Fiction: War Zone (Part 9 of 10)

(Published in the January 28, 2012, issue of Philippines Free Press)

Harried voices woke the boy up. He had intended to stay awake the whole night, or till the warriors came back. But his body had not been fully restored to health; he had fallen asleep.

There was only one place the voices could be coming from. He rushed out of the hut and ran toward the dugout, forgetting to bring the knife Ikang had given him as a replacement for his.

He did not barge right into the dugout, however. When he was near the threshold, he crouched low. He could hear his heart beat. It pounded on his chest like a bull butting his head against a thick wooden wall. He peeked inside.

A man was standing inside the dugout. He was stooping, his head touching the roof, and protruding on his hunched back was the boy’s knife. The boy knew the knife was his because the handle looked familiar and the glinting blade was long, not completely buried in the man’s back.

“Bitch,” the man cursed Ikang, who was hastily putting back her duster on. The boy had a glimpse of her sensitive parts and averted his gaze.

By the man’s voice and the outline of his body, the boy recognized him as the fighter Badong was frequently with. “What have you done?” Titing continued talking to Ikang. “I’m just trying to save you.”

“You’re a fool,” Ikang said. “There’s nothing you can do for me. You’re even a hindrance to my plans.”

With tottering steps, Titing moved back from the woman, clawing at his back. His fingers touched the knife, but he couldn’t pull it off. His foot brushed against the gun leaning on the wall, and the gun fell on ground with a soft thud. He took the gun and aimed it at Ikang.

“No!” the boy and Ikang said at the same time. The boy rushed at Titing, and as Titing pulled the trigger, the boy tried to wrestle the gun away from him. A couple of shots rang out, and dust and debris fell from the roof.

“Little bastard,” Titing told the boy, pulling the gun away from his grasp. Titing slapped the kid hard on the cheek and shoved him out of the dugout.

Ikang rushed at Titing, intending to harm him in whatever way she could, but Titing was quick to turn back and fire at her. She froze as she felt tiny burning holes passing through her, out her back. She looked down and touched her stomach, and almost instantly blood flowed out between her fingers.

She stared at Titing in disbelief. The stab wound did not seem to hurt him as much as she expected. The cold realization then struck her that his amulet was protecting him, while she could not rely now on hers. With Gaston, she had committed an infraction, and just like Gaston, the amulet could not save her now. She fell to her knees.

Titing was crying and cursing. “This is not my fault,” he said. “You made me do this to you . . . not my fault.” He wiped his snot with his hand and pointed the gun back at her.

Ikang closed her eyes as the cold barrel of the gun rested against her forehead. She waited for death to come, but instead he heard something breaking and Titing gasp. She opened her eyes and looked up, and saw the tip of the knife protruding from Titing’s chest. Blood was dripping profusely from the knife’s tip.

The boy, she thought. The boy has saved me.

Titing dropped to his knees. He and Ikang were now in the same position as they had been moments earlier. Above Titing, Ikang saw not the boy’s face but that of Badong.

She saw panic in Badong’s face when he looked down on her bloodied belly. As Titing dropped on the floor face down, Badong held her in his arms. “You’ll be all right,” Badong told her, his voice cracking. He laid her down on the ground and put his own gun away.

The boy was standing on the doorway. Badong told him, “Get me her box.” The boy nodded and searched for it inside the dugout.

With trembling hands, Badong opened his amulet and poured some oil on his thumb. He then made the sign of the cross on Ikang’s forehead.

“Go away,” she said. “Go back to them.”

“No,” Badong said. “I’m staying here with you.”

The boy placed the box beside Badong. Badong took out a pair of scissors and cut open Ikang’s dress. The boy walked out of the dugout.

From the old box, Badong took out a handful of coconut husk. He himself had placed them there when he used them for the boy. However, when he was about to cover Ikang’s stomach with the husk, she stopped his hand with hers.

“That won’t save me,” she said, grimacing with the pain. “N-nothing can save me.”

He shushed him. “You’ll survive,” he said. “Never doubt the power of your amulet.” When he moved his hand, her grip tightened.

“I’m doomed,” she said. “I slept with Gaston on a Friday . . . I’m vulnerable too.”

The realization also hit Badong. “No,” he said. But he didn’t lose hope. “My amulet will save you.”

“I don’t want you to save me . . . Go back to them. Finish what we have started.”

He didn’t listen to her. He removed her hand from his. “You’re not going to die,” he said, placing the coconut husk on her stomach. “You’re going to pull through this and together we will kill the enemy one by one, taste victory from one camp to another. Kumander Gaston will be killed, Kumander Higante will be killed, all our enemies will be killed. And when all of these are done, we will have a happy life. We will build a family.”

She brushed the coconut husks away. “Let me die,” she said, looking at him with pleading eyes. “You’re only . . . prolonging my agony. I want to be with my daughter.”

Badong moved back from her.

She gasped and moaned, tears flowing out of her eyes.

Badong could not bear to look at her suffering, and his eyes fell on his gun. His visions came to his mind, and he understood them better. So this is why, he thought. I saw Titing’s and Ikang’s deaths clearly and not in muted flashes because I would be there. I’d stab him and shoot her myself. I was looking not only at their deaths but at the murders I’d commit.

He took his gun and rested the barrel on her forehead, right on the spot where he had made the sign of the cross. She stopped moving, and when she looked at him for the last time, he saw that her eyes were filled with gratitude, even love.

(To be continued)