in
front of him was not Tommy, wasn’t even a man, just a shell where Tommy used to
be.
Orson hadn’t wanted this posting,
he’d had a bad feeling all along. Every
day his circle of comrades grew fewer and he had known his own odds were
getting smaller. He reached into the
pocket of his combats and pulled out a picture of Vanessa. Blood stained the edge of the photograph and
he tried to wipe it away on his jacket.
He didn’t really need the photograph, her radiant smile would always be
with him in his mind’s eye, he just needed something to hold, as if he was
clinging to her.
The sun was blinding him but he was
unable to move his head away from the light, and his lips began to dry
rapidly. Soon, he knew, they would crack
and bleed. Silence ruled the scene,
nothing at all moving to make the slightest sound. He had no way of moving again, to reach the
radio by Tommy’s side, and each time he thought he could try the whole world
swam around him.
He slowly realised that he had started
to shiver despite the unrelenting desert sun.
Thirst had set in, the first sign of dehydration from the blood
loss. His trousers were starting to
stick to his leg as the heat dried the blood.
Through the feeling of swimming as
he became more light headed, lucid moments flashed into his mind. He reached down to find his pistol and
managed to grasp it, drawing it from its holster and bringing it up to within
his sight. It seemed like the last
friend he had in the world. He rested
the weapon on his chest, keeping hold of the grip to prevent it sliding away
from him. A wave of nausea swept through
him and once more the world was swimming around him.
He lay there, helpless, holding the
gun for security. And he thought to
himself that there was only one real security in this situation … As his rational thoughts returned he slid the
pistol’s grip across his body, so that the barrel pointed upwards, directly
towards his chin. He closed his eyes and
thought of Vanessa.
Through Orson’s closed eyelids
tears began to trickle down each side of his face. His love for Vanessa was so great, there was
nothing that could ever take that away.
Her face appeared before him in his mind again, and he hugged the
photograph around the pistol grip, holding it now with both hands.
When he opened his eyes again, for
one last look at the deserted world around him, he knew that it really didn’t
matter. His gaze fell to the photograph
peeping out from under his bloody fingers as he held the grip.
“I’m sorry, forgive me,” he
muttered through his dry mouth. His
finger went to the trigger, but it was a slow painful move, his mind rejecting
the thoughts running through. Never had
he ever thought in the past that he might take his own life, it was against all
his principles. And yet here he was
lying flat on the ground with his gun aimed under his chin.
Slowly he tried to squeeze the
trigger but the blood loss had made him weak.
Hooking both thumbs around the trigger he began squeezing again, but
something was wrong. The trigger
wouldn’t go far enough back, the gun wouldn’t fire.
Exhausted he relaxed his hands and
let the gun rest on his chest. He wasn’t
sure how long it was, it may have been seconds, it may have been hours, but for
the first time Orson believed in miracles as a helicopter flew overhead and
voices started to emerge in the distance.
Boots pounding across the ground sounded from behind his head. He couldn’t move to look, but it was not long
before he saw a face looking down at him.
It was a face he didn’t want to see, but was so glad it was there. Baz wasn’t one of his favourite people, but
at that moment they were brothers in arms and all animosity had been forgotten.
Baz was talking to another soldier,
but Orson couldn’t make out the words, only hear the murmur of voices. He slipped into unconsciousness through the
pain when they moved him to a stretcher and strapped him on, ready for the
chopper to winch him aboard, then re-awoke. It was the last he saw of the
desert and, he thought, the picture of Vanessa now gone from his hand. Then he saw that Baz had clipped it to his
uniform pocket, and he knew he would see Vanessa again. He closed his eyes, slipped once more into
unconsciousness, and travelled back to Muscle Shoals.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The winner of the Short Story Competition for 2011 was Kristen Stone with a story called Silent Love
Silent Love
By Kristen Stone
David grinned. Daisy, our two month old daughter, had moved her head in his direction seeking out the noise of the rattle he was shaking.
“She can hear,” he signed to me.
I nodded. The fear and the tension of the last year was gone. David’s eyes shone with joy as he watched our daughter follow the sound of the rattle as he moved about the room. She made little gurgling sounds which would one day become a giggle. David finally sat at my side, waving the rattle so that Daisy could see it. She reached out her tiny hand and I knew all would be well.
I met David five years ago. I was driving down a narrow lane to visit my aunt and uncle who ran an animal sanctuary on the outskirts of my home town. As I rounded a blind bend I applied my brakes and screeched to a halt, just avoiding the youth who was sauntering down the middle of the lane. My heart was pounding at the thought that I had nearly run into him and I pressed my hand firmly on the horn to announce my arrival. He did not react but continued to walk on as if he hadn’t heard me. I jumped out of the car and slammed the door. Still shaking from the reaction to the near accident, I ran up to him and grabbed his arm.
“What’s the matter with you,” I screamed. “Are you deaf or do you just have a death wish?”
He looked startled. Genuine surprise showed in the bright blue eyes that gazed out from under a mop of unruly blonde hair. He glanced down at my hand holding on to his arm and then back towards my car. He shook his arm free and unzipped his jacket. Reaching inside was hampered by the straps of a large backpack he was carrying but after a moment he withdrew his hand and held out a card. From the state of the plastic covering I guessed he used this often. I took the card and read the message typed neatly on it:
My name is David. I have no hearing but if you look at me
when you speak, I can understand you. Please speak normally.
Thank you.
I felt my face flush as I handed the card back to him. Regardless of what it said on the card I could not meet his gaze when I mumbled an apology. For what, I wasn’t quite sure. After all, he was the one wandering down the middle of the lane. His fingers gently touched my chin and raised my head to look at him. He was smiling. Oh, how I remember that smile. It did nothing to stop the shaking the near accident had caused. If anything it made it worse. It was the most wonderful smile I had ever seen.
“Why were you walking down the middle of the road? This lane goes nowhere. Only place on it is the animal sanctuary.”
He nodded and reached into another pocket. This time he produced an envelope from which he took a letter. I was surprised to see it was from my uncle, offering David a job with accommodation included. I handed the letter back and held out my hand for him to shake.
“That’s my uncle,” I said, nodding towards the letter. “I’m Sara. Come on. I’ll give you a lift. Don’t want anyone else nearly running you over.”
So that was how we met. Over the following year we slowly got to know each other. Aunt Rose and Uncle Eddie had secretly been learning sign language so that they could communicate with their new assistant. More out of courtesy than anything else to begin with, I also enrolled in a signing class at the local college, but even then, we all got into the habit of carrying a small notebook about with us so that we could scribble notes about things the signing couldn’t manage.
Despite his engaging smile and outwardly carefree manner, David was shy and positively withdrawn. I put this down to his isolation in his own quiet world but as time went by and I learnt a little of his childhood. I realized there was more than just his deafness that made him reserved. He had not had a good childhood. His parents both struggled to cope with him. He admitted, with a smile, that he had not been an easy child to manage. He had been wilful, had frequent tantrums and shunned anyone he didn’t want to deal with simply by turning his back on them or closing his eyes. The world was a frightening place which he didn’t understand until, eventually, he was sent to someone who understood him and calmed the fears.
His deafness was so profound there was nothing any specialist could do to help him. It had taken a few years for anyone to find out why he couldn’t hear until finally it was discovered that a vital part of the hearing mechanism was missing and could not be replaced. Hearing aids were no use. A cochlea implant would not help. He was destined for a world of silence without end. He attended a special school where he learnt the basics of life but never excelled academically. By the time he left school he was literate, numerate, could use a computer, knew how to shop and cook for himself but had no idea what he wanted to do with the rest of his life.
He had chanced upon the sanctuary almost by accident. Aunt Rose and Uncle Eddie had set up the place with more passion than money. Its mission statement was to care for injured animals, usually wildlife, sometimes unwanted pets, until they could be released back into the wild or found loving homes. There were foxes with legs in splints, deer that had been hurt on the road, hedgehogs, rabbits, owls, dogs and cats that had been too neglected to make it into the usual rescue centres for pets. Every time I visited there would be something new to mend.
The sanctuary was run on a shoestring and depended on donations from the public, a very understanding vet and leftover food from a local supermarket. It just so happened that said supermarket was managed by David’s father. One day when Uncle Eddie had gone to pick up the tins of pet food that had been donated, along with out of date vegetables, David was the one who had brought the stuff out to the van. He saw the sign on the side of the van and wrote a note asking what it was all about. Uncle explained as best he could then suggested David came for a visit. One visit and David was hooked. Within three months he became the general handyman. Fixing fences, mowing the grass, helping wherever there was a need. The pay was minimum wage but accommodation and food were thrown in.
I had always thought my aunt and uncle a little crazy devoting all their time and energy to the sanctuary. I had a much more sensible job in a solicitor’s office, with stable responsible parents who had proper jobs and spare money for holidays in Spain. I visited once in a while, usually because my mother wanted me to take something to her sister. She never went herself. Claimed she was allergic to fur, feathers and grass. After David arrived I started going almost every Saturday. Then every Saturday and Sunday until Aunt Rose suggested I stayed overnight. I was becoming attached to the animals and the tranquillity of the place.
I told myself I was going to help the animals but my heart would miss a beat every time I saw David. He would always smile and wave. At some point in every visit he would teach me some new signs or check what I had learnt at college. Before long we could actually have simple conversations. Then one day Mutley arrived and everything changed.
Mutley was a dog of indiscernible origin. His legs were long, his coat was matted, he was so emaciated nearly every bone in his body could be seen. He was trembling with fear but was too feeble to struggle. I arrived at the sanctuary just as David was carrying him into the consultation room. I followed and tears sprang to my eyes at the sight of the poor animal. When I looked up at David I saw tears were running down his face, too. Gently he stroked and soothed the terrified animal while we waited for the vet.
I knew the vet would say the kindest thing to do would be to put the dog out of its misery. I listened as he said it was so starved it was only a matter of time, and a very short time, before its organs would start to fail. It was as he was explaining this to Uncle Eddie that David spoke. Well, I say spoke; but it was more a half formed, wild sounding cry of :
“Nooo!”
We all turned to him. His face was set with determination. His eyes defiant. His fingers moved quickly as he pleaded for the dog’s life. He would look after him. He would pay for his treatment. The vet pointed out that the poor animal had only the slimmest of chances but David was adamant, the dog would not be put to sleep while he was there.
So, all that day David sat by poor Mutley’s side; forcing water into his mouth through a syringe; dipping his fingers into a tin of puppy food and letting the dog lick at the food. While he was doing this I cut away the matted hair, revealing skin that was sore and flea bitten. I washed the skin with something the vet had left, then gently we turned the dog over and I treated his other side.
Mutley was moved to a treatment room out of the way. It was a week before he was strong enough to move by himself. I took the week off work so that I could help. David would sit up all night, constantly enticing the dog to lick at the food he offered. I took over for part of the day while David caught up on some sleep. Mutley’s tail would always give a little flicker when David returned. Then one day he rolled onto his chest, and made an attempt to drink some water from a bowl. After that he came on quickly, sitting, then standing, then trotting to greet David when he came back from his nap.
David watched with joy and love showing from every fibre of his being. He bent down to stroke and fuss the dog and was rewarded with a big sloppy lick all over his face. Grinning, David stood up and wiped his face on a tissue. He looked at me, signed ‘Thank you’ and reached for my hand, which he put to his lips and kissed. I pulled my hand away so that I could sign back ‘Your welcome.’
I put my hands on his shoulders and reached up to kiss his cheek. Before I knew it his arms were around me and we were kissing quite passionately. It was wonderful. I didn’t want it to stop. When it did, David drew back, looked down at his shoes and signed an apology. I remembered our first meeting and this time it was me lifting his chin to meet my gaze and I said slowly and clearly:
“There’s no need to apologize. I’d be very happy to do it again.”
That was the start of our relationship. I say ‘relationship’ because that is the modern term but it was almost like an old fashioned courtship. We visited each other’s parents. Spent time together visiting places that didn’t need sound, art galleries, museums, parks. David hated the cinema, even watching a film on DVD with sub-titles unsettled him. He said the subtitles moved on too quickly for him and there was too much to see. But we both loved reading and shared thoughts on the books we read.
We got married and moved into the little cottage Uncle Eddie had on the sanctuary land. It had taken months to do it up and get it fixed and habitable but once done it was perfect. I quit my job and started working for the sanctuary, helping with the ever increasing office work as well as taking care of the animals, occasionally taking some out to do a talk at the local schools or Brownie packs. Life was good, until I said I wanted a baby.
For the first time in our relationship David set himself against me. He did not want a child. He would not say why. He would not discuss the subject at all. Whenever I started to mention it he would look away or turn his back, anything to cut me off. And when I ‘accidently’ got pregnant I thought I had lost him forever. He flew into such a rage I wondered if he were the same loving, caring, person I had married or if I had unleashed some demon. It was a bit like The Incredible Hulk, without the bulging muscles and green skin. I feared for my own safety but he just stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind him. Even Mutley had hidden under the table until all was quiet again, then he came crawling over to me, climbed on my lap and I sobbed into his silky coat while hugging him.
He was gone for about four hours and when he came back he had a huge bouquet of flowers and a box of chocolates. I had to take them from him so that he could sign his apology. I told him to come in and sit down. I made some coffee and then sat opposite him at the kitchen table.
‘Explain,’ I signed.
It took him a while to gather his thoughts, then in bursts, not always in sequence, he told me of his fears.
‘I’m scared,’ he started. ‘Scared it will be like me. I wouldn’t want anyone to be like me, let alone my own child. My own parents treat me like a monster. At school, they tried to teach me to speak, feeling vibrations with a balloon. I went home and said “Hello Mum” and she screamed. Said I sounded like a freak. How can I put my child through that?’
He started to cry, deep heart rending sobs. I walked round the table and cradled his head against my breasts, stroking his hair. When his sobbing died I knelt down in front of him.
“But it won’t be like for our child,” I said. “There’s no reason why our baby should be deaf. The doctors have said your condition is not genetic. And even if it is, we are not like your parents. We understand. We can help. Our love will be unconditional. Do you understand?”
He bit his lip and nodded.
And now our baby is reaching for the rattle and David’s fears have gone.
The end
