the window of an old storefront and witnessed our greatest single victory over Larry’s troops.
Dozens of men lay in the streets around their stewpots. Some were retching and moaning; others were silent and still. Those who had been late to the evening meal had been the lucky ones. The first of their companions had probably begun to react to the poison by then and, when enough of them died, it would have become obvious that the food was the culprit.
I pulled back and whispered through the rest of the town. In all, it looked like Brad had gotten to five of the massive stew pots with an end result of well over three hundred dead. Apparently, the sixth pot was where someone had finally gotten suspicious of the old man bringing garlic to add to the meals. There were no dead there, only angry men ranting over having lost their quarry in the woods.
Some of them were colorful in their descriptions of what they would do to Brad when they caught him, but each word sent my hopes higher. He’d escaped! And from what they were saying, he had been forced to take to the trees on the opposite side of town. That was the reason I hadn’t seen him on my way in.
Brad Stephenson had managed what none of the rest of us would have dared. He had boldly strode into the enemy camp, sabotaged their cooking pots, disabled hundreds of the enemy, and still managed to escape.
It would never have worked if there hadn’t been so many of the enemy, but with nearly three thousand of them in town, there was no way they could all know each other.
“You son of a bitch, Brad.” I grinned. “How the hell can you walk with balls that big?”
It was with considerably higher spirits that I headed back to camp. For two hours, I had slipped through town, barely avoiding the enemy on several occasions, yet never truly worried. I was too excited. Brad had done the impossible! Up to now, we had hardly done more than hold our own against Larry’s men. But tonight, Brad had finally done more than simply sting Larry’s troops. He had given us a major victory.
My creeping through the town had shown me just how severe a blow had been delivered. It looked like just over three hundred fifty dead, and at least another hundred incapacitated. I could just imagine the celebration that must be going on back at camp, and I couldn’t wait to join in. Or perhaps Stephenson didn’t know just how successful he had been, having been forced to make a run for it. I couldn’t wait. I grinned at the thought of being able to tell him what he had done. I grinned until my jaws ached.
I grinned until I found Brad with an arrow in his side.
He leaned against a tree to the side of the path with his head back, eyes closed. The arrow moved slightly as the old man breathed.
I knelt beside him and touched his shoulder. “Brad? Oh, my God.”
His eyes opened, and his head turned toward me. In the darkness of the woods, it was difficult to make out details, but I could see his chin coated with blood and, when he tried a feeble smile, his teeth were dark as well. I was no doctor, but it looked like the arrow had pierced his lung and, in our present circumstances, that was as good as dead.
“Leeland?” Frothy blood bubbled forth when he spoke. “Hey, boy. I got ’em.” The effort of speaking must have been exhausting because he dropped his head back against the tree and closed his eyes again. For a moment I feared I had arrived just in time to hear his last words, but then he spoke again. “I got ’em.”
I nodded. “You got ‘em good, old man. I counted over three hundred dead. More of them sick.”
His grin returned. “That many? Guess it was worth it, then. Least I’m not gonna die for nothing.”
There was a lump in my throat, and for an instant I was back in the old machine shop in Houston talking to my father once more. “Hey! Who said anything about dying?”
Brad locked his eyes to mine. Those eyes held so much, and even in the dim light I could see through them to the man’s soul. They were tired, and his pain shone through clearly, but mostly they were content. “Don’t kid a kidder, youngster. We both know I’ve had it.”
I shook my head. “I could get you back to camp. We could patch you up.”
He laid his head back once more. “Never give up, do you? Guess that’s why so many folks look up to you.” He took a deep, rattling breath. “But this isn’t the time for it. I need your help, Lee, if you think you can do it.”
Tears ran down my cheeks, and I sniffed. “Anything you want. Name it.”
Brad’s hand went to his belt, and he hissed with pain as the movement shifted the arrow. Then he relaxed and spoke softly. “There’s a knife on my belt. Take it off for me.”
I could see that it was a long blade, and the way he sat had shoved the tip into the soft ground beside him, the handle digging into his side. I struggled with his belt buckle for a moment, taking care not to jostle him as I pulled the long sheath free. “Got it.”
“Look at it. It’s my best one, and I’m real proud of it. Finished it a few days before those bastards hit us.”
I drew the blade free and held it out to examine by the light of the moon. It was a dagger, long and sleek. The blade was about a foot long, made of the fine Damascus steel with which Brad had become so proficient. The handle was a finely polished yellow with streaks of brown-
“Thanks. It’s yours. But I need another favor from you first.”
I winced as I saw how much blood bubbled out of his mouth and chest. “Whatever you want, Brad.”
“I love that knife, Lee. I was an accountant before D-day. I ever tell you that?” I nodded, wondering if his thoughts were beginning to wander.
“All I ever did my whole life was punch keys on a computer. Try to make the right numbers show up for the right people. Not something to give a man much of a feeling of accomplishment.”
He coughed, then spasmed as the arrow tore more tissue deep within. “God, that hurts,” he gasped. “I gotta finish this. Wasn’t until you showed me how to work the forge that I ever actually
I cleared my throat. “Sure, Brad. I’d be honored.” He peered at me strangely.
“What?”
The old man shook his head and laid it back against the tree again.
“What?” I asked again.
More blood bubbled from his lips as he gasped in pain. When the spasm passed, I could barely hear him. “It’s a lot to ask. More than anyone has a right to ask of another person, so I’ll understand if you can’t do it.” He paused. “I don’t want to die this way, bleedin’ inside, chokin’ on my own blood.”
Helpless, I cried in earnest now. “I’m sorry, Brad. I wish I could stop it. I wish I could.”
“You can.” His eyes were staring into me again. “This hurts like hell, Lee. I want to die clean. Help me. Please?”
I was shocked. I knew what he was asking, but it took his hand on mine to make me accept that I’d understood correctly. I stared down at the knife still clenched in my fist. Brad pulled my unresisting hand to his throat and placed the needle sharp point of the blade beneath his chin. Then he let go. “Please.”
I stared unbelievingly, but he turned away and closed his eyes. He began to talk. “I remember about thirty years ago, when Brenda and I went to the Grand Canyon. We drove from Houston through New Mexico, and on to Arizona. We must have stopped at every Indian reservation we came to. Brenda loved Indian jewelry.
“I remember we got caught in a sandstorm in the Painted Desert one day, and I was scared that we’d get lost and drive off the road, so we stopped right where we were and watched the sand blow across the windshield. It would change colors as it went, and Brenda joked about how it looked like Walt Disney had thrown up on our car.
“She died a few months before D-day, sort of a blessing in disguise, because she really wasn’t a strong woman. I don’t think she would have lasted long after it all fell apart.
“I miss that woman.” He sighed, and a tear rolled down his cheek. “I miss you so much, Brenda.”
Sobbing uncontrollably, I shoved upward with all my might, hoping I was swift enough that he didn’t feel anything.
Hoping he was reunited with Brenda.
