Subtract

The checkpoint was made up of pockmarked concrete, and rusty corrugated iron. The barricades were little more than piles of rubble on either side of the road. It was a an old scar on our city. A conflict from long ago.

As we approached, I saw movement in the watchtower on the right. At first, I thought it might be a scrap of fabric, maybe a tattered flag blowing in the breeze. But with each step, a silhouette grew more distinct, until I could almost make out the woman’s features. An askew helmet hung on her head, chin straps dangling on either side of her face. She wore standard issue BDU, a pattern I recognized all too well. Her jacket was open, revealing a white shirt underneath. A rifle hung in its sling around her shoulder, she rested an arm on top of the barrel.

When we were within earshot, she called down to us, “Where are you headed?”

Ramirez and I glanced at each other, “South. There’s a bar.”

“That sounds nice. Cold drink on a hot day like this.”

“Yeah, if they still have power maybe. But I’d take a warm beer over no beer.”

There was a pause. The woman stared down at us, her face didn’t betray any thoughts. Then she leaned forward, resting her elbows on the broken window frame.

“Listen, I’m not gonna stop you guys, or shake you down for supplies-“

“And we really appreciate that-“ Ramirez interrupted.

“But-“ she continued, “I do have a favor to ask you.”

“Sure. But we might not be back this way for awhile.”

“That’s alright, I don’t expect you to return. If you do, that’s fine too.”

“What’s the favor?”

“There’s a kid, blonde, blue eyes, skinny and tall. Maybe about-“ she held up her hand above her head, “this tall. Barely a day over 18. His name is Jerry, Jerry Atkinson.“

“Okay? Want us to pass on a message?”

“No. Maybe...” She paused, “Just make sure he’s alright. Maybe get him a beer or something. Make sure he doesn’t come back here. Tell him I’ve moved on.“

“Have you? Moved on?“

The soldier paused, the sun beat down on us, and after a moment, she broke into a smile and said “Sure.” Then she sunk into the shadows of the watchtower, just out of our view. I looked at Ramirez, and shrugged. We walked through the checkpoint, and down the street. I looked over my shoulder a few times, and I swear I could see the soldier’s silhouette standing, watching us retreat into the distance. Or maybe watching the way we came.

When the watchtower had grown small on the horizon, I heard a distant crack of thunder. Nothing dramatic, but just loud enough to echo off the empty street, and the imposing buildings on either side. I wondered where the sound might have some from, but deep down I knew its origin.