Bart

  I hunted for about thirty minutes and managed to kill a couple of swamp rats. God knows I didn’t want to eat them, but there was literally nothing else, and we needed food.

  When I got back to camp, relief washed over me. Dad was still there sitting in the same spot I left him. He wasn’t being social. He was just staring into the fire like it held secrets only he could see, but I counted it as a win that he hadn’t run off.

  “Brought dinner!” I said, lifting the rats by their tails. “Let’s get a spit set up and rotisserie these bad boys.”

  “I ain’t eating that!” Steve gagged like he was about to hurl.

  “That’s fine,” I said, “but if I were you, I’d at least give it a try. Hunger’ll make a man rethink his morals.”

  “He ain’t gotta eat. Mo’ fo’ me! I love nutria,” Keith said, rubbing his hands together like a fly ready to pounce on dung.

  “Hopefully, it’s better than snake,” Steve muttered, nodding his head towards my father.

  I shot him a look implying ‘drop it, or I’ll drop you’. He swallowed whatever joke he had lined up.

  We grilled the nutria over the fire rotisserie style, and I cut off pieces serving them up like shawarma without the pita. It wasn’t bad. With a little Tony Chachere’s seasoning, I could actually eat it anytime. The white meat was lean, the dark meat greasy and rich. Perfect survival cuisine.

  I sat beside Dad while we ate, trying to coax him into talking, to tell me what he’d been doing since the crash, to tell me about his awakening. He stared right through me as if he were in some kind of trance. Whatever was happening in his head, I didn’t want to push too hard. Maybe he’d snap out of it on his own. Maybe we could get him home and get him some help.

  I noticed Steve nodding off in between bites.

  “Let’s get some rest,” I said quietly. “I’ll take first watch. Steve, you take next, then Keith.”

  They nodded. Dad didn’t react at all. He didn’t seem to care that I had left him out of the security detail.

  Everyone fell asleep fast. We were all running on fumes. I wasn’t sure I’d stay awake long myself, but if Dad talked, maybe it’d keep me alert.

  “Dad? Where’s the boat?” I asked him timidly.

  He looked at my three companions, making sure they were asleep before he started. “Sunk. Tried to steer clear of da whirlpool, but it pulled us in. I bailed. Made it to shore.” He scooted closer to me and leaned in, sour breath brushing my nasal cavity sour enough to peel paint. “Den Charlie found me. Ambush. Everywhere. Haven’t seen da rest of my squad since. Figured I’d hold position, but I need to move soon—find my team. I’m survivin’… best I can. Tings been weird. In my head. Feels like my mind’s split in two places at once.

  “Dere are gaps. At times I feel rage I’ve…” he paused clenching his fists and jaw. “I don’t even ‘member havin’ rage like dis. I got shot at, and I want…I wanted to kill.” He stressed ‘wanted’ like it scared him to admit it. “Managed to restrain myself a couple times. Got a few POWs. Eventually, I’ll have’ta do something with ‘em.”

  My stomach was in knots during his confession.

  “The animals around deese parts are actin’ crazy too. Some seem to be skittish and leave me alone. Others attack on sight…like da snakes.” He chuckled, “But snakes are easy to kill. Before I found you, I’d been fightin’ not just Viet Cong, but gators, porcupines, rats, and turtles. You name it. Everythin’ out here’s hostile.”

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  He stared up at the sky, eyes reflecting the firelight. “I hate ta tell you dis, son, but spies have infiltrated our units. I’d bet money one of your team’s a spy. I can just… feel it.”

  “Dad,” I said in my most soothing voice. “I love you. I know you’ve had a rough time out here. Everything’s gone to hell. Help is literally downriver. If we get back, we can report what you’ve been through, and then the military’ll send troops out and handle the Viet Cong. You don’t have to do this alone.”

  “You know,” Dad blinked hard, like something inside him clicked. “You seem pretty wise. Sounds like you had a pretty excellent teacher.”

  “I did, Dad,” I looked at him. My throat tightened as I swallowed. “I sure did.”

  I woke up to fading embers and silence. Everyone was asleep.

  Dad was gone.

  “Steve! Keith! Wake up! My dad is gone!”

  They all stirred, moaning and wiping their faces. As soon as Keith realized he had fallen asleep, he jolted up. “Oh crap! Dude, I’m so sorry!”

  “Let’s go,” I snapped, fighting the urge to chew them out. Why’d I expect them to stay awake? I should’ve stayed up myself.

  “You boys sleep well,” Dad stepped around the willow trunk like he’d been there the whole time.

  “What the...” Keith jumped back.

  “Dad! I thought you'd left.”

  “I made rounds. Made sure we wuh safe. Your boy got all dreamy?eyed and fell asleep. Not a very good night watchman if’n you ask me.”

  “Okay, let’s get back to town and…” I started saying.

  “Now wait a dad-burn second, boy,” Dad interrupted. “I got b’iness to attend to. I told ya I had POWs. We need ta decide what we’re gonna do with ‘em.”

  “Okay. Good. Yeah. We should bring them with us.” I had nearly forgotten about the mysterious POWs.

  Had he tied up neighbors thinking they were spies? Or had he imagined the whole thing and tied up… no one? Imagined the entire encounter and captured imaginary Vietnamese soldiers?

  I’d heard stories of soldiers conjuring enemies from thin air, hallucinating threats; enemy phantoms born of stress, fear, and trauma.

  Whatever this was, Dad needed help. Fast.

  God, please don’t let the POWs to be our friends! I prayed.

  I couldn’t imagine him ever hurting anyone, especially not his friends and neighbors. Guys he had fished with and barbecued with. The small, tight-knit community would get together for crawfish boils, fish fries, BBQs, and even spend holiday weekends together. They were more like family.

  “Make sure you follow me ‘zactly where I go,” Dad ordered. “I’ve cleared da path. No booby traps or trip wires. You stray; you die.”

  We followed him. I didn’t think there were traps. Unless he’d set them himself. And honestly, that was possible.

  I kept up with Dad; the others drifted a few feet behind. The heat settled in quick, thick and muggy. Typical Louisiana morning. Sticky. The trek wasn’t diffiuclt, but the humidity made every step feel like work. Strangely, nothing attacked us. It was like the swamp itself was holding its breath.

  Steve caught up to me and whispered, “We’re headin’ straight toward da quest arrow. Like… dead centah.”

  “Quit dat damn chatterin’ and whisperin’ back dere, you two!” Dad barked over his shoulder. “A person might tink you’re talkin’ ‘bout him.” He leered at Steve, then he turned back around heading toward his camp.

  Five minutes later, we reached a small clearing. Dad had built a makeshift camp around a hollow cypress tree. The space in the tree was just big enough for him to fit into. He kept some supplies next to the tree. Rope, emergency flares, and even a first aid kit. Probably scavenged from our boat before it sank.

  Steve nudged me and pointed with his eyes and a nod.

  I froze.

  I don’t know how I missed it. Tied to small trees near the clearing were four unconscious men.

  The four men we were looking for. Dusty, Ronnie, Zak, and Michael.

  I couldn’t believe my eyes. Four members of our rescue team.

  I looked over at my father, starring in disbelief at the man who raised me. The man who who taught me right from wrong, who’d never hurt a soul unless he had to, the man I aspired to be like.

  He stood there. Calm, at peace, almost proud. Like this was normal.

  The men were in terrible shape. Some bound far too long. Limbs hung limp. Skin cracked from dehydration. Blood crusted over untreated wounds. They looked like they’d been abandoned. Forgotten.

  “Dad,” I said, kneeling beside Zak. “These men need medical attention. Why are they here? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I told you!” he snapped. “Dese are da POWs. I did what I had ta do. I didn’t wanna hurt nobody. They were…they…”

  “Dad, they aren’t Vietnamese. They’re Ameri—“

  “Spies!” he roared. “Spies is what dey are! Don’t you DARE call dem Americans. Dis is all a…it’s a communist op… Russians pullin’ da strings, I tell ya. Dis whole war’s just one big Cold War game, and even dough we fightin’ da gooks, we really fightin’ Ruskies. We shouldn’t even be here!”

  “Listen to me,” I said, grabbing his shoulders. “We need to get these men to a hos—”

  My dad hit me.

  Hard.