“Makes sense to me,” Madix rumbles from the backseat.
“Yeah, but should we really be stopping and leaving ourselves exposed more than we need to with all the shit that’s going down?” I ask.
“I doubt anyone would actually be up here. It’s still too cold for vacation campers, and we’re out in the middle of nowhere,” Brant offers, and the car grows silent as we all mull over the risk.
“Okay, but we need to take shifts,” I concede.
Madix unbuckles himself and starts rooting around the supplies in the back of the car. Puddles gives an irritated huff when her pillow gets too squirmy to be comfortable, and she sits up with a yawn.
“There are sleeping bags and a small tent back here. It’ll be closer quarters with you fucks, but it’s cold at night, anyway.”
I chuckle. “ It can’t be worse than that one mission…”
“Fuck that was cold,” Brant agrees, and Madix grunts in agreement. “Talk about serious misunderstanding of the local terrain and weather. I felt like I’d never get warm again.”
Madix starts to laugh. “Remember when Stiles started to sing all those Beach Boys songs and telling us we just had to imagine we were somewhere warmer?”
I snort at the memory. “God, he had a shit voice. He had to stop singing when he was shivering so hard he couldn’t get his lips to form the words anymore.”
Brant cracks up, and Madix and I join him. I mimic shivering and, through faux-chattering-teeth, sing as off-key as possible. “Bermuda, Bahama, come on pretty mama...”
I run a hand down my face as we all sigh, our laughter tapering off. I push back against the longing that tries to sit up inside of me, and don’t acknowledge the flash of memories that start playing through my mind. Maybe it’s the nature of what we’re doing right now and the fact that it feels like an assignment, but it has me talking freely about the other squad members that we worked with before, and I know I have to stop. We always try to focus on the positive and the fun times, but that inevitably brings us to the not so good memories and the things we’d rather forget.
We turn off the road when the exit sign for Sagebrush Campsite pops up. The road is not very well kept, and we’re all bouncing around while still trying to be as vigilant as possible as we drive further into the trees. After a few more minutes, we reach a decently-sized clearing which I assume is the official campsite, even though there’s nothing else that would indicate that’s where we are.
Brant swings the Explorer around and lights up a patch of land before putting the SUV in park. “Brant, you grab a gun and stand watch. Theo and I will unload and get things set up.”
Brant nods his head and I offer a, “Sounds good.” We all cautiously step out of the safety of the car, each of us taking a couple of seconds to listen around us for the telltale signs of other campers nearby. When the sounds of crickets and other forest life is the only thing that serenades us, I relax slightly.
Madix and I make quick work of setting up the campsite while Puddles marks every shrub and patch of grass in sight. We get a small fire going and dig into a couple cans of Dinty Moore Beef Stew and some baked beans that we heated up on a rock over the flames.
We’re eating and listening to the night air when Brant breaks the silence. “Who knew Sheriff even had a kid?”
“I’ve never heard him mention a wife or anything,” Madix replies.
“Anyone surprised that he named his kid after a gun?” I add, and the others chuckle.
“Nope, no fucking surprise there. His kid is probably lucky he didn’t end up being called Glock, or Smith & Wesson,” Brant jokes.
While we continue to shoot the shit, Puddles’s head shoots up from where she’s resting next to Brant, and she lets out a low growl. The three of us immediately go on alert and reach for our weapons. We don’t miss a beat as we triangle off, our backs to each other, our weapons hot and ready as we scan the surrounding trees for whatever set Puddles off.
My entire body is tense, my muscles ready to move at a moment’s notice. I don’t know how long we stand like that, but nothing comes through the trees at us, and none of us pick up on anything else that would be worrying. Brant swings a flashlight around the dark woods, but there’s nothing. After another minute or so, Puddles lays down at Brant’s feet and then promptly falls asleep. A slight snore puffs out from her jowls as she snoozes without a care in the world.
One by one, each of us relaxes, and we sit back down. “Fuck,” Madix sighs as he runs a hand over his short black beard. “This damn virus has us scared of our own damn shadows.”
“We have to be on alert,” I say.
He doesn’t argue, and the three of us start to inhale our makeshift dinner. With the crackle of the fire, we watch sparks rise against the night sky, our spoons scraping against the tin cans as we eat.
“We could’ve been dead,” Brant suddenly says, breaking the silence.
Madix and I both look over at him, the flames occasionally dancing up and teasing my view. “What?” Madix asks, eyeing Puddles when she tries to sidle up to him to beg for whatever he has left in his can.
“We lived in the city,” Brant tells us hollowly. “If we hadn’t come here with Theo to live in his uncle’s place, we could’ve been dead right now,” he points out.
He’s right, and it’s a sobering thought that steals away the illusion of this impromptu camping trip, and it sets us right back in the middle of what we’re really doing here.
“Let’s not play the dead game,” Madix tells him. “We could’ve been dead in Afghanistan hundreds of times. Or Iraq or Bahrain. We could have even gone like Stiles did, on a motorcycle on our way to see our family. Life isn’t guaranteed. We should know that better than anyone.”
