STORIES, AFTER EIGHT

WHERE THE NIGHT HIDES ITS SHADOW

This is STORIES, AFTER EIGHT. Today is the FREE text part of my story. Tomorrow, I will hopefully be putting up the READING portion of the program on my BTC-TV Channel 13. That will be going up for my PAID subscribers only. In the meantime, this goes out to all my FREE subscribers.

Emilio made his way through the jungle and into the wetland; that’s where the water held in the caldera of the dormant volcano the soldiers called Fuji, spilled down the side of the slope, pooling into a swampy bog before seeping into the lagoon. The sound of the siren was echoing in his head. He could see the landing craft approaching against the brightness of the moon. He told himself to keep to the shadows, in case someone mistakenly thought he was part of the invasion force and shot him.

Is it an invasion, he wondered? What else can it be?

He made his way to the Comfort House — the Teahouse as he liked to call it— not that they ever served any tea, and burst in through the front door. He was out of breath, and leaned against the wall in an effort to catch his breath. There were seven soldiers inside who looked at him, shocked to see him.

“What’s going on?” one of the soldiers asked. “Why is the alarm on?”

“Why are you still here?” Emilio asked. “Don’t you hear the siren? We’re under attack,” he said, gasping for breath.

“Attack? By who?” another one of the soldiers asked. He was young, and looked startled, jumping at every sound he heard; his eyes were darting about the room, searching out the shadows in the corners.

“What do you mean, who? Who do you think?” Emilio said.

“Tonight? They had to come tonight?” the first soldier said.

“Yes, tonight!” Emilio spat out. “It isn’t exactly great timing for me, either.”

“Yeah? Well, I’ve been waiting for more than a week just to get to my turn on the rotation, and now they decide they want to come tonight? How’s that for timing?”

“I don’t know what to say about that,” Emilio said, and walking to the small office in the back of the room, closed the door.

He began sorting through whatever papers he could find, dropping them into a small wastepaper basket beside the desk. It wouldn’t do to let the Americans see what was going on here, he told himself, thinking he’d have to burn the papers. He doubted if he’d be held responsible, but he didn’t want to take that chance. He wondered if the Americans would even know he wasn’t Japanese.

He opened the drawers of the desk and saw the small revolver. It was a Nambu, a reliable gun, but hopelessly underpowered. He checked to see if it was loaded, saw that it wasn’t, and began sorting through the drawer looking for the bullets. They were scattered through the drawer, and it took him a moment to load the gun. He noticed that his hands were shaking.

He turned, hearing the door burst open, and put the gun in his waistband. He was careful with how he pushed it into his belt because there was no safety mechanism like European guns had. He opened the door carefully, looking through the crack and into the room.

It was Jōttō Haisō Hoshikawa. He was carrying his rifle, standing at the door and looking at the seven soldiers. He smiled a toothy grin that was more menacing than it was humorous. His face was sweaty, glowing in the soft light of the room.

“Trying to get one last one in before it’s too late, eh?” he said, grinning. “Can’t say as I blame you. But no,” he said, grabbing the first soldier by the arm and pulling him to the floor. He began kicking him.

“Get up! You bastards! Can’t you hear the siren? Get to your posts! Now!” he screamed.

The soldiers knew better than to refuse Hoshikawa. He was a man known for his temper and quick flare ups; a man who let his anger get the better of him. The other soldiers scrambled to get up and run for the door. In a moment, they were followed by those soldiers who were in the rooms using the women. Hoshikawa was screaming, kicking at the soldiers and pointing his rifle at the head of one man, muttering something Emilio couldn’t hear.

The soldiers were followed out of the rooms by the women, who appeared as frightened as they were confused with all the shouting and the siren blaring in the distance. Emilio could see the English woman standing in the shadows. He knew she didn’t understand what Hoshikawa was saying to the others, but he also knew she wasn’t a stupid woman.

You don’t survive in a place like this without having figured out how to survive, he told himself.

He watched as Hoshikawa turned, looking at the women. He watched the man as he aimed his rifle at the first woman, jamming the barrel into her face; he muttered something Emilio couldn’t hear, before pulling the trigger. The other women screamed, two of them splattered with the woman’s blood.

Emilio slammed the door shut and leaned back against the wall, trying to catch his breath. He’d never seen someone being shot before. He’d seen dead soldiers, as well as civilians, but that had always been after those people had been shot. He’d never seen a person being shot, and realized it was the most horrific thing he’d ever seen before. He could remember the look in the woman’s eyes as she realized what was about to happen, just as he could see the look in the other women’s eyes as it happened.

Does he mean to kill them all?

He realized that's exactly what the man meant to do, and he realized with mounting terror, that it was up to him to stop the man. He reached for the gun in his belt and slowly drew it, carefully, mindful of the trigger. He knew he’d probably die trying to protect the women, and wondered what his best options were. Hoshikawa wouldn’t hesitate to shoot him, he knew that, which left him little choice as to what he had to do.

He opened the door, and saw Hoshikawa turn his head and smile, raising the rifle and pointing it at the second woman, still looking at Emilio.

“Ah, here comes the hero,” he grinned. “What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue? Isn’t that what they say? Come to watch the show, is that it? Maybe see how real man dies? Oh, but these aren’t men, well, it’s all the same to me.”

Emilio walked directly up to him, the gun in his hand, hanging in the shadows beside his leg. He looked at Hoshikawa who stared at him as he pressed the barrel of the rifle under the woman’s chin, grinning.

Emilio stopped three paces in front of the man and without a second thought raised the revolver. Later, he’d play the scene over and over again in his mind, trying to justify his actions to himself. He didn’t hesitate. There was no pause for reflection, or doubt. It was something that needed doing, he told himself after.

Hoshikawa saw the revolver and tried to move, tried pointing the rifle at him even as Emilio pulled the trigger. Emilio knew he had to be as close to the man as he could. The Nambu’s one drawback was that it under preformed, and he knew that. A man could point and aim, and pull the trigger all in one motion, but if he was at a distance, the shot would seldom prove fatal. At twenty meters, the bullet would probably not kill a man; at three paces, it would not fail.

He bent over and picked up the rifle, watching the blood slowly seep into the cracks of the floor.

“We have to leave,” he said.

“Leave? Why? I thought you said the Americans were coming?” one of the women asked.

“And do you think they will treat you any different than the Japanese? Do you want to take that chance?”

“Where do you plan on going?” another woman asked.

“I have a boat.”

“A boat? Are you mad? Why would we leave?”

“What if the Japanese come in here first?” Emilio asked. “Someone has to know Hoshikawa came here. Those other soldiers know, the ones who just left. We can’t stay here. What do you think they’ll do if they find out he’s dead?”

“But we can’t leave.”

“You want to stay and take your chances here? Then by all means, stay. I’m leaving. Who’s coming with me?” he asked. He looked at them all, and looked at the English woman. He realized she probably didn’t understand what they were saying.

“I’ve got a boat. I’m leaving. They don’t want to leave. They want to take their chances with the Americans.”

“The Americans are coming?”

He nodded.

“And you want to leave? Why?”

“Hoshikawa came in here to kill you. You’re witnesses. Do you want to stay here and wait for the Americans, knowing the Japanese will kill you if they get the chance? We can always come back later, when it’s over.”

“When what’s over?”

“The Japanese will never surrender. You know that. Now, are you coming with me?”

She looked at the others, looked at the dead woman on the floor and slowly nodded.

“I was hoping you’d agree. Let’s go,” he said, and walking to the door, opened it a crack and looked outside.