7
The trail swung down a shallow hill and then across a narrow valley to come into the village about a half mile from where he’d first spotted it. Two bamboo huts, both with well-weathered walls and roofs, shouldered against the trail. Beyond them sat three much newer houses made of painted brick and some sort of cement stucco, with metal saltbox roofs slanting backward amid the fronds.
No one seemed to be in any of the buildings. Josh was ready to step out and have a closer look when a girl of six or seven darted between the houses, running as if she was being chased. He froze, gripping his rifle, expecting to see soldiers chasing her. When none appeared after a minute or so, he realized it was more likely she was playing a game, running from another child. Whatever she was doing, she had moved on, beyond the nearby houses; he could no longer see her.
Josh crawled forward, driven almost unconsciously by his hunger, a vibrating pit in his stomach and chest. He moved out of the jungle like a tiger, head close to the ground, sneaking toward its prey. He listened for the girl and her playmates, but heard nothing as he stalked to one of the brick structures.
The walls were painted blue, the color of the sky on a cloudless summer day, so bright that they looked as if they were plastic. Josh rose, holding his breath as he listened to hear if someone was inside. The wall he was near stretched maybe twelve feet. It had a door but no window; small air vents lined the top where a soffit would have been on an American home.
Josh started to sidle around to the corner, but then decided not to bother — he could be seen from the other house and the clearing beyond, and if he was going to go inside, he was best off going quickly.
The door had a simple knob without a lock. Josh turned it slowly, then pushed in carefully, pressing himself into the house as his eyes adjusted to the dark.
It was humid, almost dank, even more than outside. He gripped the gun tightly. A table sat immediately in front of him, anchoring a kitchen area, with a small, simple refrigerator and a stove. Immediately beyond this were mats, piled along the floor. There were no other rooms in the house.
Sure the house was empty, Josh pulled the door closed behind him. Light filtered in around and through paper shades on a pair of windows to the left, and once more his eyes needed a moment to adjust to the dimness. When they did, he went to the refrigerator.
His hunger was conscious now, and so overwhelming that everything was blocked out. He pulled open the door to the fridge. There was no light, and when he dropped to his knees he felt barely a chill from the appliance.
Two bottles of citrus juice sat on the middle shelf. Above them was a covered bowl of some sort of noodle dish; below sat a box of oranges. Josh grabbed two of the oranges and sat down, pulling at the skin, frustrated when it refused to give way in large pieces.
As soon as he had a hole big enough for his mouth he bit into it. Juice streamed from his mouth. The perfume overwhelmed him; he devoured the orange, turning it inside out as he ate. Slightly overripe, it nonetheless seemed the most delicious thing he had ever eaten.
He ate the second one just as quickly, almost drunk with it. He got up and tried the noodle dish. It had a sharp, spicy smell, but there was no holding back — he scooped the noodles with his fingers and ate greedily.
Done, he put the bowl back and took out one of the bottles. The liquid had a putrid fish scent. He quickly lowered it from his mouth and recapped the bottle. He tried another bottle; the smell was even worse.
Yet he felt an urge to drink it.
Josh’s hands trembled as he put it back. He had to keep control.
Clothes were folded neatly on small shelves at the side of the room. There were different piles, most with only two or three items. He found a man’s shirt, a long peasant-style shirt that fell to his knees, and put it on over his own, which by now was torn and muddy.
Judging from the piles, five people lived here — two women, a man, two children.
The guess comforted him somehow, as if he’d made some sort of connection with the people, as if they were helping him.
Judging from the sparse furnishings, the family was poor, but they had a solid, new house. Possibly it had been built by an international aid agency. People like that would be happy to help others. They wouldn’t begrudge him the food and shirt.
The thought seemed ugly, almost foreign, but there was truth in it — he would have to do what he needed to survive. Surviving wasn’t only in his best interests. It would help the Vietnamese, ultimately. He would tell the world about what the Chinese were doing.
Both.
Which was more important?
“Neither,” he said aloud. But then he realized that he could not, must not, lie to himself. “Living is most important. For now.”
Josh went back and cracked open the door, peeking through the narrow slit to make sure there was no one watching. When he didn’t see anyone, he pulled it open just barely enough to slip through.
Josh worked his way over to the older houses, which lay near the road. There were no signs of life; even the little girl had completely disappeared. Again, he found the first door he tried unlocked. Salvaged wood boards of different sizes and shapes were piled inside the building.
He was on his way to check the other when he heard a truck approaching.
Josh reached the woods just as the vehicle came into the clearing near the two older huts. It was a troop truck. Men in uniform jumped out, but at first he wasn’t sure whether they were Vietnamese or Chinese. He listened as someone barked orders.
Realizing that they would probably fan out into the nearby jungle after searching the huts, Josh began slipping deeper in the woods. Two soldiers trotted toward the path; Josh quietly circled in the opposite direction, only to find himself hemmed in by the road.
A field lined with young fruit trees sat on the other side of the road. Josh paralleled the road, moving away from the village downhill, hoping he could find a point where he could easily get across without being seen. He’d gone only a few yards when a big truck began laboring up the other side of the hill. Moving back, he crouched down and waited for it to pass.
It was a tractor cab pulling a low-rider trailer. On the trailer sat two large bulldozers. The truck stopped in the middle of the road, and the two men in the cab got out and began lowering the ramps at the rear of the trailer. Another truck appeared behind it, also with two dozers. A third truck brought a large excavator. A minute or so later, a pair of gray vans pulled into the field and disgorged the operators; within ten minutes a crew was at work leveling the field. They worked methodically, knocking the trees down, pushing them aside, and running over and over the field.
Josh watched with fascination, absorbed in curiosity though not forgetting that he was in danger. He could hear other trucks arriving farther up the road. Soon a chain saw started up, then two more; within a few minutes the saws were so many and so loud that he could have shouted and he wouldn’t have been heard.
The Chinese were building a base.
The realization satisfied his curiosity, and he turned to leave. As he did, he saw a pair of eyes framed by some tree fronds nearby.
His heart froze in his chest. His throat grew so thick he couldn’t breathe, let alone swallow.
