Off Limits (9 page)

Jim forced himself to look at Alex. Her lovely gray eyes were shimmering with tears. How badly he wanted to take her into his arms, to hold her. Just her proximity took away some of the torturous agony he lived with. “That's not the point,” he said, his voice gravelly. “I chose to pull the trigger and murder her.”

“No!” Alex tensed, afraid her raised voice might alert VC to their hiding place. “No!” she cried again softly. “Kim was going to die, Jim. Who's to say you didn't give her a less painful death? A quicker one? The grenade might have mutilated but not killed her. She could have lingered on the edge of death for days, limbs lost to the explosion. Haven't you looked at other possibilities?”

Morosely, he shook his head. “You don't understand, Alex—I shot Kim. I cold-bloodedly decided to take her life to save mine.”

Her heart aching, Alex stared at him in the gloom. “Then you're really not a deserter or a coward,” she said. “You let me think that.”

Jim couldn't meet her eyes, afraid of seeing censure or revulsion over what he'd done. “I—I didn't have the guts to tell you the truth....”

With a small cry, Alex touched his grim face, feeling the prickles of his beard rough against her palm. “Jim, you did what you had to do to survive.”

He glanced at her. “Would you have shot Kim?”

Wincing, Alex hung her head. “That's not a fair question. I refused to learn to shoot a rifle. I can't conceive of shooting anything.”

Rubbing at his left leg, its dull ache always present, almost reassuring, Jim said, “I turned into a killer.”

“You defended yourself the best you could under awful circumstances.”

“I can't go back to the marines, Alex. I can't change what happened, but I can change the present—and my future,” he muttered. “I decided not to take sides in this war. I'll scrounge off the land and be a shadow. I won't ever pick up a rifle to kill again. I'll die myself before I'll do that.” He pointed to the M-14 with its broken stock. “I took my rifle and smashed it against a tree. I'll never use a rifle to kill again. All I have is my Ka-bar knife, and I'll use it only to help me get food. I won't ever raise a weapon in defense of myself again.”

“That makes you a conscientious objector,” Alex said gently, “not a deserter.”

Miserably, Jim looked up at her. “Words... I thought life would be simple after I made my decision. But then, you dropped into my life.” He kept picking at the vine knot on his makeshift splint. “At first, I was angry you'd come. Then, this past week, I changed my mind.”

Shaken, Alex reached out and touched his slumped shoulder. “What do you mean, Jim?”

With a deep, ragged sigh, he shrugged. “You remind me of home, of my family—of things I'd forgotten about. So many memories, good memories, have come back to me while you've been here.” A corner of his mouth curved, but his eyes were filled with sadness. “I realized what I'd become as a recon. I'd allowed my need for my pa to be proud of me to turn me into something I never wanted to be—a killer.” He rubbed his head and hair distractedly. “I'm all screwed up, Alex. I'm messed up in the head. I got brainwashed, and I'm tryin' to straighten out how I'm thinking and seeing the world.”

Alex sat quietly. She was grateful for her years at college, and for the psychology courses she'd taken thus far. If she'd ever doubted there was a place for therapy for victims of war trauma, she knew differently now. Aching for him, she said, “No one can judge what you did.”

“I have to make that judgment. And I thought I had, but things have changed.” He held her soft gray gaze. “I have to get you to that marine firebase, that's all there is to it. When I was sneaking into that VC camp, I realized you shouldn't have to pay for my screwups.” He patted his leg. “I figure this leg will soon hold up well enough for a ten-mile trek to get you safely back to the marines. I know your pa's worried sick. He probably thinks you're dead. And I'm sure they sent out recon teams after the crash. They'll search the wreckage on that bird and find only four bodies, not five.”

He gave her a sad smile. “I'll get you home, Alex, I promise.”

Home.
The word sounded so good. Too good to be true. Jim was mixed up, but his morals and values were still in place. Alex reached out, her fingers wrapping around his hand, which rested against his splinted leg. “I just want you to know that I know, in my heart, that you aren't a bad person. You never were, Jim.”

“I'm a booby prize, gal, and don't you ever forget it. Stop looking at me like I'm some kind of special fella, 'cause I'm not. Just remember what I did, and why.”

“In my eyes, you're a wonderful, kind man.”

He shook his head. “Then you're a bit tetched in the head, Alexandra Vance.”

Her smile wobbled. “That's fine by me. You forget I've been on the receiving end of your care. You're no villain, Jim. You never will be.”

For the longest time, Jim stared at Alex. She was so soft yet so strong behind her trembling smile and damp gray eyes. “I don't know what it is about you,” he grumbled, “but you make me feel clean inside again. Maybe it's you.... I don't know anything, anymore.”

Alex smiled more broadly and gently touched several strands of dark hair dipping across Jim's pained brow. “Do you know what I want more than anything?”

“What?”

“I want you to come back with me.”

He gave her a startled look. “No way.”

“Why not?” Alex asked patiently.

“Because I've deserted. I'm AWOL.”

“The recons think you're MIA, not AWOL.”

“I won't pick up a rifle and kill again, Alex,” Jim explained. “I'll refuse. And when I do that, they'll put me in the brig and throw the key away. Maybe you don't understand that marines hate deserters. There's no tolerance for them.”

“You can tell them you're a conscientious objector. They can't throw you in jail for that.”

He caressed her cheek. “My sweet, naive gal. You're acting like hill folk now, you know that? I didn't realize how dumb I was about the world until I got into the Marine Corps. Back in the hills of Missouri, we're isolated and protected. A lot of what goes on in this world, we don't hear, see or even know about. You don't understand the military mind, Alex. Deserters and conscientious objectors are seen as one and the same. No, if I turn myself in, they'll probably give me ten years hard labor busting rocks at Fort Leavenworth. I'd rather take my chances of surviving here in Nam than live in four closed walls. I'm a country boy, and I need fresh air and freedom of movement. I'd die in prison—I know it.”

Alex said nothing. She had so much to digest, and her feelings were raw and sensitized toward Jim's plight. As she lay back down, she asked, “When do we leave for the marine firebase?”

“In a couple of days, with any luck,” Jim answered. He tucked the blanket around Alex and gave her a long, searching look. Finally, he rasped, “How can you not hate me for what I did?”

She reached and gripped his hand. “Because you did it in self-defense, Jim. You're no more a killer than I am.”

His mouth curved slightly. “You're bunny fluff,” he teased in a strained voice, but relief flowed through him. More than anything, Jim had feared telling Alex the truth. It confounded him that she didn't hate him, that he couldn't see accusation or remorse in her eyes for what he'd done.

Exhausted by the marathon session, Alex closed her eyes. The grip of Jim's hand gave her strength, gave her continued hope. “I'm so glad I know you,” she said, her voice trailing off into sleep.

How long Jim sat holding Alex's hand after she fell asleep, he didn't know. Her hand was so small and white against his own. He marveled at Alex's inherent beauty as she slept. Why didn't she hate him? Were his own emotions, his own horror over what he'd done, twisting everything so he didn't see correctly? Stymied, Jim found no answers—just a lot of time on his hands to think about the sordid situation.

* * *

The earth shook. At first Alex thought it was in her nightmare—the jolting crash of the helicopter. But then she was dragged out of sleep to feel the ground beneath her tremble like a dog shaking off fleas. She gasped. It was dark. Blindly, she groped to find Jim. Her flailing hand was caught by his.

“Easy,” Jim rasped, his voice thick with sleep. Dragging himself out of his prone position, he sat up and gathered Alex into his arms.

“My God, what is it?” she cried, clinging to him.

“B-52 strikes,” he muttered. They were close. Damned close. Automatically, Jim placed them both against the wall and pressed Alex against him to protect her as much as possible.

“B-52's?” Her voice was high, off-key with terror. The ground bucked and shuddered in wavelike movements around them. Several chunks of rock and dirt fell from the ceiling to the floor of their tunnel.

Tarnation!
“Yeah, they must be doin' some saturation bombing in this area. It's all VC-held, so it makes sense.”

The ground groaned, and dirt sifted over them. Jim cursed softly.

“Come on,” he urged, “we gotta get outta here before we're buried alive!”

Fear shot jaggedly through Alex as he hauled her to her feet. Dizzy, she gripped his arm as he led her toward the exit hole. More dirt avalanched down on them. The pounding and reverberation were increasing in intensity and power. Alex felt Jim's hands go around her waist.

“Climb through,” he ordered in a rasp, and lifted her off her feet.

Blindly, Alex groped for the jungle floor with her right hand as she was pushed through the camouflaged entrance. Biting back a cry of pain, she struggled up and out of the hole. The brush scratched at her face, snagging strands of her hair. Her breath came in sobs as she got to her knees and crawled away from the opening so Jim could escape. Her eyes widening, Alex saw the sky light up with huge tentacles of fire. The shrieking whistle of the bombs carried through the darkness. The horizon lit up again and again, as one load of bombs after another exploded into the jungle.

“Alex!”

Jerking her head to the left, she saw Jim crawling toward her. “Here...”

“Man, they're gonna level this place! Come on, we gotta move!” Jim pulled Alex to her feet and placed his arm around her waist. She wasn't as strong as he wished, but they had no choice: it was either make a run for it or get blown to bits.

Gasping, Jim held Alex against him as they wove unsteadily through the jungle, the vines, huge leaves and brush slapping at them. He headed north, toward the marine firebase, their only hope of safety. In his hurry to leave the tunnel, Jim had left everything but his web belt behind. They had no food, no water. Luckily, he thought as they struggled through the jungle, the sulfa powder Alex needed to keep the infection down was in a pouch on the belt.

All Jim's focus centered on getting Alex to safety. She deserved a second chance at life. He knew he didn't. If he died reaching his objective for Alex, it would be an honorable end to his miserable existence. Every time she tripped, he was there to catch her. Only once in that first harrowing hour of constant bombing did Alex cry out. Jim knew how she must be feeling, but to his amazement, she seemed to draw on some unknown resource of incredible strength and endurance, somehow matching his demanding pace.

After an hour the B-52 raid diminished into silence. Jim breathed through his mouth, less noisy than breathing through his nose. He brought Alex to a halt and pulled her to him.

“It's over,” he rasped near her ear. “At least, for now.”

Shaking, Alex leaned heavily against him. “What do you mean? Is there more coming?”

“I don't know, gal. I don't know.” He looked back at the jungle they'd come from. It was on fire, flames licking toward the dark night above. “One thing's for sure, the VC are lying low right now. It's a good time to travel.”

Her mouth dry, Alex looked up. “Wh-where are we?”

Jim's teeth shone white against his glistening, shadowed skin. “Close to the firebase. I'm taking you home, gal, one way or another. It's just happening a little sooner than I expected, that's all.”

“What about your leg?”

“Sore but usable. How about your shoulder?”

“The same,” Alex whispered, clutching Jim's damp shirt. Her knees were like jelly, but she didn't want to tell him. Right now, he needed her courage, not her problems. The mosquitoes were thick, biting relentlessly, much worse than in the tunnel.

“Can you walk?”

“I can try.”

“Good.” His praise was husky, and he tucked her against him, his arm around her waist to support her. “No talking. If you hear anything odd, stop and point in the direction the noise came from.”

“Okay.” Blinking her stinging, smarting eyes, Alex put her full concentration into placing one foot in front of the other. Each step jolted her wound, and fresh pain jagged up her shoulder, into her neck and head. The night humidity was suffocating, the mosquitoes a constant nagging buzz. How Jim had survived in Vietnam for two years under conditions like this stymied Alex. Fresh admiration for him flowed through her.

Toward dawn, Jim called a final halt. Once an hour, they had rested for ten minutes or so. The jungle wasn't their friend, but it wasn't their enemy, either. Up north, Jim knew, in portions of the I Corps area, the jungle was so thick and matted with vines that it required a machete to chop through it. Here, it was easier traveling, and with his excellent night vision, they had made reasonable progress.

“Let's sit down,” Jim whispered. He found a place beneath the gnarled, snaking roots of a huge rubber tree to hide from enemy eyes. In the grayish light, he saw how waxen Alex had become. Once she had crawled into his arms and laid her head wearily on his shoulder, he embraced her carefully.