Jeff Brackett - Half Past Midnight

Jim grunted. “Maybe things ain’t as bad as we thought.”

Ken was still reserved. “Okay, I’ll grant you that. But you and I both know they’ve got some source of food, or they wouldn’t have made it this long. Either they brought in supplies in some of their vehicles, or they’re sending out foraging teams the same as we are.”

“So, why haven’t we seen any of them?”

He shrugged. “It’s a big forest, and we only cover a tiny bit of it each day. For all we know, they could be sending teams out the south side of town while we work the north. Who knows? The point is, we can’t sit here and hope to starve them out.”

The talk went on for another hour or so, and the only thing we finally concluded was that we couldn’t continue the way things were for much longer. In a war of attrition, the enemy still had the advantage.

Brad Stephenson was my second on a night raid, but it was ultimately my responsibility. We’d had a fairly useless night, discovering that Larry’s boys had already found the supply cache we’d gone after and had left a nest of young copperheads in its place. No one had been bitten, but only because the enemy had left so many booby traps that we had learned to take nothing for granted. At least that trap didn’t explode, as some of the others had.

We were slogging back along the bank of a drainage ditch when our point person, Rene, called for a stop. “Jefe,” she whispered, “I think we got some wild garlic here.” She pointed out a swath of plants growing near the water. “You want to take some back to camp?”

It was SOP for any raiding party to gather anything they thought might be useful, especially food. Wild onions, garlic, rice, and several other staples could often be found growing near the ditches and reservoirs around Rejas, so everyone had taken to wearing leather sacks on their belts to carry whatever loot they came across. That night, it looked as though it would be nothing more than seasoning for the stew pots, but there was plenty of it, and it was better than nothing.

I sighed. “Might as well. No reason for the night to be a total loss. Everyone fill your sacks.”

I had just yanked what seemed like my hundredth plant from the ground when Brad came up beside me. “Leeland?”

“Yeah?” I barely glanced up, concentrating on finding another plant in the darkness.

“I don’t think this is garlic.”

I found another plant and pulled it from the moist earth. “What is it, some kind of onion?”

I started to lift it to my face to sniff, but Brad grabbed my arm with a sudden force that stopped me cold. “What?”

“I don’t think they’re onions, either.”

I squinted at the plant I’d just pulled out of the earth. It certainly smelled like garlic, but I knew Brad well enough to listen. “You got my attention. Talk to me.”

“Look.” He held out the plant he had just pulled. The moon had not yet risen, and it was difficult to see what he held-difficult, but not impossible. Attached to the stem, grouped in with a few leaves and tiny berries, was a single, wilted flower, a pale, bell-shaped flower that started alarms in my head.

I had read about those, long ago, while studying in a library for a life I had never thought to lead. My herbal knowledge was sketchy at best, but I still recalled something about white, bell-shaped flowers. “What is it?”

“Lily of the Valley.”

I dropped the plant and wiped my hands on my pants. “Everybody stop!” I hissed. “Put the plants back down!”

But I was too late. Behind me, I heard the sounds of someone retching. A young girl about Megan’s age knelt on her hands and knees, shaking and vomiting. “Check her, Brad!”

I ran through the squad to make sure that everyone knew what was happening. “This isn’t garlic. It’s poisonous! Don’t rub your eyes. Don’t put your fingers in your mouth. Don’t get it on any cuts or scratches. This stuff can kill you!” People dropped the plants like they had found another nest of snakes.

“Drop your sacks and wash your hands in the water.” It was too dark to see their expressions, but no one wasted time with questions. They dumped everything they had immediately. A young kid of about nineteen dropped to his knees and rinsed his mouth in the creek.

Seeing that, I groaned, knowing that he had probably tasted some of the plant as he picked it. That was common enough while foraging, but this time it could prove fatal. I only hoped he hadn’t eaten very much.

“How much would it take to kill someone?” Brad was the one who had realized what we were picking, so I assumed he knew something about the plant.

“Not much, I would guess.” The catch in his voice made me turn.

The girl he held was no longer retching or shaking. Nor was she breathing.

“Damn!” I turned to the squad. “Who else tasted this stuff?”

Only one other hand raised, and it belonged to the kid I’d seen rinsing his mouth.

“How do you feel?”

“O-okay.”

“You tell me if you start feeling anything, all right?”

“Yes, sir.”

I turned to the rest of the squad. “Who knows this girl?”

“I do.” Rene raised her hand. “Se llama…” She took a deep breath. “She… her name is Rosalyn. Rosalyn Johnson.” Johnson. I vaguely recalled her as a sometime friend of Megan’s who’d occasionally dropped by the house before Megan had begun spending all her free time with Andrew. Damn.

“Okay. You four,” I indicated four men, “gather up Rosalyn and carry her with us. We’re going back to camp as fast as we can. Anyone who feels the least bit sick, sing out!”

Unfortunately, the damage was done. Less than a mile into the forest, the young man I had spoken with began complaining of severe cramps and a headache. He fell, shivering and cramping, and died along the way. Richard Lister complained of his eyes burning and had to be guided by two others. That slowed us down considerably, and it was more than an hour before we made it back to the main camp. We caused quite a commotion coming in at a run, even more so when people found we were carrying two dead and one wounded.

Someone must have told Jim right away, because he was there almost immediately. “What happened, Lee? Booby trap?”

Panting from the long run, I took a minute to catch my breath. “Lily… of the… Valley.”

“What? Lily of the Valley?”

“Thought… it was… garlic. Two dead.” I hung my head. Two dead. My responsibility. My fault.

Jim must have known what I was thinking and knew better than to try to say anything. He just squeezed my shoulder and handed me an open canteen. I took a quick swig and nearly choked. Now not only was I out of breath, but my eyes were watering as well.

“Jeez! What the hell is that?”

He showed his teeth in a slight smile. “Moonshine. Tastes like mule piss, with the kick thrown in as an afterthought. Don’t drink too much.”

“No problem there.” I handed the canteen back and wiped my eyes. Looking at the tears on the back of my hand, I remembered Richard. I climbed back to my feet and went to see him.

Debra was examining him by the light of the small, shielded fire. As I walked over, I could see how red and puffy the area around his eyes was.

“Can you see my hand?” Debra waved three fingers in front of his face.

He blinked repeatedly and squinted. “Yeah, but my eyes burn like hell!” He blinked several more times, forcing tears from his eyes, and then asked what must have been on everyone’s mind. “Am I gonna go blind? Is this stuff gonna blind me?” He kept his tone controlled and matter-of-fact, but his Adam’s apple bobbed with apprehension.

Debra was silent for a moment, as if considering her answer. Finally, she answered calmly, “I’m not going to lie to you, Mr. Lister. There’s a chance that it will.”