Clio and Cy: The Apocalypse (16 page)

“How often have I lain beneath rain on a strange roof,
thinking of home.”

― William Faulkner

RMB Pendleton:

Petty Officer Gary Deines looked around his new home. He
gave a silent approving nod to the location of their new berthing quarters. It
was ok; didn’t have much of a choice. But the SEALs wouldn’t have a clear shot
at the ocean anymore through their windows. That sucked.

Blocked by mountains, the water was relatively close, and
like any good Navy SEAL, Petty Officer Deines could smell the salty abyss. As
if conch shells were pressed to them, the sound of the Indian Ocean was always
playing in his ears.

The new quarters formerly belonged to another elite unit.
For many years 1st Recon Battalion had called the place home… until the war started.
Olympic caliber athletes, the versatile 1
^st
Recon Marines were all
dead now. Recon Marines were tough as nails, not that there were any left. Just
as the SEALs, Recon Bubbas were skilled divers and also felt at home in the
water.

The thing that made Recon Marines different from other
special ops units was this: First you have to become a Marine. Then, if you get
through that, you can attempt the masochist’s wet dream of becoming Recon. Such
great warriors being snuffed out,
what a
damn waste, what a shame,
Deines thought.

Most of the Recon Battalion was killed while they lent their
skills, doing dirty spy work behind enemy lines on a far off continent. They
were fighting in a “non-war,” aka police action in Northern Iran. Thanks to
Israel’s,
Operation Parking Lot
, they
were killed in a nanosecond. They weren’t hunted one-by-one until extinction, 1
^st
Recon was wiped off the face of the earth like a wet sneeze. So now, morbidly
lucky for the SEALs, the old Recon Marine digs were vacant.

Recon and SEAL training required each man to become as
comfortable in the water as he is on dry land. No recruit ever got used to the
cold though.

Ask any special ops guy this question and you’ll always get
the same response: “What was the worst part of training?” Answer: “The cold.”

The cold… Nothing in the world tests a man’s intestinal
fortitude while he endures each day, ungodly pain, fighting off the mental and
physical torture - hypothermia knocking at his doorstep. Rapping at his
chamber… Teeth chattering so hard that if they broke off, surprise wouldn’t
break
free from any part of the
warrior’s amazement.
I figured that was
going to happen
, watching teeth as they bounced off the floor, sounding
like wooden nickels.

Inside the barracks… The handful of SEALs decided which
racks they were going to call theirs and went about dibbing in business-like
silence.

Must be getting ready
to rain…
Petty Officer Deines thought. His foot was acting up again. A
nightmare, he thought about the old injury that occurred during “Hell Week,”
the hardest week of military training known to man. Forever and always…

It hadn’t changed much since its inception. None of SEAL
training had, just the equipment and sometimes, new tactics were introduced. Any
changes over the years caused the teams to get better, faster and sharper. It
was the only reason for change. None of that, however, was worth a shit without
the toughness of each individual man. Petty Officer Deines’s father used to
say: “If you’re going to be stupid, then you better be tough.”

Gary Deines wasn’t stupid but he was tough. He stood on his
tiptoes, trying to loosen his foot, rising up and down on the balls of his
feet.
Hell Week
… He hated those damn
logs they were forced to run around with, hated them about a hair less than he
hated the Ker. Drifting off, he thought about Hell Week…

***

The first day of Hell Week and a telephone pole, aka a log -
dropped on his foot. It crushed metatarsals one through five, along with his
middle and big toe.

Day one, Jesus Christ!
How the hell am I going to get through
this?
he thought.

The days in Hell Week are like reverse dog years. One day
equals a week in the heart and soul of each wanna-be-warrior. Petty Officer
Deines envisioned the week ahead of him while enduring the injury to his foot.
A real road to purgatory lay before him. His vision of hell spanned over the
length of a week, a dog week he quickly pushed out his mind, slamming the door
shut on nightmare thoughts.

It’s said that every great journey starts with one step; if
Deines wanted to become a SEAL, he’d have to take his, numero uno, mentally and
physically. Suck it up Buttercup…

Gary Deines would rather die than ring the bell and quit.
Hanging on by his fingernails, he lifted his foot and stepped. And after he
took the first one, the rest followed, hobbling every goddamn one of them.

He pushed out the soul crushing distance to the finish line
and focused on the only thing he could, the goddamn pain. The sun rose and set
and the days went by…

With his bones grinding together and tears streaming down
his face, Hell Week was over. As if there was any other way, he made it by the
skin of his teeth. Maybe tough didn’t quite cover it – not for what Petty
Officer Deines was.

***

The door opened and Captain Banks entered the berthing
quarters.

Petty Officer Deines turned to face him. “Sir,” he addressed
the Marine Corp. Officer.

“Gentlemen,” Captain Banks said after pausing and looking
around the room.

“Think we can grab some supplies sir? Need to load our
magazines and grab some first aid,” Petty Officer Deines requested.

“We may not have everything we need but we’ve got plenty of
that,” Capt. Banks affirmed.

“First aid, sir?”

“Rounds Petty Officer Deines... Ammo… Armory is still tip
top and intact… along with most of the base... most of it, anyway… We’ve got
enough small arms and bullets to last a few years,” he quipped and pointed
toward the armory.

Petty Officer Deines looked toward the armory, “I’m sure as
hell glad you still have the two Vulcan Helicopters sir.” Without them, the
SEAL knew they’d still be stuck in Coronado, or dead.

“Me too sailor,” Capt. Banks softly answered. “Me too…”

“Where’s the B.A.S. (Battalion Aid Station) sir?”

“He’s doing ok Petty Officer,” Capt. Banks affirmed, referring
to the injured SEAL. “I’ll show you, come on.”

“Roger that… Thank you sir.”

The two men walked out of the barracks and enjoyed the
sunshine that was quickly being swallowed by incoming cumulous monsters.
Staring back at them, dark billows hung over the ocean.

“Looks like rain,” Capt. Banks said, squinting over the
mountain range. He noticed darkness emanating over the unseen ocean and let his
gaze linger after realizing the sky looked serious. “Damn sure going to come
down.”

Deines also realized how ominous the sky looked, feeling the
pain in his foot increase.

 
Capt. Banks pointed
back toward the motor pool like he was going to tell Deines that’s where the
BAS was, but his words hung up. The officer couldn’t pull away. He paused,
eyeing the storm as if it were a precipice.

Gary Deines looked down at his foot and wiggled it. “Yeah,
think you’re right... gunna rain.”

Finally, the officer broke free from Mother Nature’s looming
power and turned away. “Keep the BAS inside the motor pool these days,” Capt.
Banks said as he began walking across the grinder, looking back once more.

“Why’s that?” Gary Deines asked, figuring he already knew
the answer.

“The big hospital near the main gate was blown to hell. Bastards…”
he said, wondering if the SEAL had been in the hospital before. Most of the
Recon and Frogmen stationed on the west coast had to do physicals there and
between those two groups, injuries abound.

“Only place I’ve ever had another man stick his finger up my
ass… but still…” Petty Officer Deines stated like he was describing an award
he’d won instead of a rectal.

“Me too!” Capt. Banks shouted. Both men chuckled, feeling a
bit embarrassed inside.

“Still sad that it’s gone…” Deines said appearing to gaze
out in thought. Capt. Banks knew the SEAL was referring to everything being
gone, the world. The hospital was one of those destroyed symbols that
represented the worst of the war; it hurt just a bit more.

They entered the medical quarters that were now cleaner than
when the space was strictly a motor pool office.

 
“How you doing
champ?” Petty Officer Deines asked his SEAL teammate who was working out in the
hospital bed.

He was doing dips on the side rails and turned to face the
two men walking toward him. “Super.”

“Don’t you think you need to give that a rest son,” Capt.
Banks suggested.

“No sir,” the injured SEAL responded.

“Color’s back… Still ugly,” Deines jabbed as he reached over
to pinch his teammate’s cheek.

“Ok pretty boy,” Imo responded while pulling his head back.
Pronounced ee-mo, Dan Blevins was half Japanese. His mother used to call him
Imo as a child and the name stuck. Imo in Japanese means little potato.

“Wait till I get out of this bed,” he promised.

The men could never treat Petty Officer Deines like a
full-blown officer but they respected his new position as acting, CO. For the
most part though, they still thought of him as one of the boys.

“I’m glad you’re alright little potato,” Deines cracked.

“Let the corpsman know if you need anything sailor,” Capt.
Banks suggested as Imo went back to doing another set of dips. Captain Banks
was shocked the guy could even move.

“Roger that sir,” Imo said staring straight ahead with veins
popping out of his tan skin.

“Guessing he’ll be fine,” Capt. Banks said, shaking his head
in amazement.

Gary Deines flipped Imo the bird along with a smirk as he
and the Captain began to walk toward the BAS exit.

 
“Tis in ourselves that
we are thus or thus. Our bodies are our gardens to the which our wills are
gardeners.”

― William Shakespeare

“How did I do?” Clio asked.

“I’m proud of you. You did good… you did real good today
Clio,” Russ responded.

“Can we go look for my mother then?”

“Ah…” Russ let out a sigh as he looked at the ground and
placed his hands on his hips.

“Please,” Clio asked.

“I don’t know yet…” Russ said, as he seemed to search for
the right answer in the floorboards.

Clio sensed Russ was thinking about something, pondering a
deep thought perhaps.

“What are you thinking about?” Clio asked.

Envisioning the railroad tracks, Russ lifted his head up and
looked through the back of the house. “Just thinking about… something… I don’t
know though…” he said as he searched the floorboards again.

“What? Tell me,” Clio demanded with a measure of curiosity
that only a twelve-year-old girl could cross-examine with.

“The tracks,” Russ said.

“What about them?”

Trying to solve the importance of the tracks, Clio’s mind
rummaged through her memories.
I know
it’s here somewhere
, throwing unwanted thoughts aside.
Next…

“Well…”

“What?” she asked.
Wait
a minute…
her mind latched on to an idea. Clio began thinking of a set that
ran near the RMB, or had she dreamt she’d seen railroad tracks by her home
once?

“They run right by the base,” Russ said, snapping Clio out
of her daydream.

“They do!” she said. “You’re right! I remember seeing them…”
Nodding up and down, Clio placed her palm on her forehead.

“Yup... They go right by the damn place,” Russ affirmed,
wishing he could undo his words along with the idea of following the tracks to
the RMB.

“Let’s go right now!” Clio shouted.

“Child, are you nuts!” Russ yelled.

Clio glanced down at the floor with the air let out of her.
“I just miss her… I have to find her,” she pleaded.

“I know you do honey, but...”

“What if she needs our help?” Clio asked.

Russ knew that the possibility of Clio’s mother still being
alive was remote.
We’d probably get
killed in the process of searching for her ourselves
, he thought.

“Calm down. We need to rest and prepare before we even think
about taking a trip like that,” Russ ordered, like he was telling his daughter
that she couldn’t take the car out for the weekend.

Clio nodded her head in agreement while holding back from
screaming. She wanted to point out the fact they could get loaded up and be
ready in minutes.
How can he not know
this?
Clio wondered.

“Besides, I’m not a spring chicken anymore, need my rest.”

Clio realized that Russ was what she thought of as, old, but
didn’t have it in her to understand what
old
did to a body. Her eyes could see it, and so did her instincts. An old man,
tough as he was – was standing before her.

“Ok,” she relinquished, trying to fight back tears.

Russ looked at the top of the sulking girl’s head, watching
her burn a hole through the floor with her eyes.
Can’t believe I’m doing this
, Russ was still thinking it as he said
it,
can’t believe it
. “Clio… We can
go in the morning… Ok… How’s that?”

“Yes!” Clio shouted, making Lady bark and jump up. Clio
grabbed Lady’s paws and starting dancing with the dog, spinning around in a
circle.

Russ shook his head and watched them play. Twirling, Lady
looked over at Russ with an unsure expression and tried to keep pace on her
hind legs.
Please stop this unnatural
ballet
; the dog seemed to communicate.

More than his Husky wanted off the twelve-year-old girl’s
ride, Russ wanted to stop the whole bloody idea of this trip. He’d raised a
daughter to Clio’s age so he knew that the possibility of the trip not
happening was – impossible.

Russ hated cats and unfortunately, this one was now out of
the bag. He’d probably get to the point of wanting to put a bullet in his head
from her nagging him. The old man thought of Bell,
God could she beat a dead horse when she didn’t get her way. Especially
with something she really wanted
. But lord… he loved and missed her so damn
much.

Clio released the dog’s paws and then followed south and
gave a big hug. “I love you,” Clio whispered in her ears, burying herself into
fur, seeing her mother’s face.

Watching the two girls play, Russ thought of what his Bell
would look like if she were still alive. She’d been dead a few years. The old
man shook out the awful images, the traces of what he’d found left of his wife
and daughter were too much to thwart. Nothing was ever found of his Bell. Other
than blood, not a scrap was left. The old man found his wife’s wedding ring
still intact, just like her hand and finger to which it was still attached.

Satisfied from cuddling the dog, Clio popped back up and
looked at Russ. “What should I start packing?”

Russ knew the girl wanted to go find her mother but he was
still surprised at how focused she was. He admired the warrior spirit that
oozed from her pores.

“Set your ruck on the table,” Russ ordered.

After walking into the kitchen, Russ slid off his ruck and
placed it down. He rested a hand on a round cherry tabletop and dug things out
the pack with the other. Needing to make a list, he stopped unloading and
assigned her to finish the job.

“Go ahead and take everything out of this one and do the
same to yours,” ordered the old man.

Clio took hers off and placed it next to the other much
larger Mountain style rucksack and began removing its contents.

Russ opened drawers in the background of the kitchen, and
then left out after he didn’t find what he was looking for.

“What are you looking for?” Clio asked.

“Pen and paper,” he responded.

Wanting to help, Clio left the kitchen and joined him in
searching the living room. She opened a drawer on a rectangular piece of
furniture supported by long skinny legs that spiraled up in woodcarvings. Faces
peeked out and she reached in to see who they were.

Clio dusted the glass with her fingertips, wondering how so much
filth made its way inside a closed drawer. She stood behind the sofa eyeing the
old man. “Was this them?” she asked. “Russ, look,” Clio demanded, thinking the
festive picture would cheer him up.
Why’s
it in here
…
Maybe he’s forgotten
about it,
she wondered.

Kneeling and ignoring, Russ glanced down at the note pad
while he shut the drawer underneath the coffee table. The old man eyed a legal
pad with a small calendar stamped on the top corners of each page.
Been a while since I’ve seen this thing
,
Russ thought while not wanting to see what Clio was trying to show him.

He placed the calendar on top of the coffee table and turned
toward the twelve-year-old, verifying the picture in her hand. Thumbing through
the pages in his hand, Russ glanced down at the pad. “Yeah… I see it… Put it
back,” he asked in a low voice before making eye contact with her again to
assure she obeyed.

“I’m sorry,” Clio said after she tucked the picture away.
She wanted to look through all the pictures that were inside the drawer but
thought better of it in light of the old man’s expression.
Obviously the picture bothers him, or something,
Clio thought. It
was his dead family, how could it not?
Why
this one though?
She wondered.

It used to be the old man’s favorite picture. One of those
rare things captured on film at just the right moment. The sunny shore of a
Caribbean beach highlighted their smiles. He, his wife and his daughter
vacationing, immortalized together in a beautiful snapshot in time.
Time
… Russ realized it had been somewhere
around a year since he’d seen the photo last. He wasn’t sure though… The fact
that the image was burned in his brain helped cloud when he actually last held
the thing in his hands.

After what it did to him the last time, he promised that
he’d never look at it. It took too much out of him.

Using his last bout of depression as a marker,
that’s right he thought
, as the answer
came to him,
it’s been almost a full year
since I saw it,
his hand tracing over the day on the calendar pad.

His wife’s third missed birthday was fast approaching.
Holding that damn picture last year around this time was just enough to push
him over the edge. And for some reason, nothing else brought him as low as the
sight of the three of them together in that very photograph.

Although he kept it hidden, he couldn’t bring himself to
throw it away. Pictures that his wife hated when she was alive, including that
one, he regarded as priceless; whether he would ever look at them again was
beside the point.

Clio looked down at the calendar with a somber expression of
her own.

“What is it? Russ asked.

“My birthday… forgot it was tomorrow,” Clio said, looking at
the calendar.