When Given a Lemon

Part 13

“Lemon!” I point, for Merryl's benefit, not that it wasn't obvious. Lemon is scrubbing their already pristine hands in the snow behind him.

“I touched the dirty bag!” Lemon retorts.

“That doesn't count for shit.” I spit back.

Merryl lifts an eyebrow then goes back to ignoring us as usual, likely used to our bickering by now.

When we turned to go, I got stuck hefting the bag that Lemon had been holding after they refused to. They claimed that I was “already covered in filth” so it “made sense” for no one else to be. I thought it was nonsense; the bag is closed, and it's a waterproofed one so nothing has soaked through the lining or anything!

“Stupid excuses, unwilling to get your hands dirty.” I grumbled even though I was still complying.

“The bag may be sealed, but the smell isn't.” They retort.

But our argument ends when the other soldier suddenly drew his blade, hunching down in attack stance, the rest of us stopping to look at him in confusion.

At first panicked, I dropped the bag which landed with a loud, wet squish. Looking back and forth across the whole area, nothing looked amiss that I could tell. I'm about to ask if something’s wrong, if maybe he hurt himself, when he suddenly leapt up, kicking high into the air and arcing the swing of his blade upward as fast as a whip and slicing completely through the bug that had just launched itself from the high bushes at us. We all got sprayed with its blood and lifematter before it fell to the mucky ground in two separate pieces.

We all gape at it, then at the soldier that had just saved our lives. Wordlessly he wiped his blade, then proceeded on back toward camp with brisk steps. It takes several moments for my brain to catch up enough to realize I had been gaping.

I spit the bug guts out of my mouth with a disgusted grimace, feeling an overwhelming desire to retch.

“I'm not the only one covered in filth anymore.” I state flatly when I've calmed, shoving the bag into Lemon's dirty arms. They frown down at it unhappily. The other soldier not only cleaved this beast right in two with a single swing, but is now nearly out of view already and he just left!

I hurry to chase after in his wake, afraid that if we fall too far behind, another bug-like creature might descend upon us again.

That afternoon, all the officers had a meeting in the captain's tent, including the two soldiers that came with the lieutenant. That left us to do whatever we wanted in their absence. Not that they said or even implied this was what they wanted. I'm sure they expected us to keep working, like gears continually moving in a well-oiled machine.

But that in no way resembled us. Many of us were more like an oddly cut puzzle where many of the pieces were shoved into ill fitting spaces.

Not to mention that they had yet to give all of us a night off together, so when this opportunity presented itself, everyone was ready to accept it for what they wanted and needed it to be. Not that we didn't do anything at all that they'd want. Not entirely anyway. We still had some necessary chores to do, like food to prepare and wood to chop for the night’s fires.

First thing I intended to do as soon as we arrived was to scrub myself clean.

I handed off the soldier's remains as respectfully as I could to the medic put in charge of wrapping it up to send back. I even apologized in case anything nonhuman had ended up inside the bag with um, him.

Then I ran to catch up with the others who had gone into the woods to clean themselves by that cold pond. They were ankle deep in the frigid water when I stumbled out onto the bank. I stepped a few feet away from the forest line, then stopped. My body refused to undress or go any further. The others had removed some of their clothing despite the cold and were scrubbing at their arms and faces, anywhere they had been marked by the dying creatures' fluids, before moving to scrub at their jackets and pants.

Try as I might, I couldn't get myself to step in after them. Phantoms of the night I had almost drowned popped into my head, my mind warning me of the dangers of ever coming close to it again, as if this pool retained the desire my would-be killers had harbored. I felt an overwhelming sense of sudden dread, as if it would drown me if I so much as soaked my feet.

I knew that it was irrational.

I was even annoyed with myself that I still couldn't make myself do it when I knew that it was, when everyone else was there and doing just fine, if not shivering considerably.

Shuddering a breath, I gave up, sitting down on a moss covered rock and focused on trying to keep my inner turmoil hidden from the others. If I can't get in the water then I would have to find another way to clean myself. Someone created a splash that reached to my feet, it was probably Lemon. My body reacted on its own, falling backwards off the rock then clambering up and away from the bank to sit down on a bigger rock further away to watch everyone else rinsing the blood and decay from their limbs.

Lemon looked up, no remorse anywhere in their eyes for creating waves, and laughed at Merryl's soaked face and hair. He was probably the real target of that startling splash. Then they zeroed in on me sitting up here. I waved them off, not wanting to disturb anyone still cleaning themselves. Lemon waved back then turned away before climbing back onto the bank and running up the hill. I watched with disbelief at how much energy they always had. Not that they ever seemed to put it to use to help us with anything.

Lemon is such an odd human. I know it's not nice to think, and I don't even know if I mean it in a good or bad way, they are just… very different from everyone else. They rarely talk to others, but don't seem particularly shy; they're far too loud and mischievous to be shy. They have the body and stamina of a long distance runner but complain and try to get out of work like a spoiled noble. If their clothing and etiquette were of better quality, I would believe that is what they were. But they aren't. I still haven't been able to pin down exactly what background they had come from even.

They returned a few minutes later carrying an empty bucket that they proceeded to plunge into the cold pond before lugging it to me to wash up in. Surprised by their kind gesture, and possibly feeling a little guilty for thinking those thoughts only a moment before, I thanked them and they decided to sit next to me while I cleaned up.

Back at camp, everyone had done the minimum required for chores, spending the rest of the evening eating and chatting around the campfires as the sun began its slow dissent. We soon joined them, placing our damp clothing near the fire after changing. My other uniform wasn't clean, but at least it was dry and not blood spattered.

Soaking up heat from the fire, I enjoyed finally having the chance to catch up with the people I had barely seen since leaving the barracks, the soldiers that I used to pal around with; the ones that had been neighbors back home, others I'd often see on patrol, even Mirth popped up, waving cordially.

While everyone enjoyed themselves, I kept thinking about the lieutenant’s plan to provide more training. Before getting enlisted, I didn't know the first thing about the military or warfare. I still feel like I don't. For the first month or so I had thought training meant marching around all day, and maybe doing some push ups, and learning to swing a sword around.