Turncoats

BENJAMIN

The trees blurred around him. Benjamin shook his head. He still couldn't see clearly. He blindly took a few steps; his arms outstretched in front of him, ready to intercept any obstacles in his path. He took a deep breath, and took another wobbly step.

After pausing for a break, Benjamin lifted his head. He blinked. Two golden lights had appeared in the dark forest. What were they? Benjamin took a tentative step towards the lights. They flickered for a second, but reignited even brighter than before. Benjamin searched his memory. His mother had told him stories of strange lights before- she'd said they were the candles that the dead carried to the afterlife- but Benjamin had always just assumed that they were legends.

He could move closer to the lights, but encountering dead souls did not sound exactly inviting. Benjamin gingerly placed a hand on his wound. It was blistering hot. He needed to find someone who could help him, and he had to do it fast. He snuck a glance at the lights. They could light his way through the forest, and if they really were dead souls, Benjamin doubted they could injure him any worse than he already was.

He quickly stumbled towards the two lights, disregarding the pain in his stomach. Benjamin took another step, but as he lowered his foot, he felt the ground slip out from underneath him. He wildly reached for the tree trunk to break his fall, but his hands were swiping at air. Benjamin landed on his back with a dull thud. He quickly shut his eyes, as the rain pelted his face. His teeth clenched and he groaned. A sharp pain twisted in his stomach. Lying in the mud, Benjamin gasped for breath. Slowly, he craned his neck to see if the two lights were still there. They were.

Benjamin didn't trust himself to walk again, so he would have to crawl towards the lights. Gritting his teeth, Benjamin slowly flipped himself onto his stomach. Pain roared in his abdomen. Benjamin clawed at the ground as he tried to heave himself forward. He could feel the cool mud getting trapped beneath his fingernails, but he reached out again, and grasped another handful of leaves and dirt, and dragged himself forward.

Benjamin drew in a large breath of cool air. He was losing feeling in his fingers with each handful of earth. Slimy mud had settled into the hole in his stomach. Benjamin doubted that dirt in his wound was a good thing, but he was thankful for the temporary relief it provided by cooling his skin. He gazed at the lights one last time before forcing himself to keep going.

His pace was slow, but Benjamin could tell he was getting closer to the lights. Every tug hurt, but he knew that he had to keep going. The lights could mean people, and people meant medical supplies. If the bullet hole didn't kill him, infection would.

As Benjamin grew closer to the lights, he started to be able to make out a fuzzy outline of a shelter. His heart leapt. It was a cabin. In its window sat two lanterns. Benjamin let out a relieved sigh. The lights were lanterns, not the dead. He shook his head. The wound was making him delusional.

Doing his best to push the thought of the dead out of his mind, Benjamin threw himself towards the cabin, almost ignorant of the pain in his stomach. He heaved himself forward again until he was within distance of the door. His hand skimmed the surface of the door as everything went black.

The clinking of silverware against plates echoed in Benjamin's ear. He sighed softly, not wanting to wake up just yet. He hadn't been in a warm bed since... Benjamin couldn't remember the last time he slept in a warm bed. It had to have been before he left to join the war. He turned over in his sleep, causing pain to burst in his stomach. He stiffened, as his eyes shot open. Where was he? He tried to prop himself up, but the pain wouldn't let him. He slowly sunk back into the bed.