The Last of Her Kind

New Routines

When the sun rose, he had already been up for an hour. Moving quietly through the kitchen, he discovered that Ana did not keep the fridge or cupboards stocked well at all. The night had been long, his mind trying to work its way through several questions he didn't realize that he had had. He now had a roof over his head, but what about food? When would he get paid? He had a few dollars left and figured he could reimburse Ana for any food he ate, but now suspected that she was keeping food in her room.

He needed a routine. Just as the sun was rising over the trees, he was out for a morning jog in a black t-shirt and camo pants, his heavy booted feet hitting the pavement in an uneven rhythm due to the shrapnel in his leg. The pain was always the worst after sleeping or sitting for too long, but much like an engine that needed to warm up, it faded with every footstep, the pain more of a hollow memory in his mind.

The main street wasn't large, and he soon found himself running down a stretch of road surrounded by miles of farmland. The now steady patter of feet on pavement let his mind take a break, and he could at last ignore the empty feeling in his gut just a little bit longer.

He slowed down, looking out toward the distant hills. It occurred to him that he had no idea where the town ended and the rest of the world began. It would be so easy to keep running, to let his feet keep carrying him to wherever it was he so badly wanted to go. His chest was tight, his head pounding with his own heartbeat. He came to a stop, his hands on his knees, looking out over the rest of the world.

"Cutter is gonna make you dig latrines if you don't keep up." Dwayne stood next to him, his words punctuated by heavy breaths. Darren had stepped just off the trail for a moment, his chest on fire. He was fairly certain he was sick, his hair slick with sweat beneath his helmet.

"Cutter can fuck himself." There was no love lost for their commanding officer, but Darren kept his voice low just in case. Cutter would be bringing up the rear any moment now, but they had spread out while moving camps. If they weren't currently surrounded by the rest of their platoon, they would be packed together like sardines, the smell of Hayden's cigarettes clinging to them like grease.

"Yeah, well, maybe if you stand here long enough, he'll let you watch." Dwayne handed over his own canteen and a Snickers bar he had won playing poker a couple nights back. "You look like shit."

"Still better looking than you." Darren coughed, then accepted the water. He had drained his already over a mile back. He knew he should have saved some, but he was just too damned thirsty. Dwayne held out his hand and dropped three aspirin in Darren's palm. He swallowed them and then opened the Snickers, breaking half off and giving the other half back to his twin. Dwayne put it in his breast pocket, tucked back in its wrapper.

"I hear Cutter bitching." Dwayne patted his brother on the back and adjusted his rifle, a meticulously maintained M16A1. "I'll see you up ahead." He trudged forward, vanishing around the corner of a rock. Darren turned around, gazing over the valley they had just traversed. Distant gunfire echoed over the hills like weak thunder.

"You hitting the road, son?" Darren turned his head toward the new voice and the jungle disappeared. Sheriff Walters regarded him coolly from inside his squad car.

"Sheriff." Darren looked down the road. Every fiber of his being told him to keep running, but he couldn't quite convince his body that there was no longer anywhere to run. "Just getting in a morning jog and thought I would turn around at the town limit."

"You're going to be running forever then. Drunk driver took out the sign last winter and we haven't replaced it yet." Walters leaned across the front of the car and opened the passenger door. "Can I give you a ride back to town?"