Things were looking up in the worst way possible when we finally made the Dismal River. Instead of blue gray, now the water flowed yellow-brown. Festering, putrid plants draped the banks on either side. It looked a lot more dismal than I remembered. But the reports had been accurate; these were badlands, remade into the liking of whatever death god claimed dominion nowadays. It meant the long trip to put a bullet into my wife and son's heads hadn't been a waste.
"Nebraska sucks," Alex said from the back of the dinghy, her head panning the landscape as if to find a redeemable patch of turf. I couldn't see her eyes behind the blue tinted goggle lenses, but I wagered they weren't twinkling with wonder.
"Careful here," I told her, turning up the collar of my leather duster against the clammy damp of river spray. "Even before the Twilight, the Dismal wasn't a leisure river. Make sure you keep an open line with Sweet Potato."
Alex's goggled eyes regarded me, her mouth tight. "Yam. My god's name is Yam."
"Whatever."
"Not whatever, Jake. Next time it's Sweet Potato, someone's gonna drown, cabron."
"I get it," I said holding my hands up in surrender, "it's been a long trip. West Virginia didn't help. Just make sure your god keeps us afloat."
***
James Beamon writes as a pastime, mostly to pass time on deployments as a defense contractor. After four years deployed to Iraq and Afghanistan, he's finally back in the States, enjoying time with his wife, son, and fast food places. Check out his exploits at http://fictigristle.wordpress.com. Posted by Scott R (Member # 567) on :
From the story behind the story:
quote:The idea for "Light Crusader" came to me in Afghanistan. I was in Helmand Province, where landscapes range from rugged mountain streams to sparse, flat desert. It was both desolate and beautiful. Nothing new existed; the entire populace seemed to be experts in the art of gerry-rigging, giving the place a reassembled, post-apocalyptic feel.