Behavior Report 22

Dearest Love,

I’ve never experienced a moment where my best friend was counting on me to protect him. On top of that, the memories of ten men were solely dependent upon my ability to fight a monster. I’ve never held a sword before, why would I? The leather handle or pommel or whatever it’s called felt strange in my palms. I held it tight and twisted my hands for a better grip like holding a baseball bat and waiting for the next pitch. But the ball hurdling toward me was much bigger, fiercer, and it bit back.

Plans began to form in my head. Swing up, right as the monster arrives. No. Move toward a wall and jump out of the way at the last moment so that the monster crashes into it. Not likely. Jump up on a rock and wait for the right moment to lunge forward with the sword tip first and pierce the monster’s skull. Laughable.

What could I do?

What should I do?

The monster’s roar cut through the cave like a sharp ax through seasoned wood. All ambient sounds from the river were diluted and washed away because of the scratching and crashing and roaring. My ears rang. Stalactites and stalagmites broke apart like gunfire as the monster ran through. A rush of wind began to tug at my clothing as the monster drew near like a plunger pressing through a syringe.

I quickly turned to check on Earl, and in doing so, I discovered that the steel on my sword absorbed the luminous plant light and projected a concentrated bright blue beam. Directing the sword’s light on the cave wall practically burned the stone that had never seen light so bright. Moving the light beam back and forth reminded me of a search light, exploring the sky for an airplane.

Dust and rock fragments began to fall from the ceiling as the monster drew closer. My helmet clicked and ticked with the sound of a small arms battle in the distance. My Love, I may have stopped breathing when the monster came within a few hundred feet. The sound and the fury were such that I couldn’t feel anything except for the rumble tumbling my insides. My hands squeezed the sword so tightly that it felt like I was bending the metal. I ground my toes into the earth for better footing to hold myself against the ongoing rush of a monster as big as a building.

In my unsteadiness, the bright blue beam from my sword passed across the monster’s face and it flinched long enough for me to grasp its effect. ‘Blind it!’ My mind yelled inside.

The monster was now charging within five hundred feet of us, and I tried to direct the sword’s light into the monster’s eyes. Between the shaking ground and the roars and the falling stone fragments, I struggled to find the monster’s eyes. My ribs and heart rattled each time the monster roared. But I forced myself to focus. The courage that I found from the letters in my pack slowed down time, helping me to straighten my aim. The beam moved this way and that and eventually caught purchase.

The light drove itself into the monster’s right eye and was just enough to make the monster turn its head. That little movement caused a massive rippling effect. Its muscular shoulders twisted and led to an unbalance that turned the entire monster sideways. It roared, tripped, and crashed into the walls of the cave like a derailing train. Shock waves pelted my chest and exploded my ear drums.

Earl screamed.

Stone flew everywhere as the monster’s momentum continued to slide it forward toward us. A stalagmite bore itself into the monster’s cheek and broke off, leaving a bloodied wound. The roars changed from a guttural groan to a squeal of agony. Eventually, the monster stopped sliding about twenty feet from where we stood. Teeth had been broken off. One of its front legs bent sideways in a painful display, clearly broken during the fall.

“Kill it!” Earl screamed. “Kill it!”

Without thinking, I ran toward the monster and up a stone near its head. I took two bounding steps and jumped as high as I could. I landed on the monster’s forehead and rammed the tip of the sword downward through the scales and bone. The sword slid through easily, melting the edges of its cut into the monster. I drove the blade down to the guard and left it there. The monster expressed one final exhale and the cave grew quiet.

I don’t know how long I stood atop the monster, maybe a few seconds or a couple of minutes, but I stood in absolute silence, thinking. Wave after wave of thoughts washed through my head, clearing out all the terrible thoughts and replacing them with joy. I could feel the buildup of energy beating outward from my heart.

“I killed it,” I said in half a whisper.

My words were washed away by the sounds of the river.

I repeated myself a little louder. “I killed it.” Those three words echoed inside. “I” gave me possession to the action. “Killed” defined the action into something that I had never done in my entire life. “It” represented the largest monster in all the Cauchemar Forest as well as a complete refusal to accept the fear that once solidified within my blood. “I killed it.” I laughed and then yelled, “I KILLED IT!”

My reliance on everyone else was over.

The seal had been broken.

Electricity coursed through my limbs. I felt stronger. Redeemed. Resurrected.

“Frank Kaplan, the monster slayer,” I laughed and danced a top the monster like a lunatic. As embarrassing as the dance was, it was trumped by a slip and then a nasty fall down the monster’s skull. On the way down, I grabbed the sword to stop my descent, but my inertia yanked the sword. What followed was a disgusting illustration of the sword’s power. I didn’t stop falling. I merely pulled the sword with me, slicing the monster’s skull on the way down.

Blood and brains excreted through the gap like chunky spoiled milk. My pant legs were covered. The smell that followed came in waves. First, a suffocating blow of sweet rottenness hit me like a trash can aroma when a lid is lifted on a humid summer day. Then that was followed by a vomit inducing dose of brain juice that harbored a fragrance like bad body odor. I’ve never been one to run away from something that was gross, but the white chunks clinging to my pants were like miniature stench factories, manufacturing god-awfulness. I ran to the river with no concern of getting my boots and socks wet. Another embarrassing dance of shaking and shimmying my legs against the river’s flow took most of the gunk off. I picked and scrubbed off the more stubborn chunks.

Earl remained on the ground, curled up with his hands covering his ears. He mumbled something over and over that I couldn’t hear. He didn’t notice me. He was too lost inside of himself, fighting something which I did not know. I nudged him and waited and repeated this several times with no success.

“Earl, are you alright?”

He continued to mumble.

“Earl!”

He continued to ignore me. I snapped my fingers directly in front of his face with no success. I shook him with the same result. I yelled. I pleaded. Nothing.

“What happened? What did that monster do to you?”

Earl was one of the strongest men I ever knew. Nothing bothered him. His smile was ever present. His smile helped keep my head on straight. I knew that I could always turn to Earl for a joke or a laugh to get me through the hardest parts.

But that Earl was gone.

What cowered before me seemed to have Earl’s shell, but not Earl, not how I remembered him. I removed his helmet, filled it with water from the river and really let him have a good cool splash of wake up. The jump start worked. He stood up and took in a deep noisy breath as if he were underwater for a long time.

“Are you okay?” I said.

He wiped the water from his face and shook his hands dry.

“Did you … were you able to stop it?” He said, stuttering.

“Yes.”

Earl turned slowly, cautiously. The luminous glow of the beast was fading.

“How?”

I smiled and ran over to the pile of curdled brains to get my sword. None of the brains stuck to the blade when I lifted it. The steel exploded with a bright reflection of luminous light. Beams shot out in a star shape. A Hollywood director couldn’t have made it any more dramatic.

“Where did you get that?” Earl said.

“You could call it a spoil of war.” I was full of vinegar at that moment. ‘Frank Kaplan, the monster killer,’ I thought. The excitement of my triumph was getting the best of me.

Earl smiled. “That’s quite the sword. Where’d you find that?”

“Right where you’re sitting?” I sheathed the sword into the scabbard on my back. “I should give it a name. All the great fictional and real-life warriors in history had names for their weapons. King Arthur and Excalibur. Thor and Mjolnir. Teddy Roosevelt and his Winchester.”

“And now lives the great Frank Kaplan and his shiny light sword,” Earl said.

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“Well, that’s all I have. My head’s a little sore.”

“What about “Promise Keeper?””

Earl waved his hand in an ‘I don’t care at the moment fashion’ and walked over to the river. I followed him.

““Promise Keeper” has a ring to it, right? But it didn’t strike fear. It should strike fear in the hearts of men and beast.” I thought again and said, “‘Kraut Killer.’” I received no reaction “That one’s too vicious. Books won’t want to publish that name.”

“And you also need to kill a Kraut to have that name.” Earl began splashing water on his face. He then washed his hair and arms.

“How about, “Dragon Doom Blade” or “Monster Fury” or “Light Deflector?””

Earl turned to me, dripping. Each droplet sprouted flowers when it hit the ground. “How about you just be careful with that around me. I’d hate to go through everything I did and die at the hands of a wayward sword swipe.”

“Don’t worry. She only comes out when required.”

As Earl spread more of the water about his body, his skin took on a faint azure glow. Wounds and scars fizzled and washed away as he splashed water upon them. His eyes gained back their sparkle. His smile grew wider.

“Feeling better?” I said.

“Always do after a quick bath in this water.” Earl stood up. “Where’d I leave my rifle?” He began to walk around, kicked a few bones, and then picked up a rifle that wasn’t the one he came in with. “What I wouldn’t do for my M1 again.” Earl pulled the bolt back on the Kraut rifle to check if it was loaded and then began to dig through the debris on the ground. “See any bandoliers or maybe ammunition in one of the shirt pockets laying around?”

Everything about his behavior suggested that fear had left him, but it seemed too quick. As I watched him collect his countenance, I thought how our lives had reversed. In the past, Earl was always the one waiting on me to get my head on straight. That often took a while, which is why, deep down inside, I wondered if he was over his fear or just putting on a show. I never paid attention to what he did in my moments of introspection. How could I? I was always calming myself down.

“What happened?” I said.

“What do you mean?”

“What did the Krauts do to you?”

He bent down and dug through a dusty pack. “It’s a long story.”

“We have time.”

Earl removed a shell from the pack and held it to his rifle. “Help me find the gun that matches this ammunition and then I’ll tell what happened.”

“Why don’t you just take my rifle?” I said. “I’ve got my sword.”

“Ever try using a sword in a small arms firefight? You’re not going to get far.”

“Toss me that shell.”

“Looks like it could fit one of those pistol rifles the Krauts use. I think it’s called a “Schmeisser” or something like that. One of the Krauts I spent time with had one. It looks like a pistol but stretched out. It’s like Lieutenant Talbott’s Thompson.”

We dug around the cave, pulling up old shirts and pants and kicking over bones and bags. There were plenty of Kraut rifles and ammunition, but most where rusted or bent or broken in two and none of the ammunition fit. Twenty minutes, maybe thirty passed before we found the right gun buried underneath a skeleton that was completely intact except for a crushed ribcage.

“God, can you imagine what that guy felt?” I said.

“Yeah …” Earl started to speak and then trailed off into his thousand-yard stare.

“Earl?”

He shook his head and then released the clip on his gun. He began loading the ammunition he found.

“Looks like you’re familiar with that gun.”

Earl smiled and said, “One of my captors cared for his every night. I watched him unload and reload it before and after cleaning it.” He pulled back a lever on the side to load a round into the chamber. His action was smooth and clean, as if he had done it a thousand times. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Which way should we go?”

“Given that there’s a monster blocking our path in one direction, I feel like we only have way.”

We began walking, staying close to the river edge where the plants illuminated the cave. Earl kept his Schmeisser at the ready. Me, on the other hand, walked casually with my rifle slung over my shoulder and my sword sheathed behind my back. I felt no danger, except the possibility of getting wet from the river, but a rifle or sword couldn’t help with that.

We picked up a pack for Earl and ammunition along the way. There were plenty of old bones to dig through.

The rush of the river made it difficult to hear anything at times during our journey. The noisier sections seemed to appear whenever there was a dramatic change in the elevation or when several boulders found their way in the middle of the flowage. We also came to more quiet sections where the water just trickled. In one of these spots, I spoke up.

“Want to begin?” 

“Begin what?”

“Your story.”

“Oh. Yeah. Sure. Where do you want me to start?”

“At the beginning. At the village.”