Artyom Dereschuk - Hate the Sin

“Tsetse.” He approached the captain as he was leaving. “I don’t have much ammo left… I think I have thirteen rounds left in the magazine, but that’s it…” He was stopped by the captain’s gesture.

“Come over to the center of the camp,” he told the younger boy. “The squad that the General sent off yesterday brought ammo, among other things. Enough for everyone.”

“What other things?” Desecrator curiously inquired. “Did they bring explosives?”

The captain didn’t reply, leaving Desecrator without an answer. The boy awkwardly shifted, before proclaiming to everyone: “I bet it’s explosives. I always wanted to see them blow up.”

The captain didn’t lie; two adult soldiers were standing near the trunk of one of the trucks and handing out magazines to everyone—two into one set of hands, tied together with sturdy duct tape.

Everyone, grown-ups and kids, were rushing to them, afraid that there wouldn’t be enough ammunition for everyone. Pushing, scowling, screaming. No gun would shoot without ammunition, and the 7.62 rounds could mean death for someone caught in the cross fire. But for the gun’s wielder, each bullet had the opposite effect. Each bullet could carry salvation and a free highway to a calm peaceful death from old age—or, at the very least, it could prolong life for a few more seconds until the next opponent would arrive.

Someone tried going in a second time, but the soldiers in charge of handing out the magazines recognized him and pushed his hand away. Corpse Eater dodged an elbow that was aiming for his face as he was trying squeeze in, and Homewrecker got on all fours and started crawling between legs.

Puppy Slayer understood why they were taking such risks, but even though he was almost dry he didn’t feel like rushing in. Instead, he decided to bide his time and wait for everyone else to calm down and walk away from the truck.

While he was standing there and looking around, he noticed that the soldiers had already unloaded the trucks, and its contents were now standing next to them, ignored by everyone.

It was two massive generators, a tall stack of canisters of fuel, a few long reels of cables, and around a dozen lamps—so big that they might as well be floodlights—and something else. Two long and seemingly heavy objects, wrapped in cloth.

The soldiers also brought two large trolleys for large cargo from the warehouse, and they were now parked next to the generators—no doubt they were intended to be used to carry the heavy equipment around.

It was logical, the boy suddenly realized, that the rays of sun never could never reach the place called “Underworld,” and thus, in a spark of ingenuity, the General had decided to bring a source of light with them—powerful enough to last them throughout the entire trip. Sending off the squad during the night suddenly made sense—without the light their little expedition would never happen, and they’d have to forget about ever lifting the curse.

Soon enough, when everyone realized that the ammo was rationed and they wouldn’t get any more than what they were already given, the crowd thinned out and Puppy Slayer could easily approach the truck. The soldiers standing in the trunk smirked when they recognized him.

“Don’t shoot yourself by accident,” a soldier joked, handing the boy his two magazines, and the other man cheerfully laughed.

The General joined them not much longer after that. The man had paid extra attention to his appearance, and his face and arms were already covered in a thick layer of war paint. His clothes seemed cleaner and tidier than usual, and his favorite beret was cocked carefully to the side. All the attention to details worked: as soon as the grunts saw him approach, they all fell silent. From the corner of his eye, Puppy Slayer even saw one soldier straighten up, as if they really were in the army.

“Everyone! Today is the day,” the General declared, walking alongside the front row of soldiers. “Today, we take the fight to the devils and we take our fate back into our own hands. We will march toward the mines where the entrance to the Underworld is located and descend there. We have enough fuel to provide us with light for the whole day, but we better move fast. We don’t know how large the Underworld is. Our mission there—” He stopped and raised one finger to indicate the importance of his statement. “Is to find the herb which the witch used to place a curse on us. Only with it we can undo the curse.”

Contrary to Puppy Slayer’s expectations, the soldiers weren’t cheering. They remained stoic and serious, and the boy was sure: the reason for such a drastic change from how they reacted the day before was because they had sobered up. Their minds were clear enough to recognize the seriousness of the upcoming mission. The General wasn’t promising them another raid or battle with other brigades; he was suggesting something far more dangerous, something that they weren’t used to. The attackers that had assaulted them before had planted fear in their souls, fear that the enemy might rise up from the dead to exact their revenge. No doubt, if their future didn’t hinge on the success of their upcoming operation, none of them would have agreed to it. So the soldiers were mostly nodding and only some of them were talking.

“Right, right.”

“Hear! Hear!”

“Let’s get this over with.”

“All right,” the General said in a less enthusiastic manner. No doubt he saw that his speeches didn’t have their desired effect anymore. “If it’s clear, then let’s not waste any more time. Load all of this into the trucks and let’s get going. Keep your eyes peeled and watch out for my flanks. No doubt that witch had already seen through our plan and will try to take me out before I can reverse of the curse.”

Throughout all of their trip, they remained silent. It wasn’t that Homewrecker didn’t have anything to say (he was practically screaming on the inside that what they were doing was madness), but he decided to do his best not to show his feelings. Judging by the serious mugs around him, he wasn’t the only one who was going through the same thought process: everybody was on edge. Whenever somebody spoke, the others hushed him, and started turning their heads, trying not to lose even an inch of ground to a possible threat.

Deep inside, Homewrecker felt some sort of bizarre, repulsive respect growing for the General; the man was not only the only one brave enough to come up with such a daring solution, he had enough strength of character to lead their entire brigade as well. The boy was sure that none of the soldiers would follow anyone else, even if that person could also lift their curse, nor would they risk such a daring plan had they been able to do it themselves.

He still couldn’t expunge from his head the eerie suspicion that the man didn’t really know what he was doing. But then again, that was how the man operated—he would always meet a problem head-on and then try to improvise the solution. Perhaps he thought that he knew how to break the curse—if there really was one—but how? What methods from his time as a shaman of his tribe could aid him?

The man’s words from the previous night suddenly sprang up in his mind: “ …nothing in this world is achieved without a sacrifice. ”

Just you try, he thought, squeezing his gun. You better not do what I think you’ll do. I will not go down easily .

Some soldiers were travelling in the trucks—the General personally selected the best shots to provide them with an elevated position so that they could see everything around the brigade. The rest of the grunts were travelling on foot—same as the boys. Even Tsetse, who was considered to be the best shooter—not just among the children, but in the entire brigade—was walking on his own two feet. In the brigade, there was nothing more important than status.