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By Rab Berry
Some unseen force was tearing the sky apart. Powder blue shards no doubt bombarded the ground, crushing whatever lay below and dragging the clouds down with them. As far as she could tell, that was the only explanation for the terrifying roar and eerie fog that engulfed the woods. A nauseating rumble and trees shattered, or heaps of earth burst from the forest floor. Sharp pops and biting, projectile whistles cut through the constant row of metal meeting metal and the cries of her pack mates. Her hearing was meant for subtlety: a rabbit’s footsteps in the woods at night or better yet, the ring of cookware from across camp. Sound had never been so brutal. It was even worse than the thunderstorms she’d weathered beneath the supply wagons or the screaming whistle of the locomotive that brought her to this place.
She might have cursed the man who took her there; far from the humid city she could barely remember now. But resentment wasn’t in her nature. Instead she pressed herself to the ground beneath the knotted roots of an oak tree, trying to burrow her way to safety and hoping it would all end soon. She wished she could see the Cook to gauge his fear and maybe better control her own. And even if he were as afraid as she was, he would still know what to do. For a moment she considered venturing out into the chaos to find him, or any of her other companions. Like the stern old man who rode the stately horse, or the boys who couldn’t hear well and always came back to camp covered in soot. They called her ‘Dixie’ and tossed her scraps of salt pork and moistened hard tack while they ate at the fire. They made space for her on their oilcloth blankets at night, and when they ran out of such luxuries they made her small beds of hay or pine needles. The pack had grown gaunt and tired together, but still shared everything from their warmth to their fleas. She leaned toward the mouth of the den and peered outside, hoping to see someone she recognized. Indistinguishable men ran in every direction through the brush and smoke, their faces obscured by dirt or blood. Their voices wove together as they passed. She couldn’t even tell their scents apart. Pipe tobacco and brass polish, manure and iron, coffee and sweat- every identifying odor was swallowed by sulfurous, acrid smoke and upturned soil. A sudden hiss and roots above her splintered. She pushed herself back into the den, powerless to do anything but tremble and wait.
The light slowly changed. She watched the shadows grow longer as the percussive rumbles that echoed in her ribcage became less frequent, like thunder passing into the distance. Eventually she stopped shaking but remained tensed to flee. The shrill ringing in her ears was a painful reminder of what she had endured, and what could return at any moment. So she kept waiting, noting every change in her surroundings, every potential warning that her battered senses could still register. The pall of silence that had fallen over the woods accentuated any new sound. Volleys of distant, loud pops echoed out from deeper in the forest, but otherwise there were little left to hear. No birdsongs, no rustling of leaves. Even the wind had fallen still as if the land was holding its breath. A horse with no rider galloped past the oak tree and disappeared into the fog beyond. Then the quiet returned.
Eventually the foul mist dissipated. The setting sun finally pierced through the unnatural fog, blasting through what remained of the tree line before ricocheting orange-gold off the trampled buttons and bayonets facing skyward. Unfamiliar shapes littered the forest floor. What little motion she perceived was weak and erratic. By instinct she recognized it as the throes of the wounded. They called out, but not to beckon or scold her. Some simply howled at nothing.
She longed to be found by her pack, to get some proof that the world would be safe again before venturing out. She could leave shelter and go on without them, but the instinct to survive alone was buried deep in her mind. Too deep to be trustworthy. She depended on her companions for so much- it was better to wait for them. And for a while she did, until her tongue succumbed to the dust and heat. Each time she tried to swallow it threatened to stick to the roof of her mouth and choke her. She could no longer ignore the weakly gurgling brook that flowed somewhere in the wilderness nearby. Necessity rather than courage finally broke fear’s hold over her body. She cautiously crept out of her hollow, wondering if her movement would somehow trigger another barrage. She felt the air grow warmer as sunlight hit her nose. She braced herself for the worst, but the chaos didn’t return. Not even when she stood fully out in the open.
She shook off the dirt from the tree roots and cautiously made her way toward the stream, delicately stepping over the woolen carcasses that littered the ground. The brook was still running- she half expected to find it razed like everything else she believed was indestructible. She sniffed at the water despite her thirst. It was murky, almost black to her eyes, and it smelled odd. But she and her companions had drunk worse. Further up the creek other motionless forms lay facedown in the stream, as if to slake their own thirst. She began to lap up the corrupted water. It flowed so easily down her throat that she drank longer than she could, finally sputtering for air and heaving back up some of the precious liquid. The flavor was familiar but strange in her mouth- she had tasted blood before. But never men’s blood.
She leaned down to drink more but paused, ears raised. There was movement nearby. Steady footfalls shuffled through the brush and two ragged men in dark coats appeared through the trees, encumbered by the weight of exhaustion in their limbs. She strained to recognize them from a distance, unsure if she should approach. The men didn’t notice her as they limped closer. Their eyes swept across the ground aimlessly; from their path to a shattered tree trunk, from a torn overcoat to a fresh crater, from cannon to snake fence, flag to rifle, corpse to corpse, never focusing on anything at all. But they moved with purpose, even if their gaze had none.
The ringing in her ears began to die down, only to be replaced by another, lower drone. She turned back to the brook. In her haste to drink, she didn’t notice the cloud of blowflies gathered slightly downstream. They swarmed in and out of a man’s open mouth, crawling beneath his clothes and invading his wounds. She looked back to the living men still walking with weak resolution. She lowered her eyes and walked toward them, ears submissively pressed down against her head. She had to know who they were, and if they could take her back home.
Finally one of the men noticed her. They weren’t from her pack, but they didn’t chase her away. Instead they began murmuring in language she couldn’t understand.
“I’ll be damned.”
One of them knelt down to look her over. On one side of his head dried blood bridged the skin between his hair and his beard. The crimson stain and the dirt on his face made his eyes shine out from the greyed flesh surrounding them. There was life in his gaze again.
“You don’t look hurt…”
He patted her head and it put her more at ease. She didn’t fully trust them, but they were survivors like she was. And they were so much like the people she trusted before.
“We have to take her back.”
The other man just stared. One arm hung uselessly at his side.
“It’s a dog, Ephraim.”
“It’s been through hell.”
“We all have.”
The first man got to his feet and whistled.
“Come on.”
Finally a message she recognized. But she didn’t move. These strangers could possibly keep her safe, but there was still a chance that someone she knew would come back for her. “So help me, I will drag you back if I have to,” snarled the second man. The first stranger ignored him and looped his rifle strap over his shoulder.
“It’s alright.” He reached down and picked her up, cradling her over one shoulder. They began walking away from the patch of carnage she had come to know so well. But everywhere she looked, other bodies littered the ravaged landscape.
“We leave her out here the bastards’ll eat her.”
“I wouldn’t put it past the Pennsylvania boys at camp either.”
“They’ll love her. Lord knows the unit could stand an addition for a change.
They walked for a moment in silence. She rested her head on the man’s shoulder, finally allowing herself to rest. He watched her fall asleep, grateful to avert his eyes from the carnage that surrounded them.
“We’ll call her Sadie.”
Her ears flicked up. It wasn’t exactly what her old pack of tired men in grey used to call her. But it was close enough.