(14)
— Originally published in the Antietam Review (Spring, 1999)
Continued from page (13)
Kerney knelt beside him. “It’s over, man.” His arm went around Griffin’s
quaking shoulders. His heart contracted. “Griffin.” Tears started down his
cheek. “Griffin.”
Abruptly, Griffin raised his head. Kerney pulled away and fell backwards
on the sand. Griffin peered toward the river as though listening. He was
panting. “Tom!” He looked hard at Kerney, then looked toward the river
again. He sprang to his feet and yanked Kerney up. His hands grasped
Kerney’s shoulders. His eyes glowed. “Tom, there’s still a way. I can stop
them. I can scare them off. I can bring the whole goddam U.S. military force
to the perimeter.” He gazed toward the river once more and smiled. Still
panting, smeared with sand and tears, he turned full face to Kerney.
“Tom. My friend. You stuck by me.”
He let go of Kerney’s shoulders and stepped back without taking his eyes
from Kerney’s face. Then he bolted. Kerney watched the blond figure lope through the night. “No.” He ran
after Griffin. “No, Griff. No.”
Griffin got to the perimeter first. He snatched an M-16 from the guard on
duty, dashed through the concertina wire gate, and sprinted toward the
river. Flares fired as he hit the trip wires. Before Kerney reached the bunker,
the guard began shooting flares into the air. They burst, high above, and
bathed Griffin’s bounding form in orange light.
“Griff, come back here, you bastard!” Kerney screamed.
Griffin kept going. He called toward the river as more flares burst over
him. Thirty yards out, he stopped and sprayed the shoreline with fire from
his M-16. Then he started running again. Roused by the shouting and
gunfire, the detachment came to life.
Kerney stood watching it all happen as if it were a soundless movie in
slow motion. The screaming inside of him drowned out everything else. He
was sobbing, out of control. “Goddam you, Griffin. Goddam you, goddam
you, goddam you.” Then no more words, nothing but screaming.
He shoved the guard aside and swung the M-60 toward Griffin. He fixed
Griffin in the sights through a blur of tears and squeezed the trigger. The
weapon shuddered. Tracers flew from the barrel to the gangly orange figure
vaulting over the grass and sand. Griffin rose triumphantly in a movement
more beautiful than any Kerney had ever seen, then floated down and
collapsed, limbs askew, onto the ground, like a broken marionette.
TOM'S TALES