I walked down the stairs slowly, mindful of the fishing line. As I left the building and crossed the street I imagined him leading me, moving the sight forward slightly with every step I took. I could sense the weapon trained on my head, the weight of the trigger against his finger.
“What took so long?” Santiago asked. He seemed agitated.
“He wanted to talk,” I said. We turned and began to walk back to the room.
“I thought I saw him following us,” Santiago said.
“The fuck you did,” I said.
“I said I saw him.”
“Check,” I said, but I knew that he was full of shit. That he hadn’t seen anyone behind us. That you never knew who was following you.
Once back in our room, I didn’t waste time. “He said we need to leave before it starts raining.”
“Before it starts raining?” Santiago said. “What the hell does that mean?”
I told them what Hamlin had said about the Army retreating to the ports north and south of the city. Then I told them about the monsoon and how we couldn’t make it here alone.
“What do we do with Cooper?” Zeller asked.
“What do you want us to do?” asked Santiago. He sounded angry, as if this conversation had already begun to play itself out while I was gone.
“What do you think we should do,” Santiago asked, “take turns carrying him on our back?”
“He goes with us,” Zeller insisted.
“We’re in deep shit here, and you want to go dragging a body around?” Santiago was angry. “He’ll be just fine if we leave him here. We’ll come back with the Army later.”
“Maybe we can find some other clothes,” Zeller continued, as if he hadn’t heard Santiago. “We can pretend we’re reporters or something. Like we lost one of our own in the city.”
“And what’ll we do with our weapons?” Santiago asked.
“I don’t know,” replied Zeller. “Leave them here with Cooper.”
“We’re leaving Cooper here,” Santiago said. “You get into a whole different set of rules of engagement when you take on a disguise.”
“So long as we get out alive, what does it matter what we wear?” I asked.
Santiago shook his head, then walked to the doorway and looked down the hall. Zeller walked over and sat on the bed next to Cooper. He was far braver than me.
“I thought we were never supposed to leave anyone behind,” Zeller said, his head in his hands.
“Someone else will come back to get him,” said Santiago. “When the Army finally gets here. We’ll arrange things so that no one else can have the room, and then we’ll come back with the others.”
“Look—,” said Zeller.
“We fucking leave him here,” Santiago said, turning to Zeller. “We’ll get him later, okay?”
Zeller rocked back and forth on the mattress, but in the end he nodded in agreement.
“We leave him here,” Santiago repeated, quietly this time.
Santiago sat in the doorway watching the hall. It was just before midnight. Time moved slowly in that room.
“What if we say he shot the kids?” Zeller asked.
I felt as if things were getting away from us.
“What do you mean?” Santiago asked.
“I mean Cooper shot those kids,” Zeller said. “You know they’re going to look into this. And they’re going to have our asses if they find out. I mean, we all killed those kids.”
“I didn’t fire a shot,” I said, “but this is crazy. Let’s just worry about getting out of here.”
“What the fuck does it matter if you fired a shot?” Zeller said. “You were right there with us.”
“It was an accident,” Santiago said. “And what about Heath and Fizer? They’ve probably already talked about it.”
“We’ll say they got it wrong,” Zeller said. “The two of them weren’t even with us when the kids got shot. Did you say anything about it to them? I know I didn’t. We didn’t say shit to each other in that stadium, and they didn’t ask. They fuck people for mistakes like this. They fuck you for life, man.”
“They’ll look into it,” Santiago said. “Once you start lying it gets messy.”
“They don’t hang you for honest mistakes,” I said.
“How do you know?” Zeller asked. “You’re in this just as deep as we are.”
I could tell by the way Santiago walked to the window and looked out that Zeller had at least planted the idea. Santiago shook his head, and as I watched him it suddenly occurred to me that I couldn’t stand him. In fact, I didn’t have much respect for any of my superiors.
“I’m still in charge here,” Santiago said.
“We need to fix this,” said Zeller. “We need to get our story straight.”
“There is no story,” I said. “Just two dead boys and Cooper.”
“We’ll figure this out later,” Santiago said. “We go it alone, tomorrow night, no matter what.”
They were past listening, and I didn’t say anything else. I didn’t want any part of their mistakes and stories. It seemed to me as if Santiago was merely trying to keep control, while Zeller was concerned about protecting himself.
All I wanted at that moment was to search out the center of my soul, to find that tiny point that kept my body alive and my memory from storming. Sundays always seemed to be the saddest days.
We took turns pulling guard duty, but no one really slept. The hallway seemed longer in the night, but there was no movement. My eyes ached from the effort to see beyond the darkness, to find spots of light in which I might see the enemy.
When Santiago came to relieve me, he asked how I was doing.
“I’m here,” I said. “Which is something.”
“It’s something all right,” he said.
I took one last look down the hall before standing up to make room for him. He put his M-16 on the floor next to the doorway, then looked at me and smiled.
“Jesus,” he said, “I’m going to fucking kill myself after this one.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Why not?” he asked with a chuckle.
“Fair enough,” I said.
“Which is to say you don’t care,” he
