6. Something is Off #2
Yoichi even let out a long breath.
For one selfish second, I embraced this victory and began to imagine a different ending to this war.
We could win this.
Hope stretched its wings.
But then fear and reality returned. One plane represented a beginning. The war demanded more. Nyomi still remained on this goddamn island. More of our enemies were on their way.
Danger had embedded itself into this night.
The relief faded from me.
The Dragon's smile vanished.
The darkness reclaimed its territory.
“Good.” I sat back down. "But not good enough."
Kenji frowned. “Not good enough?”
“It should have taken one shell. We can’t waste any.”
“We have enough.”
“They’re bad at shooting.”
“They weren’t prepared.”
“We should have been prepared.”
“We can’t prepare for every fucking thing when it comes to war. There will be mistakes.”
“Mistakes take lives.”
“I know exactly what mistakes cost, but I won't trade tonight away to grief I haven't earned yet. Neither will you."
I swallowed. "Fine."
"Fine."
I scanned the island and at least I didn’t see any ghosts.
Thank God. Please no ghosts during the battle. I have to focus.
Near the bend, two older Scales checked each other's vests, tugged the straps tight, and slapped the plates twice. One of them laughed at something. The other didn't.
And in the dark between the trees, where the moonlight gave up, I caught the shape of men I couldn't see clearly at all. I only knew they were there by the small sounds my ears caught—a bolt sliding home, a magazine seated, a blade testing its sheath, and a man murmuring pleas to God.
Could we defend this island and win?
How long would we battle this evening?
Would we still be fighting in the morning?
Would we still be at war for days?
No. We have to end this here, fast, and tonight.
“Hiro.”
I turned back to Kenji.
My brother had been watching me the whole time and his face showed concern. "Akiro sent that plane ahead to map our positions and get a better view of the island. It didn’t work. Now he's still blind as he goes into war."
“He is.”
“That’s good. Regardless of how many shells it took to bring him that darkness.”
“Okay.”
Only Kenji could sell me a win within the hopelessness. That was probably why he was the Dragon, and why we boldly followed him.
He’s right.
That small win grew warm in my chest. It was the first warmth of the night. I just hoped it wouldn’t be the last.
I bit down on the lollipop.
The candy cracked against my teeth.
Kenji set his mask on his knee. He looked older in the dark than he did in the light. The Dragon expression still sat on his face, but underneath it I saw the boy who used to carry me on his back, and that boy looked tired.
"Kenji."
"Hmm?"
I pulled the stick from my mouth and gripped it in my fist. "If something happens to me tonight—"
"Hiro. No."
"Listen to me." I pointed at him with the stick.
"If something happens to me, take care of the Claws.
They're good men. They'll follow you, but they grieve hard, and they'll need you to grieve with them, not above them. Because I’m so amazing, it will take them a very long time to forget me. Many decades, not years."
Kenji grinned. “Many decades of grief over you?”
“Of course.” I swallowed. "And take care of my mother—"
"You're going to survive—"
"Just in case—"
"There is no just in case." He sneered. “You will survive this evening.”
“I’m just saying that—”
“Don’t.” Kenji brought his hand over to mine and gripped it. His palm was warm and twice the size of mine, just as it had been the last time he held my hand like this, long ago.
My mind went back to those days, and brutal years fell away, and I was five again in our father’s mansion. It had been a monster of a mansion, all long halls, high ceilings, and heavy doors.
My mother and I lived in a small shack that smelled like cigarette smoke and cheap perfume.
Every other weekend, my mother drove me to my father’s gate, handed me over to a servant, and drove away.
And the great cold mansion would close around me.
And the dead lived in those doors.
I first saw ghosts when I was five and my hands were clean. A woman on the third-floor landing with her wrists open. A man in the wine cellar with his neck wrong. A little girl who only ever showed me the back of her bleeding head.
I screamed about them until the screaming made my father slap the back of my skull and call me soft, stupid, and broken.
Kenji’s mother, though. . .she always believed what I saw. She always held and comforted me.
I wasn’t sure if Kenji believed me.
But that didn’t matter. . .because no matter what time of night or day I screamed. . .Kenji would come to me, take my hand, and remain there until I calmed down.
“I'm here, Hiro,” he would say. “I'm right here. Whatever you see, it can't have you. I won't let it. You’re my brother, and that’s that.”
Seeing ghosts.
I probably was always crazy. Maybe my father was right, and the world broke me before I had any reason to break. And I didn’t see a damn thing at all. It all could just be in my fucking head.
Or I really did see the ghosts.
Both answers weighed the same in my soul, and both terrified me.
Kenji brought my focus back to him. “We’re going to win.”
“We are.”
“Who the fuck could ever beat us?”
“No one.”
“We stand together. We fight together. We trust each other. And no one, not the Fox or Akiro, can go against us.”
“Correct.” I looked down at our united hands. The knot in my chest loosened, just a little.
“And of course I would take care of your mother and the Claws.” Kenji let go of my hand. The fierce Dragon expression settled back over his face.
The cart kept rolling.
We drove deeper into the island, and everywhere the light touched, I saw even more that we were ready.
Tons of men crouched in the tree line, still as the trunks they hid behind, rifles laid across their knees. These Scales wore oni masks, but plain ones.
Solid red.
Solid black.
Solid grey.