The War Game (9 page)

             
Part of this camp had been a former strip mall. Some other newer buildings were built, so the whole camp is basically an enclosed square courtyard. Make that a cement courtyard where you can still see the faded white lines once spray-painted on the ground for the mall’s former parking lot.

             
As we got off the bus, a soldier said, “Refreshments will be served in the cafeteria.” Like we were at a party or an awards banquet or something.

             
Well, at least it ain’t a last meal.

             
So everyone off the buses went to the cafeteria (a giant white tent with rows of cheap, plastic picnic tables with the benches attached) and the refreshments were already placed on the table, waiting for us.

             
And when I say the refreshments were already out on the table, they really were. No silverware, no napkins, no plates, no cups, nothing. It looked like some sort of stew. I wouldn’t be eating it, at least not today. I’d have to give myself some time before I was that desperate, perhaps a few days.

             
There were two jugs that might have once held water but they were empty. One man was so desperate for something to drink that he tilted it in his hands and started sucking on it like a bottle. I tried not to judge since I wasn’t any better off. And I have been known to drink from rain puddles, despite acid rain warnings. I bet a soldier put those jugs out there empty on purpose. Just for laughs.

             
The strip mall had been gutted out: all the display and light fixtures, most of the signs and shelving, and of course, all the merchandise had been hauled out to make way for the beds. The entire strip mall consisted of bolted-down beds with some of them currently occupied.

             
Then we walked through a connecting hallway to another building, this one was as big as a gymnasium. There were a couple of tables with people standing behind piles of stuff they were trading. Dirty clothes, water-stained books, broken tools, and things you’d find at a garage sale. If the garage sale happened to take place at the bottom of a dumpster, that is. John and I walked through, although I wanted to stop and look at the stuff but didn’t say so. I imagined we would have a lot of time for that later. 

             
We walked back through the hallway and went outside to the courtyard. There was a little boy holding onto a kids’ book. He saw me and pleaded, “Read this story to me, read this story to me.”

             
So I obliged, John sat down to rest. I read about these animals or creatures that were jealous of these other creatures who had stars on their bellies. So the creatures got stars too. That made the others mad. Then a businessman swoops in and invents a machine that can make or take away a star. And they all go crazy. But it was really about discrimination but the little boy wouldn’t even be able to say the word. I don’t like to get too philosophical if I don’t have to.

             
The title page made for a cover and it was missing half the story. The pages that remained were caked together with mud. But I pretty much memorized this story a long time ago when books were easier to come by so I just made up a few lines to fill in the gaps.

             
He seemed pretty pleased, and as I was anticipating that he would ask me to read it again to him, his mom appeared.

             
“Thank you,” she said in a slight accent. What accent it was, I couldn’t quite guess. They certainly didn’t teach anything cultural or social studies or anything like that when I went to school for a short bit. I went there mostly for the free food. I just had to memorize these numbers and those facts and spit it back out. Like a machine.

             
“No problem.” I handed the book back to the child.

             
John and I huddled together, it was summer but the nights were so cold. He put his arm around me and to my relief, it felt natural and not awkward as those things tend to be. I felt like kissing him but I somehow couldn’t gather enough bits of courage to turn around to do so. There were not even a handful of people in the courtyard. I tried to remind myself that we must have kissed at least a hundred times just a night ago. But it didn’t do any good, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I hoped he would soon.

             
John let go to reach a stick that was lying in the dirt. He drew a cross in the ground, scraping the pavement underneath. Crosses were all over the place where I used to live in a house. I didn’t think he was the religious type.

             
Then he asked me if I wanted to play hangman.

             
“Oh, okay. You’re not really giving me a choice, are you?” I asked back. I didn’t really want to play (my spelling is awful) but I didn’t want him to go away either.

             
“No, not really,” he smiled and started to draw dashes to hold the places for the letters.

             
I started with the vowels, of course, and then the most reoccurring letters such as “s” and “t.”

             
After about my fourteenth letter, I had barely filled out the board and my man was wearing all sorts of clothing and accessories. John had drew the body, the limbs, the facial features on the hangman after my first few guesses.
             

             
Then he would draw an earring, a skirt, a necklace and said that my hangman was a cross-dressing hangman. I had the dashes almost completely filled with letters but I was stuck on what was to be the last word.

             
Then it hit me and I finally got the damn phrase he made up. “Beware of the Nomads,” I shouted.

             
He smiled, clapped his hands like a little kid and said, “Yay! You won the game!” He patted me on the head, which reminded me that I couldn’t even remember when I last ran my fingers through it. I prayed his fingers wouldn’t get caught in the nest.

             
“You let me win though.” I wanted him to admit it. I always hated playing board games with my mothers because they always let me win. But then again, I was a sore loser. I’d rip up the playing cards and toss the pieces around and pout all day. No wonder they always let me win.

             
He laughed, kissed me (frankly, it was long overdue), and said, “Maybe I did.”

             
I forgave him.

             
“Yeah, did you see the tree creature in there?” he asked me.

             
“She’s here?” I asked, completely shocked, actually. It was probably cruel but I had hoped to never see her again.

             
“Yeah, she was way in the back, in a corner. I bet she already chewed out a mouse hole in the wall,” he said.

             
So he took me to where she had been but she was nowhere to be seen. “She’s probably scavenging for food wrappers and sanitary napkins to line her nest with,” he said.

             
I hit him. “That’s so gross!”

             
Then we saw her. The little bit of hair that she had was matted to the back of her neck, which was covered in boils ready to explode, and her beady little eyes. She was looking at moldy books and magazines. There were well over 100 copies of some puppy-breeding magazine and some useless, ancient encyclopedias. She had a thin hardback of poetry tucked under her arm and appeared to be exchanging it with a girl about my age with the price of a wristwatch.

             
My wristwatch. It was silver (just the color, not the material) with rhinestones.  It was feminine. It looked antique but I don’t think it was. It was a fake silver, fake diamond-encrusted, fake antique watch. But it was mine.

             
“That’s my wristwatch!” I screamed at her.

             
“No, it isn’t,” she sprayed spit into my face. Nasty nomad. Probably can’t help but salivate at the sight of humans. She looked at me with her red, cracked eyes. “It doesn’t belong to you.”

             
“I doubt it belongs to you either,” John piped in. I was mad as hell but equally pleased he cared enough to stand up for me.

             
She had nothing to say to that. I grabbed it out of her cold, vein-wrapped hands.

             
The girl with blonde hair that was going to be the next owner of the wristwatch, forced the book out of her long spidery fingers, scoffed, and walked away.

             
“You shouldn’t have done that,” the creature said to John and me. She made a big show of crossing her arms against her chest.

             
“Oh, what will you possibly do? Who would care?” John rationalized.

             
She uncrossed her arms, walked away muttering about something.

             
“Thanks,” I said, not that John couldn’t tell that I wasn’t thankful.

             
“Now we know the bastard that stole your stuff. Did you have anything else you need to get back? Because we should find it all before it gets traded away.”

             
“I would like my book on anatomy back. She probably ate all the food I had though,” I said sadly. I had a good stockpile of food.

             
“Oh.” the blonde got off her metal folding chair and fished the book out from underneath the encyclopedias. “I traded her an apple for this, but we actually get the apples from a tree out back.”

             
My anatomy book. The corners of the cover were now badly dented but I didn’t care. It found its way back to me.

             
“Thank you, appreciate it,” I took the book in my hands and opened it. I turned the glossy pages of knee joints, the skeleton system, and the female pelvis. It strangely comforted me. I guess I just feel relaxed when I have something that connects with something else that happened long ago.

             
“Yeah, thanks for the tip,” John added.

             
We walked around the strip mall to find this magical tree. It was actually outside of the camp but one of its branches was between the two fences. The fence closest to us had merely just a few coils of barbed wire. But the outer fence was electric. I’ve only heard warnings about what this other fence can do. Kill you faster than you could fall. It would actually be one of the easier ways to die, but it would suck if anyone had to witness it. I could just about stretch my arm out and pretty much touch the wall and the fence at the same time.

             
“I don’t know about this,” I started.

             
“Do you want to continue to eat that nasty stuff that looks like sewer backup?”

             
“No,” I didn’t really know what sewer backup would consist of but if it looked like the slop they gave us around noon, I could make a few good guesses.

             
John climbed to the top of the fence and started to reach for an apple. The branches closest to us had been picked bare. He still tried reaching for one way up high anyhow.

             
If he had been just a couple inches taller, he could have reached several apples. He tried shaking the branch but it was too big to sway much.

             
So I threw my book directly into the air and it knocked the branch but nothing came down with it. So I did it again, making sure I cleared its path in time for its return. I knocked down an avalanche of apples.

             
We giggled like we were kids who walked out from a candy store with a five-finger discount on peanut butter cups. John gathered the apples in his shirt, they were small but they were almost ripe enough to eat. And not too many worms, either.

             
We split the apples evenly and ate them all in silence.

~~~

             
The night came, which meant the soldiers made their rounds. They used some sort of cattle prod called the Ignis to round up the few stray crazies. There was this one guy that did nothing but laugh all day. It was kind of hard not to laugh along with him. He covered his mouth to suppress the laughter but it was still distracting. Jim once said to me that sometimes people laugh to deal with their grief. I couldn’t imagine what he dreamed about at night.

             
So the Ignis looked like any other cattle prod, except this cattle prod had a button on it. A big, fat red cliché button. Many people talk and everyone knows someone who knows someone but no one has actually seen what it can do. If you ask me, the button is just for aesthetics. Purposely designed for igniting fear, not igniting humans. So the soldiers rounded up everyone and made sure they all got to bed, like we were delinquent children in a third-world orphanage.

             
A few signs that were painted in neon lettering still remain on the windows of the shopping strip. “Buy 2 Get 1 Free,” takes on a whole brand-new meaning. Beds were bolted down everywhere, in rows. There was perhaps a foot, maybe two, of space between each one. It was disgusting.