Requiem for a Soldier (Requiem #1)

Chapter 30: Grief

August 7

Ryan

"It's the seventh?"

I look up to see Ana staring at me with wide eyes. I'm listening to the weather radio broadcast and the monotone robotic voice just announced the current date and time.

"Yes?" I say, wondering why that's so hard to believe.

Any semblance of light, joy, or happiness drains from Ana's face. Her expression reminds me of her demeanor when I first met her - a darkness inside her soul that threatened to drag her down into despair at any moment.

"What is it?" I ask.

Ana hugs her arms against herself. "It's Julie's birthday." Her expression becomes tight with anger.

"Oh," I say, not knowing how else to respond. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

Ana doesn't say anything else. Wordlessly, she stalks over to the gun cabinet, pulls out her rifle, handgun, and ammo for both. Without looking at me, she heads outside.

After a few minutes I hear gunshots. The rate of firing is so rapid, it sounds more like Ana's engaged in a firefight than actually trying to hit a target. The rapidity of the shots reminds me of conflicts in Afghanistan and a flashback threatens to draw me in, tugging at my mind like a puppet on a string.

A niggling sense of terror and dread takes root in my mind. What if she's not just unloading to blow off some steam. What if there's someone out there in the woods? What if she's actually trying to defend herself and is about to be murdered?

I know just how unlikely that situation is, but my anxiety won't let me calm down. I grab my Beretta and the Mosin and head outside after her, leaving Casper in the cabin alone. He jumps up at the windowsill to watch me, whining.

Once outside, the shots are louder, but the sound is ringing out all across the clearing and echoing off the trees. I can't tell where they're coming from. But I do recognize that the shots are all coming from only one gun. It sounds just like her Glock. That fact eases some of my distress. The firing stops, presumably so she can reload.

I spot her standing by the side of the dirt road out of the clearing, right at the edge of the trees. She's almost out of sight of the cabin. I think that's the furthest she's ever been from the cabin on her own.

She must have finished reloading, because a series of loud bangs breaks the weighted silence. She empties the clip in less than 15 seconds. At this rate, she's going to burn through all the ammo I have left.

I start down the porch steps as Ana picks up the rifle and begins to shoot with it too. I approach her cautiously as she empties her rifle's magazine, then begins to reload both. I come to a stop a few yards behind her and wait, counting every shot. After she hits twenty-four, the gun clicks. Empty.

"Ana," I say, trying to make my voice soothing and gentle. My damaged vocal chords aren't very compliant.

Ana whirls around, raising the gun up and pointing it at my head. Her eyes are blank and without recognition.

Even though I know the gun is empty, my training kicks in. In a flash, I step up to her and with a carefully executed maneuver, swiftly relieve her of the pistol. She blinks and looks at her empty hand in surprise.

"I think you need to take a break," I tell her.

Her eyes flick up to mine and she looks angry. I recognize what she's feeling. There were days when the memories of what had been taken from me sparked a rage so hot, it felt like my chest might explode. Ana's hands ball into fists as the anger in her expression becomes more intense. I can see that same fury building inside her. She turns, covers her eyes with her hands and screams, a cry filled with frustration, sorrow, and rage. I half-expect her to dissolve into tears, so I place a hand on her shoulder gently.