Chapter Seven

Blair felt Jim's arms tighten around his chest.

"It was right after I graduated." His voice sounded very far away. "Top honors, placement in an elite unit, even some talk of me going back after my tour and teaching or something. Not that I wanted that...I was all gung-ho and ready to serve my country. It was 1960, so things were starting to heat up. But we had this long leave between graduation and joining our units. Dad came to my graduation, but left right after to go on a business trip and Stephen, my brother, he was spending the summer working for him. Economics major in Princeton, you see. He wanted something practical to go with all the theory. So...I got a bunch of my buddies together. We were going to go hiking and rafting up here."

"Buddies?"

"Yeah. Couple guys from the Point who were also at loose ends; couple guys from high school that I kept in touch with, guys from my football team. About six of us, all told. There are some great places around Cascade...maybe one day..." Jim broke off. "Sorry."

"It's okay. You'd be surprised what we gimps can do."

"Nothing would surprise me, Chief." Jim chuckled a bit, then became quiet again. "Six of us, with three first names...three Bills, two Jims and an Artie. I remember Bill from the Point asking Artie if he wanted to be a Bill or a Jim and he said he liked being different. And I had this old pickup I'd bought in high school - made right after the war, you know? We filled the back with camping gear and a raft and a couple of Bills and a Jim and food for a month and took off." He stopped.

"Jim?"

"I was just thinking...it was my truck, so I was the driver. It was the last time I ever drove, and I had no idea...you have to know exactly what I mean."

"Yeah. I do. I mean, I know I was walking around and running and everything the day I hit that mine, but...it made no impression on me. Last time I could do stuff like that, and there was no way I could know." Blair shivered a little, remembering. Jim wrapped his arms tighter, taking care of him, warming him. It had been a long time since that had happened - a long time since the impersonal care at the hospital and rehabilitation center, since he left his parents home with their solicitation and silent recrimination for his folly. He waited for Jim to continue. When he didn't, Blair decided it was time for a gentle prod. "What happened next?"

"I woke up screaming in a hospital room, my eyes dazzled by the light. I think I lasted a minute before I started convulsing." Blair shivered at Jim's expressionless voice.

"Convulsions?"

"I don't have them anymore. It was...sensory overload, I think." He stroked Blair's hands. "They pieced things together later. We'd hiked up a mountain for a few days, and were going to raft down. Used to do every summer. Water was running rough...more rain than usual."

"Not possible." Damn. You're an idiot, Sandburg. At least, Jim didn't seem to have heard him, because he kept talking.

"Then...something happened. They found the raft miles from where we would have stopped, broken and empty. And they found everyone's bodies. Everyone but mine. They found me limping and bleeding, shying at every sound, every touch, out of my mind with hunger and thirst. I had a severe concussion, I'd sprained an ankle. I showed evidence of having at least one seizure - the pattern of bruises and dirt showed that, they said. I was in absolute hell."

"You were alone for how long?"

"Probably three, four days. There's no way to know."

Blair thought about his words carefully. "Burton says that the senses can be triggered by isolation. And maybe the trauma has something to do with it. Did you have other seizures?"

"Yeah. Big ones. Two of them. At first, they thought all of it...my extreme sensitivity, my fugues, the seizures, the lack of memory - all of it - was because of the bump on my head. But the real seizures stopped. They had me on medication for a while, but I stopped it because it did nothing for the fugues at all. And the sensitivity stayed, too. I just learned to...live with it. Sort of."

"Man, it must have rough. Losing your friends, losing your career..."

"Losing everything."

"You survived it."

"Did I? Sometimes I wonder."

Blair could not take that any more. He pulled out of Jim's embrace and turned to face him. "You did survive, man. You're walking, talking, breathing." He couldn't keep the anger out of his voice. "And if your friends died, then you damn well owe to them to live. Look at you. You can see the world, *sense* the world, in ways I can't even *dream* about. And..." Blair could see where he was going, and stopped.

"And what, chief? And I have two legs? And I have my PhD, and that damn book that got me fired and no sex life ever?"

"No. Not that. Well, yes, that. I'm not an idiot. I want two feet and a professorship and a book and...and...but...Look. Those guys were your friends. There were guys who got killed trying to rescue me. I can still hear them at night, shouting about saving 'the old man.'" Voices of kids, soldiers, yelling over the din. "They were *my* men. I funneled the orders down to them, but it was my voice who made them do it, me who decided how to implement them. Me who sent them to live or to die or to be captured. I know I have men still there, sitting in VC prisons." He ran hand through his hair. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to unload like that."

"You led men into battle." Jim shook his head. "I just...took them camping. And watched my students march off. For the last five years, I've seen boys grow to men in my classroom. Fine men, most of them. And...well..."

"Yeah. I've met VMI grads and West Point grads. Good guys, most of them. Some were flexible enough to survive." Blair didn't say anymore. Jim had closed his eyes.

"I know. We train them to be perfect soldiers. I was trained to be a perfect soldier. This damn war eats perfect soldiers for lunch." He was angry now. Blair was relieved - anything was better than despair. He knew.

"And imperfect ones for breakfast and dinner. I was lucky to be a leftover. And I've learned to let myself feel lucky. Sometimes."

Jim was silent for a while. He opened his eyes, colorless in the darkness, and stared into Blair's. Then he took took both of his hands. His touch was firm, gentle, with none of the desperation of earlier - neither the driving need to touch nor the one to give warmth or get comfort. Nor was there fear, as there had been in the restaurant and when they first looked at the stars. "I want to kiss you again."

"Okay." Blair leaned forward, balancing his weight on his left leg and Jim's hands. This time, Jim, still awkward and inexperienced, took control right away. His mouth was hungry, pressing onto Blair's with a need so desperate that Blair had to surrender, had to let Jim pull him further into his arms and forward until Jim was lying on his back on the grass and Blair was lying on top of him, firm muscles beneath his hands and their erect penises in contact beneath all the layers of clothing both wore and Blair wanted to move, wanted to complete this act right then and there.

And then he heard Jim whimper and rolled off of him, drawing on reserves of strength he didn't know he had.

"No!" Jim reached for him again, but this time, with still more of that strength, Blair retreated.

"Not here, Ellison. Not like this."

"Sandburg, it's...I need you. I need to show you and me and...Whoever...that I *am* alive, that I *am* a man, that I...I need to feel this. I need to feel you." His eyes were wild in...yes, the beginnings of dawn. They'd been there all night. Blair was grateful he wasn't going to be subbing that day, but he wondered at Jim's schedule.

"Yeah. I dig. I want you so much it *hurts* right now. But...not here. If you want to do it, and you know I want to, we'll go to my place and we'll do it right with the stuff we need, okay?"

Jim frowned a bit. "Yeah. And...thank you. All I could think then was...this is IT and...those guys are still there, and sex in a combat zone is..."

"Contraindicated, but we all do it." With whores and with each other. Like his sergeant and his hands. Who knew that hands so strong and capable could be so gentle and loving? And who knew that hands could look so alien when blown away from their body? Blair shook his head to clear it of that image.

And then he dove under Jim's jacket, reaching for a rifle he hadn't carried in years, gun blasts fading from his ears.

Chapter Eight

He emerged from beneath the jacket as soon as he convinced himself that he was safely in Cascade and that the pistol shots were nowhere near him. The cool, damp morning air helped.

Jim was not bending over him, looking concerned. Nor was he sitting a long way off, staring at him like he was crazy. Where was he? Blair forced himself to sit up. There, outlined in the dawn. Jim was standing on top of the hill, looking at that house.

"Professor?"

He turned around, his face backlit and unreadable. "I can only hear one heartbeat. There used to be three. I was listening to them on and off all night. Bob sped up somewhere along the line, but others got quiet. And then...he's killed them both. I think he was waiting for them to pass out. He's going to sell this stuff himself, I think." His voice was dull.

"His heart speeded up?"

"Yeah. Either he was drinking much too much coffee or he took some speed. Either way...."

"Either way, he's hopped up, he's paranoid and he just shot his buddies. And he has a gun. We can't go near him, Jim. He'll jump us at the slightest noise." *And I'm not much better.*

Jim moved a bit. "You okay? You jumped pretty fast there."

Blair bit his lip. "Yeah, well. It happens sometimes. You never really leave there...I wonder if he was there, too? If so, I *really* want to stay away. He'll probably miss if he's as jittery as I think. Hopped up soldiers are more dangerous to their buddies than to the enemy. But, I'm sure as hell not going to take that chance. We're heading back to town, Jim, and we're getting the police. We should have done that in the first place."

Jim nodded. "It's just...I couldn't then. But now...now he's killed. I can...I can let him go."

"He's broken the rules. He's killed a member of the tribe, so he's outside the camp now." Memories of Hebrew school that he'd thought he'd long suppressed reared up. "He's not your responsibility any more - now you have to protect the tribe from *him*." Blair reached for his cane, which had rolled some distance away in the night.

"You can use me." Jim materialized at Blair's side and helped him to stand and balance himself, then fetched the stick for him. Then he picked up his suitcoat and put it on.

Blair was grateful for the help. His muscles were stiff from the cold night - he could have been in his sixties instead of his twenties the way he was moving. Jim didn't give him time to loosen up - as soon as Blair had the cane in his hand, Jim was on his way back to the car. Blair followed as quickly as he could given the slippery ground. They had to make it to a phone before Bob decided it was time to leave.

Jim was already at the car when Blair finally caught sight of it. He stood impatiently, scanning the horizon. He looked like a beacon. A beacon with blue eyes. Ah...Jim saw him and waved. Just a few feet more, and he'd be there. Blair chuckled at Jim's expression - a combination of worry, anticipation and a flash of desire, too.

For that moment, he stopped concentrating on walking and hit an especially slippery patch. He fought to keep his balance but failed and began to tumble. He could feel Jim try to catch him before he landed on the grass, and he could feel his ankle twist under him as he fell.

"Chief! You okay?"

"I...no. I think I sprained it."

"Oh." Then Jim blinked, "Oh, damn."

"Yep. I'm not driving on this, man."

Jim collapsed next to him. "What are we going to do? You're injured and need help, there's no phone, I don't hear any cars and we still have Bob to worry about. If he sees us..." He began to swivel his head again, trying to see in all directions at once.

"Jim. Jim. Jim." Jim faced him. "We have to notify the police. The only way to do that is find a phone."

"How are we going to do that?"

"You'll drive us to town."

"I can't drive. I can't get behind a wheel. I'll kill somebody. I'll kill *us*."

"I'll make sure you don't fugue. I *know* I can do it, okay? You'll be fine."

"But...but...your car. It's set up for you."

"No, it isn't. It's an automatic transmission. I just trained myself to use my left leg instead. Special mods are expensive. You can drive it, no problem."

"I don't have a license. All I have is a Virginia non-driver's ID."

"What's the big deal? They catch you...we're talking to the fuzz faster. And then we get a ride the rest of the way. It's not like they're going to pull your license."

"Won't you get in trouble?"

"Won't be the first time. I know some of them by name. Jim, you can do it. Just get me over to the car...wait." As Jim stared, Blair undid his pants and then the buckles so he could pull off his prosthesis. "Okay, now see if you can carry me. Fireman's carry will do." He refastened his jeans.

"What about your..."

"Leave the dead wood. I'm not going to need it."

Jim sounded like he was going to protest but changed his mind. He picked up Blair and carefully slung him over his shoulders. "You all right?"

"Man, you're tall. Yeah. Just get me down to the car before all the blood rushes to my head." He fought the dizziness all the way there, and sighed with relief when he was placed on the hood for a moment. He fished in his pockets for his keys.

"Can you get my chair out of the trunk and toss it in the back?

"Let me get the doors first. You don't look too stable there." Jim managed to unlock the passenger door without losing his hold on Blair. Seconds later, Blair was safely in the car. Jim quickly took care of the wheelchair. He opened the driver side door, and hesitated before sitting down. He gave a sharp nod as if he'd just made a decision, reached into his coat pocket and tossed something away. Then, slowly, he got into the car and stared at the car keys.

"Jim...we have to get going."

"I...I can't. I *can't*." His hands trembled. Blair could hear the keys jingle, and when Jim turned to face he could see the panic in his eyes in the light of the rising sun.

Blair took his hands, stilling them. "You have to. If you don't, Bob will get away, and who knows what damage he'll do, how many people in Cascade he'll hurt."

"I know. I can't really hear him now. I don't know what...but *I* could hurt someone. I could fugue and crash your car and you...and you can't walk at all now. I can't...not someone else. Not *you*. I know we just met yesterday, but...Doesn't matter."

"Jim, I won't let you fugue. I won't let anything happen. I promise." Blair didn't know if he could keep that promise, but at that point he didn't care.

"You won't?"

"I won't. I'll keep talking, I'll keep you grounded. You just need to drive to a phone. I know we passed a gas station last night."

"Then what?"

He could not bear the pleading in Jim's eyes. He squeezed his hands gently. "Then we let the police handle it, and you won't have to drive anymore."

"Promise me that."

"I promise. We will be fine."

"Your leg and your cane. We have to get them."

"I don't need them now. We'll get them later, or I'll get new ones. Jim, put the key in the ignition. You know how."

"Okay. I'll...I'll get you new ones. The best leg I can." Jim gritted his teeth and turned on the car.

"Don't worry about them. You're doing fine. Now...back her up if you can and turn around."

"Just keep talking." Jim's driving was jerky at first as he got used to the car, but it came back to him once they reached the road again. "Talk about anything. Your family..."

Blair put a hand on Jim's shoulder since he held the wheel in a deathgrip. He thought he'd been terrified the first time he stepped into combat, but Jim was just short of panic right now. Blair was overwhelmed by this man's courage at this moment. "Okay. Umm. My mom used to be a social worker. She's retired now, back in New York. I'm an only child. My mom found out she loved me a lot but she needed to be working, which was cool because I had all this time to spend in the local library, or playing with friends. I saw her a few months ago. Oh, man, did she hate it when I joined."

"Why?"

"Because it's an unjust war and I'd be fighting *communists.*"

"That's a *good* thing, right?"

Blair laughed. "My folks *were* communists. Mom's mellowed. She's just a socialist now. You think she'd understand about solidarity, you know? I mean, that's why I joined, so that I wouldn't take advantage of class privilege. Except they talked me into OCS, so I guess I preserved the class structure anyway."

"What about you?"

"Me? I stopped having politics years ago." Blair paused. "I'm a liberal, I guess. And a civil libertarian, that sort of thing. Damn, I still can't believe we elected Nixon!"

"Everyone else on the VMI faculty voted for him. Blair...you didn't say what your dad was doing."

"Papa died a couple of years ago. It was fast. I miss him a lot, though. He was a history prof, too, you know? Marxist history, of course. He taught at City College. Funny...he was a lot more...he believed in the Party, but he was willing to, well, have a life, too. Not Mom. Maybe...Pop fought in Spain, you know. So they wouldn't let him fight the Nazis, even if he weren't too old. And there I was, fighting for the fascists. Pop understood, though. Mom didn't. God, I miss him."

"But you see her. I haven't seen my father in years. Even now, I'm staying at a hotel instead of with him."

"Oh, yeah. I'm her baby forever. She cried so hard when I lost the leg, wanted me to come home and she'd take care of me, but as soon as I could take care of myself, I did. Because she'll never reject me but she hates that I lost a piece of myself for the wrong cause. And she won't let me forget it...when she's not nagging me to go to grad school and maybe find a nice girl, preferably but not necessarily Jewish, and give her grandchildren."

"How come you haven't?"

"I haven't found the right girl. I don't even know if I want it to be a girl. If I could find one who didn't care about...you know."

"Maybe..." Jim shook his head. "I meant, why not grad school?"

Blair shrugged. "It's...I'm not the kid I was when I joined. I don't know if I can go back there, back into that...that womb, I guess. Same reason you wrote that book."

"Huh?" Jim looked at him for a second before peering at the road again. They were exactly on the speed limit, Blair noticed. He didn't know whether Jim was driving faster than he wanted to or slower.

"You wrote a book that was sure to get you fired from VMI. And it did, didn't it?"

"Five minutes after it hit the General's desk."

"You knew it would. So you had to do it on purpose."

"I did it because I'm a military historian, and I was watching a war that was doomed to failure and I had to say something...before more of my students marched away and never..."

"Who was he?"

"Who was who?"

"The student who walked away and never came back?"

Jim chuckled. "Who was he? You never got to teach, did you? If your father was alive, I'd say ask him...except that he probably had huge classes. I had small ones. VMI isn't a big school by New York standards. I got to know my students. I got to watch them grow, become men, fine soldiers...and I hated it. I hated it more every day."

The road curved. They had been heading north. Now they were going a bit east. The sun was up and while the sky was overcast, it was hard to look at. Lowering the sunshield didn't help at all. Blair could tell, because Jim kept squinting at it. He didn't look away from it. He didn't...

"Jim! Jim, listen to me! Jim, come back!" Blair prepared to grab the wheel if he had to.

Instead, Jim jerked and the car swerved, but he was back in control. "I fugued?"

"Yeah."

"Damn. I need to pull over."

"You can't. You're almost there...I recognize that barn. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have stopped."

"It's okay. We're feeling this out right now...so...you just sub?"

Right. They'd discussed that over dinner. "Yeah. The schools here are okay...they're all on one level or they have elevators, so I'm cool. I tend to teach the younger ones, but I've been doing high school the last couple weeks. I can sub in about anything, except for gym class. I prefer the younger ones. The older ones, especially the boys...I'm what they all fear. It's not good."

"I hear that. What would you do if you did go to grad school? Get an ed degree?"

"No way, man. Those are *useless*. Maybe...maybe my mom has the right idea. Social work."

"You'd be good at that. Make a difference."

"Yeah, maybe." Blair wasn't so sure. After thirty years, his mom hadn't. "Here's the gas station."

Go to Part Five