Kyle Pratt: Through Many Fires

The convoy halted. Caden stepped from his vehicle when he saw Lieutenant Turner walking back toward the accident.

“There’s a woman under the car,” someone yelled.

Turner shouted to his men and ran toward the burning vehicle. Caden followed. The car sat to the right of a growing inferno. He gagged on the smoke and fumes. Soldiers knelt behind the wreck and pushed up. It lifted. Caden could only see one limp arm. He grabbed it and pulled. She was still trapped. “Higher, lift higher.”

Turner and the other soldiers grunted and pushed.

Caden’s face felt dry and hot as the flames licked closer.

More soldiers joined the effort.

“The fire is moving this way. Pull her out.” Turner shouted.

Caden reached under the car, grabbed both arms, and pulled. The body moved. He stumbled back, regained his footing and pulled her clear. Others took and moved the bleeding woman clear of the flames.

Caden stumbled back several feet and sat on the ground trying to catch his breath. The woman was covered with dirt and blood, both separate and mixed together. It was hard to tell her age, but she was young. A growing pool of blood surrounded her. The medic was also young, a corporal no older than twenty by the look of him. After checking for a pulse he worked frantically on the injured woman bandaging and taping her wounds.

Lieutenant Turner called to a soldier checking out the burning car. “Anyone alive?”

“No. Gas cans exploded on impact. Two people, both toast.”

Caden turned away from the fire and blood. Off to the left a lump of pastel blue blankets caught his eye. Drawn toward them he stood, walked over and pulled back the top cover. “There’s a baby here!” He drew back the remaining layer revealing a blue shirt emblazoned with “Future Quarterback,” across the front.

The medic continued to work on the woman. “Is it hurt?”

Caden couldn’t see any blood. The babies eyes were red and puffy, he had been crying, but wasn’t now. “No.”

The medic called to one of the soldiers, “Come here. Press here—hard!”

Caden cradled the baby in his arms his eyes fixed on the woman, her blouse now dark with blood. He wondered if she had thrown the baby out of the way of the car in a desperate attempt to save it. That thought brought him comfort. “Is she going to make it?”

The medic didn’t answer, but began CPR. Then he stopped and sat back on the gray gravel. He looked up at Caden and the baby. “I couldn’t stop the bleeding,” he sighed. “She’s dead.”

The other soldier, his hands crimson, walked away.

The medic looked even younger now. His eyes glazed. Caden wondered if this was his first taste of death. He stood holding the baby. “You did what you could.”

Turner walked up and stood by his medic. “She died?”

The young man nodded.

Turner knelt beside him. “Did you do everything you knew how to do?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then you did all that any of us could for her.” He held out his hand and helped the medic stand.

Turner, walking toward the convoy, called down the line, “Platoon sergeants, gas up as needed, but get it done quickly.”

As soldiers trotted to the fuel truck with cans, Caden raced to catch up with Turner. “What do I do with the baby?”

“We haven’t been able to contact local police or paramedics.” The lieutenant stared at the body of the mother now covered by an army blanket. “Take the kid to Fort Rucker. We’ll be there by morning.”

“Me?”

The medic walked up, his hands still red with the woman’s blood. “Here, you might need this.” He handed Caden the woman’s wallet and a pastel blue diaper bag.

Caden looked down at the baby. I’m not a father, and I don’t want to be.

A newer model red Lexus pulled up within inches of Lieutenant Turner and Caden. A man jumped out leaving a woman and three children inside. “You in charge here?”

Turner nodded.

“I see you’re refueling. I need gas.”

“Military vehicles use diesel and we don’t have any to spare.”

Knowing this was not quite true, Caden stared at the Lieutenant with his best poker face.

“I can see a fuel truck up there,” the man gestured along the convoy, “you’ve got plenty.”

“What part of the word diesel is giving you trouble?”

Off to the side Caden saw another man running toward them holding a gas can.

Turner started to walk away when a pickup pulled onto the gravel in front of him. Two bearded men stepped from the vehicle. The driver approached Turner, crunching the stones beneath his boots. The other stayed very close to the truck.

“I need gas,” the driver stated.

Caden noticed the man who stayed close to the car held a rifle at his side.

Turner held up his hand to the driver. “The convoy uses diesel and we don’t have extra.”

Looking down at the baby in his arms, Caden knew the situation could turn ugly any second. While Turner continued talking with the civilians Caden walked back to the car, laid the baby and the diaper bag on the seat and discretely slid his pistol in his jacket pocket. As he walked back, he noticed a sergeant positioning men along the flanks of the civilians with just a nod or a raised eyebrow.

One of the bearded men asked, “You wouldn’t mind if we just checked to see what kind of fuel you have, now would you?” He lifted the rifle and set it on the hood.

“If you try, I will kill you.”

“This is America you can’t just shoot us.”

“This is martial law. I can.” He unsnapped his holster. “And I will.”

Clutching the pistol in his pocket, Caden’s eyes darted from Turner to those wanting gas. Turner would not relent and give them fuel, Caden was sure of that. He prayed the men would back down and leave. The only sound he heard for several moments was his heart beating in his ears.

The man with the gas can cursed and walked on.

Caden took a breath.

The driver of the Lexus spat on the ground and drove away. The bearded man grabbed his gun and threw it in his truck.

As that vehicle pulled away, a soft rain fell. Turner looked at Caden, “We do have some regular gas. Have you got enough?”

“Yeah, Thanks, I’m fine.”

Caden opened the car door and the baby wailed. With a frustrated sigh he turned on the portable radio and scanned the NOAA weather frequencies. Over the cries of the baby he listened.

“…rain is out of the south and free of fallout…”

Winds out of the south were safe now that they were west of Atlanta. Once again he had been lucky, or blessed. He struggled to safely strap the baby in. He had no car seat so he tried wrapping blankets around the child and the seatbelt.

He turned on his car radio. “…other news, Homeland Security, working with the Nuclear Regulatory Commission and the International Atomic Energy Agency has identified the plutonium used in the bombs as from a North Korean reactor. The New York Times reports that President Durant is meeting with senior military advisors. Repeating our weather news the rain is out of the south…”

He sat back in his seat, finally satisfied that he had done his best to secure the child for the trip. The raindrops that gently tapped against the windshield were just water—no fallout. He and the baby would live another day, but America was dying one body blow at a time and perhaps tonight, like a wounded warrior, she would lash out at those who had hurt her.

Caden pulled the pistol from his pocket and set it on the floor behind him. He turned on the windshield wipers. While he waited for the convoy to move on he looked through the wallet. There was over a hundred dollars in cash. “Well, young man, you have a college fund.” The Driver’s license had an Atlanta address. He flipped past it to a photo of the baby. There was writing on the back. He looked over at the baby, “So little guy, your name is Adam.”