Cry Havoc

'Not to mention,' Frank agreed, pulling Gail to her and hugging her oh-so-tightly. Tight enough that if there was a god, he couldn't take this woman too.

16

All Frank could see was the mouth gaping wide, with rows and rows of teeth. Sharp, glistening teeth. And laughter. The Mothers laughter, pealing like bells. And behind the laughter, bells did ring. The war was over. But Frank knew that couldn't be right. This war would never be over. Not between these two. Not now. Not ever.

The Mother was still laughing, but farther away. She stood against a red sunset, trailing black and red and white gauze. The wind flapped her wrappings, unraveling her like a mummy. The Mother held a bloody sword above her head and a hand stretched to Frank. Blood dripped from the sword into pools at the Mothers feet. She laughed, beckoning Frank.

Behind her, a soldier stood amid the rubble of a ruined city. Around him, singly and in heaps, dead men stretched to the horizon, their artifacts strewn carelessly by the eternal desert wind.

Lip-smudged photographs and letters torn at their folds blew restlessly from corpse to corpse.

Vultures flapped indifferently among the abandoned relics, feasting easily from gaping wounds.

Ragged beggars and women in chadors scurried to collect gold fillings and wedding rings.

An ancient crone knelt at a body. She stared at the soldier, her eyes milky blue, like Aegean shoals after a storm. She wrenched the dead man s neck, then dangled a crucifix, cackling.

The soldier turned away, his helmet under his arm. Sand filled his hair and blew over his boots. Still he stood. He had been here before. He had never been gone. He had always been a soldier. He scanned the desolate horizon. It was silent, empty but for the rising moon.

He listened to the steady snick and crunch of jackals feeding. They ate without snarling. No need of that tonight. There was plenty for all.

The moon cleared the earth. It lit the dead sleeping in their shadows. The dogs slipped stealthily between them.

She woke slowly, floating up from the dream into the solidity of her bed. Canceling the alarm, Frank rolled into Gail. She kissed her shoulder, pressing into the doc's flank, wanting to wake her and get lost in the sweet, ephemeral refuge of desire. But Gail didn't stir.

Frank resigned herself to a scalding shower, then dressed in the clothes she'd laid out the night before. When she flipped the light on in the kitchen, the coffee was hot in the pot. She poured it into her travel mug while the twin gods of Routine and Order maintained harmony in her world.

Frank sipped her coffee at the sink. Bobby was probably going to be in court all day, and Darcy would be on his own. They were next up on rotation so if a call came in she'd send Darcy out with Diego. Noah and Lewis would—

Frank whirled, her eye catching a flash of white. She instinctively dropped her mug, reaching for the Beretta she hadn't strapped on yet.

'Jesus fucking Christ!'

Gail stood wide-eyed and startled in a long T-shirt. Frank swore again, ripping off a handful of paper towels and swabbing the spilled coffee.

''Jesus. Give me some warning next time you sneak up on me.'

'I wasn't sneaking up. I just woke up to pee and figured I'd say goodbye. Fuck you too.'

Frank threw the soggy paper into the trash can, snatching Gail's elbow before she could leave the kitchen. She apologized.

'I'm just a little edgy.'

'A little? Christ, I'd hate to see a lot.'

'I wasn't expecting you to be up traipsing around. You were sleeping like one of your customers a minute ago.'

'Well, I think I'll just traipse on back to bed.'

'Come on,' Frank said, shifting Gail toward her. 'You just surprised me. Guess I'm still jumpy. Had a weird dream.'

'What about?' Gail asked.

'Can't tell you 'til I get a kiss.'

Gail gave her a sulky one.

'I was a soldier, and there were dead bodies all around me. It must have been World War II because there were letters and black and white pictures blowing around. And the uniforms looked like they were from then. And the helmet under my arm, too. It all looked like World War II, but it felt like it could have been any time. It was weird. I was dressed like a GI, and so were the corpses, but I felt like I'd been there before. Like I could have just as easily been a Roman soldier standing there with a leather helmet instead of a metal one. And beggars were looting the corpses. Women in robes . . . veiled, like in the middle east. They were scurrying from body to body like cockroaches. It all felt like it could have been centuries ago or yesterday. It was ... eerie, but real familiar too. And the wind was blowing, getting sand all over everything. Covering the dead men's faces. And it smelled like blood. Fresh blood. Lots of it. It was sad, but at the same time it felt. ...'

Frank searched for the exact word.

'Like I was supposed to be there. Like it was my destiny or something. Like I couldn't have been—like I'd never been anywhere else. I didn't want to be there—I was sick and tired of the whole thing—but it was where I belonged. It didn't feel like I had a choice. And it felt like it was just one more battle in a long campaign.'

'Sounds creepy,' Gail mumbled into Frank's neck.

'Yeah,' Frank agreed, but it hadn't been creepy. Just . . . inevitable.

Frank kissed Gail and said, 'Go on back to bed.'

'When do I get to see you again?'

'Tonight? Dinner?'

'Med-line meeting,' Gail said, crinkling her nose.

'Tomorrow then.'

Swinging in a locked embrace against Frank, she pouted. 'You going out with your children first?'

'Of course,' Frank smiled.

'Will you be too drunk to make love to me?'

'Have I ever been?'

Gail considered.

'No-o. But let's not have a first, okay?'

'Deal. I gotta go,' Frank said, disentangling herself. 'I'm gonna be late.'

'Ohh!' Gail gasped in mock horror. 'The trains will stop running and the wind will stop blowing!'

'You,' Frank said, leaving her with a quick kiss, 'who can't even conceive of being anywhere on time, have a lot of nerve. You're gonna be leaving Saint Peter or the Devil waiting twenty minutes for you someday.'

'Hey!' Gail cried as Frank grabbed her briefcase and crossed the living room, 'I thought you didn't believe in those guys.'

'I don't,' Frank called back, 'but you do.'

17

Frank was just about to grab a torta for lunch when a call came in from one of the HUD scattered housing sites. Folks in the Projects didn't much care for the police, so Frank headed out with Darcy, Diego, and two backup units.

Flanked by the uniforms, the nine-three detectives walked behind the apartment manager up bullet splintered, piss-stained stairs. Neighbors huddled outside a door. The one who'd called the station repeated what he'd told Darcy over the phone—the girl across the way had knocked on his door to tell him she'd suffocated her kids. She'd said it as calmly as if she were saying it was going to be a sunny day.

The cops knocked on her door and a small voice said, 'Venga.'