“You just can’t catch a break,” he said quietly. “There’s no luck to be had in this place.” He followed the target down the street, moving the weapon delicately with every step it took. “It’s ruin and the rhythm of ruin,” he whispered. “You just can’t escape it in a place like this.” He gripped the trigger firmly and almost seemed to stop breathing.
“Where are you from?” he said, leading the target. There was no air in his voice, and I wondered how he produced it.
“New York City,” I said, continuing as if I were Cooper.
He let out a small grunt.
But the question prompted me to think for a moment of my parents’ home back in Wichita—of their back patio and red picnic table. I would have liked to tell him about the passing storms, dark and radiant over the plains. The way they made the horizon look long and full of light, as if you could pass through all that space and distance unharmed.
“You’re young,” he said. “What brought you here?”
Accidents and intentions, I wanted to say. That’s what a friend of mine from Missoula always said about why he joined the Army. That was the kind of thing a friend would point out to you, and that was the way a friend would phrase it, so you would know that something kind was being shared.
But I couldn’t remember what had brought Cooper there to die, so after a moment’s reflection I said, “College money.”
He looked at me disdainfully for a moment, and then turned back to the scope on his rifle. A cloud swept across the moon and the room darkened momentarily.
His look reminded me of what happened during my graduation ceremony on the last day of basic training. We were standing in long ranks on the parade field when the division sergeant major walked past inspecting us. Unexpectedly, he stopped in front of me and asked, “Why did you join the Army?” I gave the same answer I had just given here. He shook his head and moved through the rest of the ranks. When we were dismissed, my drill sergeant pulled me aside and took me behind the bleachers while all but a few other soldiers, alone like myself, went to be with their families and friends. He made me do push-ups and sit-ups until I puked.
“Do you think you’re better than me?” my drill sergeant asked.
“No,” I told him.
“Good,” my drill sergeant replied. And then he said that he didn’t even graduate from high school, but he’d bet money he could fuck a woman better than me. I couldn’t even do two hundred sit-ups without getting sick, he yelled. How could I ever expect to satisfy a woman? He left me there to ponder his question with puke on my lips and shirtfront.
Hamlin and I were quiet for a long time. He looked up the street, still following the target. I watched the back of his head. It looked soft in the darkness.
I wanted to get back to Zeller and Santiago. The memory of that exchange with the drill sergeant made me uncomfortable, not least because he was actually a kind man, and I genuinely respected him. We’re all afraid of something, and sometimes we go about things the wrong way.
“Are you following us?” I asked.
“I’m here for someone else,” he said, “for one of the warlords. They want to make a point, to scare the fuck out of all of them.”
He stood the rifle against the wall and walked back to the crate. Then he took a pocketknife out of his khakis and started digging under his thumbnail. “Do you have a safety pin?”
“No,” I replied.
“Not even across the street?” he asked. “What about the others?”
“I’ll ask,” I said.
“Look,” he said. “I just wanted to tell you to get out while you can. That’s why I called you over here. The Army’s not coming back for you.”
“What?” I said. It was too dark by now, and our room across the street wasn’t visible from where I sat. Santiago would be watching from the courtyard. He’d be getting impatient for my return.
“They won’t be back in the city anytime soon,” he said. “They lost a helicopter trying to get you out.”
“They’ll be back,” I said, “that’s why we’re here. They’re moving into the city soon.”
“Things have changed,” he said. “They’re no longer massing outside the city. They’re pulling back to the port cities north and south of here to wait out the rain.”
“Rain?” I asked.
“It’s going to rain soon, heavy rain, and you boys don’t have what it takes to live through it.”
I wasn’t afraid of rain. “Why should we be afraid of the rain?”
“A monsoon,” he said. “Same time every year.”
“But they’re starving,” I said. “Why can’t they grow anything if it rains every year?”
He shrugged his shoulders.
“Come on,” I said, “you must be able to help us.”
He shook his head. “I’m here for someone else.” A fly landed near the corner of his mouth and he brushed it away. “It’s none of my business,” he said, “but between us, did you shoot those kids?”
“No,” I said. A vehicle was moving up the street.
“That’s good for you,” he said. “You should be all right.” He picked up his rifle and followed the vehicle along the street.
“What should we do then?” I asked. “What do they want us to do?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I didn’t ask. Didn’t expect to run across you out here. If I were you, I’d do my best to get out of town. You can’t make it here. These people will murder you for nothing.”
When I couldn’t hear the car anymore he turned to me and said, “You should
