I don't know if I could take not being able to see it coming."
"Some people like that about death. They like it to be a surprise. They say the waiting and the knowing is worse than the actual event itself."
He looked at her and blinked. "Would you rather it was a surprise?"
"I'd rather not die at all." She smiled briefly. "But that's not your question, is it? There are those who are so worried that they want to control everything around them. You know the types. They even want to control death, as if such a force could be controlled. Me? I like to know what I'm getting into. Once I understand things, I can accept what fate deals me. Bottom line: do I care if I die? Yes. Am I going to spend all day thinking about it? No.”"
"So you believe in fate?"
“The word is too inadequate.” She shook her head. "It's not that simple. I believe in signs. I don't know if that's fate, or God, or what. You wanted to know why I didn't go back? I'll tell you. We were driving through Haditha District in our HUMMER, coming back from delivering medicine to a family who'd lost their father to a police station bombing when it happened. You know what I'm talking about, don't you?"
"Uh... I'm not sure."
"Signs. Like when you want to place a bet and you look up and see a number you've never noticed before. Or like when a deer zips across the road making you slow down, only to discover that had you taken the next curve at your original speed, you would have plowed into the car that had already overturned. Signs."
"Yeah. I get it. Signs."
"So we were coming back when I just happened to look over and watch as a man leaned back and fired his RPG directly at us. I was close enough to see the fervor in his eyes. I was close enough to see the grin of satisfaction as our gazes met across the trail of the rocket heading right for me. I was close enough to see a birthmark near his temple.” She closed her eyes as if reliving the moment. “I was close enough to know that I'd been murdered," she whispered.
He stared at her for a time, then shook his head. "Jesus. What happened?"
"Nothing," she shrugged and opened her eyes. "The rocket-propelled grenade bounced off the Hummer. It never exploded. I don't know who was more surprised, me or the guy who tried to kill me."
"And you took this as a sign?"
"Most definitely. This was a warning shot across my bow. It told me to get the hell out. A week later I came home on mid-tour leave, and well, I'm here, instead of there."
Now that her tale was done, she fixed him with a steady gaze, her blue eyes daring recrimination. But he had none. His tale was worse than hers. At least she'd left for a reason. Thomas was a deserter too, and he realized that he had no reason other than his own fear.
***
Something tugged on his leg. Something soft, yet firm, tentative yet insistent. Then it was gone. He counted to twenty and had begun to believe that he’d imagined it, but there it was again. He felt a series of gentle tugs against his naked ankles. Momentary panic flooded his system until he realized it was the current. Floating like a bobber on a fishing line, he knew that if something down there wanted him, he'd be jerked below the surface so fast he'd be lucky to catch a breath.
He treaded water with his hands, pushing across the waves in a gentle doggy paddle. Occasionally a wave would crest and explode across his face, leaving him gasping. Each time he’d wonder why he’d put himself in such a position. He was too afraid to return to Iraq, but not afraid to tempt a god to eat him. Perhaps it was because he’d seen the death Iraq represented. He’d seen the body parts of his friends. He’d watched as the light had fled from their eyes. But the god beneath the waves, the old thing that ruled this solitary sea, he’d never seen, unless the statue had something to do with it. Did he have to see death to be afraid of it? Was that the lesson here?
Early this morning as he was preparing for his sacrifice, June had admitted to having talked to no less than twenty men over