After tossing and turning all night without closing an eye, I get up at the crack of dawn. Contradictory thoughts flood my mind, trapping me. I need to clear my head and run to flush it all out. Pushing my body to its limits tends to keep my feelings in check; it's the only way I will be able to think straight about the Rosanna situation.

Felipe didn't return to the compound last night and I rummage through his nightstand for his high-clearance pass to get around the curfew. One of the privileges of the leading class. I finally find the plain white card under a pair of socks and pocket it with a grin. Felipe won't mind. We are used to sharing our stuff.

I make my way to the compound's outer perimeter and swipe the card to open a small side gate. Putting up my hoodie to hide my face, I sneak out under the silent eye of the CCTV camera. The early morning air is crisp, a thin layer of mist still surrounding the mountaintops. The flaming orange sun peeks on the horizon. As I do some warm-up stretches, my gaze roams over the coca fields that stretch for miles in the valley. The cocaine trade keeps Malaguay alive—bringing death to other parts of the world. The price our enemies have to pay for their economic sanctions.

I start with a slow jog. The chill in the air is tinged with the sharp scent of eucalyptus. I head into the forest and stillness sinks in with every breath. As the tension in my neck eases, my leg muscles itch from thigh to toes, begging me to go faster. I push along at growing speed. The sweat pours out of every pore and takes with it the weight that has restricted my chest since last night.

With long, even strides, my feet pound the forest ground. Even the burning sensation in my thighs can't stop me from pushing my body to its limits. My head tilts back toward the sky, allowing the wind to rush over my face; I spread my arms out as if I'm about to take off. I want to glide across the mountains like a bird and escape—from the war and the misery it brings, from the daily struggle to stay alive, and most of all, from the responsibility I'm not ready for. It's not fair to bring a child into a world filled with only violence.

When I reach the edge of the ravine, I stop. Hands tucked behind my head, I take long, even breaths to slow my racing heart. The mist around the mountains has dissolved, the sun now a yellow orb on the rise. The serenity of a new untouched day with all its possibilities releases the rest of my tension.

For a second, I close my eyes and picture myself holding a baby. Fuck, that's scary. Of course, Rosanna had talked about getting married and starting a family, but I didn't take it seriously. Not yet anyway. We are still young. Someone like Felipe would dump her, or even take her to a country that allows abortions. Not an option for me. I love her and I want to be with her—that much at least is clear. But shit, a baby? Now?

Things would definitely be easier if this whole pregnancy thing turns out to be a false alarm, but what if it's not? I sigh. Time to man up and accept this new challenge. I have to try to make it work. Keep pushing. It's the only way forward.

My growling stomach reminds me that it's time to go back or I'll miss breakfast. I jog to the compound and sneak in through the side gate without encountering a single soul. The shower is quick and refreshing; I forgo shaving to grow out my goatee some more. After dressing in my uniform, I face the next dilemma. Where on Earth should I get a pregnancy test from? Pharmacies don't carry them since Malaguian women are entitled to get them for free at the clinic. Not an option for Rosanna; she's locked up in that orphanage.

When I bump into Juana on the way to the mess hall, an idea pops into my head. "Hey, Conde, you got a sec?"

"Only if it is a second. I'm already late for training."

I pull her to the side behind a wall of delivery crates, glancing to my left and right to ensure none of those nosy motherfuckers is eavesdropping. The compound is one big rumor mill. "How difficult would it be for you to get me a pregnancy test?"

Her laugh is incredulous. "For real?" When I don't respond, she smirks. "Way to go, Araya. Who did you knock up?"

"What difference does it make?"

"Duh, I have a boyfriend, remember? If I ask the compound doctor for a pregnancy test, Miguel will hear about it within minutes. He'll freak out. At least tell me whom I'm risking a fight for."

I sigh. "Okay, it's Rosanna."

"That orphan girl you were seeing?"

"Yep."

"Pendejo. You're not even allowed to be near that orphanage but knocking up one of Pearson's girls. How stupid is that?"

I grimace. "So can you get me the test?"

"Why don't you just get it yourself?"

"I—I dunno."

For a second she squints at me, then she snorts. "Wow, you're embarrassed."

"Of course I am. I mean, I'm a guy. It's not exactly natural to ask for a pregnancy test."

A slow smile spreads on her lips. "If I do this for you, I want something in return."

That was predictable. "And what do you want?"

"After yesterday, Miguel wants me to stop going on scout patrol. He expects me to stay around the city. You know how boring that is, so if you put in a good word—"

"Forget it. Miguel has much more pull than me. How can I go over his head? No one will even listen to me."

"I heard you caught Varela's eye and he's making you a high rank. If that's the case, you can ask him for a favor."

Talk about a rumor mill. "And if Varela doesn't go for it?"

"Just drop a hint that you're defying Miguel. Varela hates his guts. He'll do it just to spite him."

I shrug. "All right, if you get me the test, I can try." Bottom line, she knows internal military politics better than I do. If she thinks my request to Varela will fly, it's worth a shot, especially since I'll be getting what I want in return, even if her plan fails.

A fist bump seals the deal and she is off to the training center. I'm about to slip into the mess hall for my well-deserved breakfast when General Varela's voice stops me cold.

"Capitán Araya. Just the man I was looking for."

I turn around and stand at attention. "Sir."

"I need a hand with an interrogation. Interested?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then follow me."

When we cross the courtyard, my stomach rumbles in protest, something I choose to ignore. This will be my first opportunity to prove to him that I deserve this chance. There is nothing more important.

We stop at a small building in between the dorms and the office. It's an area that has always been above my security clearance, and naturally, I've been curious about what's behind the heavy steel door. Rumor is that it's a torture chamber where high ranks interrogate captured rebels. As we pass, the two guards at the door salute, a gesture that's not even acknowledged by the general.

He leads me down a narrow staircase spanning over several landings. By the time we reach the bottom, we must be at least three stories underground. The hallway is wide and tiled in the same beige as the hospital wing. Steel doors go off to the left and right, but they are all closed, so I'm unable to see what hides behind them. The sound of our boots hitting the floor bounces off the walls and the tension in my neck is back, increasing with every step.

We're almost at the end of the hallway before the general stops in front of a door. After a brief knock, the door swings back. Jorge Gomez, dickhead extraordinaire, gives me a good once-over as he steps aside to let us pass. He toys with a toothpick stuck between his lips. Being the health nut he is, this must be his way to calm his nerves. He's the only soldier I know who doesn't smoke.

Jorge closes the door behind us and leans against the wall. I gaze around the room. Bare walls with just a small metal table in the center and a couple of folding chairs, one of them occupied by an unknown soldier with coronel stripes. Closed blinds in front of a window that sits next to another metal door. Only a single naked light bulb dangles from the ceiling.

"Capitán Gomez, I believe you've met Capitán Araya?"

General Varela's question returns my focus to the men in the room.

Jorge's smile is thin. "Yes, I already had the pleasure."

I wish I could flip him the bird. Since basic training, I've wanted nothing more than to plant the tip of my boot in his arrogant, leading-family ass.

"And this is Coronel Zambrano."

I acknowledge the man with a salute, unable to mutter a word as the shock clamps my vocal cords. Zambrano is the number-one rebel defector who helped us blow up a whole bunch of them when we attacked their largest settlement last year. So far, everyone has been tight lipped about what made him turn his back on his old allies.

With one push of a button, Jorge opens the blinds that have been covering the window, revealing a room next door. Tied to the ceiling with his arms above his head hangs a naked prisoner. His head is slumped forward, his long, stringy fringe hiding his face. The many cuts and bruises on his body suggest that someone had a go at him already but failed to get anything useful. Otherwise, he would be dead.

General Varela's glare cuts into me. "We caught him just south of Lake Ercina last night and believe he might've been involved in the attack on your scout troop. Just as Gomez here was going to shoot him in the head, he blurted out that he has information on Alejandro Ortiz's whereabouts. Needless to say, that's very valuable intel. Unfortunately, he hasn't muttered a word since."

I nod. Alejandro, a prominent member of the leading families on fast track to becoming capitán, went missing last month. Since then, every scout has been on the lookout for him. "Do you want me to try and get the prisoner to talk, sir?"

Varela's smile is mild. "That's the idea, son."

"Have you ever interrogated a prisoner before, Capitán Araya?"

I turn my head toward Zambrano. "A few times in the field, sir."

"Well, this is how it will go down. For one hour, you have free rein. See what you can find out."

"And if I need more than an hour?"

"Don't." Varela's face is wiped of all pleasantry. "If you fail, I will not only lose my bet, but it could also prove fatal to your career. Keep that in mind when you question him."

Sudden sickness cramps my stomach. "Roger that, sir."

Zambrano rises from his folding chair and grins at the group. "I could use a cup of coffee. Who's in?"

"Sounds like a good idea to kill the time." Varela tosses me one more warning scowl. "Don't fail me, Capitán."

They are already out the door when Jorge's hand lands on my shoulder. His smile is smug. "Prepare to lose your stripes, Araya. I had a go at him all night and got nothing. You'll never make it."

"Unlike you, I'm not afraid to break a nail." I smirk. "And I guess that's why Varela called me in, because you didn't get it done."

Anger briefly flares in his eyes and the door slams closed behind him. An onerous silence settles over the room. Talk about pressure. Staring at the prisoner, I ponder how far I'm willing to go. Pearson's stupid assertion that it's wrong to kill a man unless it's in self-defense runs on repeat in my mind. I snort. In times of war, morals like these are just silly sentiments. Besides, he is an ex-Marine. He must've killed men in cold blood.

When a shiver runs through the prisoner, I see the man hanging there. A sudden lump forms in my throat and it takes effort and willpower to swallow it down. He is someone's son, a brother maybe, or even a husband or father.

Don't do this, Tomás. It isn't helping.

Fool probably only claimed to know about Alejandro's whereabouts in the hopes he'll escape or be rescued by his comrades. What would he do if the tables were reversed? He wouldn't show any mercy if his career were on the line. This is the first obstacle on my climb out of the gutter and I can't allow him to trip me up.

A soldier knows what he signs up for.

This is no different than the battlefield; besides, he might've been the shooter who turned the little girl into an orphan. A malice kill like that deserves punishment.

I take a heavy breath. I'm just wasting time.

This is my one chance—my only chance.

My hand still shakes as I yank the door next to the window open. The stench of feces floods my nostrils, driving bile up my throat. Clenching my fist, I silence the little nagging voice trying to make me turn around. This is something I have to do unless I want to be a low-life soldier whose days are numbered.

For a moment, the prisoner raises his head before his chin falls forward again. He hides the pain in his eyes well. "Great. Now they're sending a child. You guys must really be desperate."

I snort and let my knife spring free. "One of the biggest mistakes of warfare is to underestimate an opponent, amigo."

The man spits on the ground. "I'm not your fucking friend."

I smirk. "No. That would make what I'm about to do almost impossible."

"Fuck you."

I'm on him with one step, tearing his head up by his hair to force eye contact. "Now you've got a choice. Tell me where Alejandro Ortiz is or bleed."

His cracked lips twist to a grotesque grimace. "Is that supposed to scare me?"

Boy, he's talking to the wrong soldier. I'm not some rich kid who's afraid to get his hands dirty and sticks to a beating. The tip of my knife parts his hair just under his temple. "Maybe I'll take your ear."

His body stiffens; otherwise, he shows no sign of fear.

I lower the knife, teasingly scraping the inside of his thigh. "Or I might cut off your balls." The tip of the knife goes up, nicking the skin of his stomach just above his pubic hair. "Or even better. I've always wanted to know how fast a man dies if you spill his guts."

"Fuck you. I'm not telling you anything."

I don't miss the slight perspiration that has formed above his upper lip. I'm getting to him. Toying with his nerves, I run the tip upward and watch the anxious glow in his eyes as I draw a circle on his chest close to his heart.

"Suit yourself."

The cut is quick—my knife is sharp enough to sever the ear as if slicing through hard butter. His agonizing scream hurts my eardrums; for a beat, I struggle to keep the bile at bay. Thick blood runs down the side of his face and drops onto the floor. As the ear-splitting holler continues, his eyes roll back in torment. I turn away, sucking in a sharp breath. My shaking hands struggle to hold onto the knife. Copper stench floods my nostrils and it takes all my effort not to gag. Closing my eyes, I count back from three before regaining control of my nerves.

I can do this.

After the scream finally dies down, I grab him by the scruff of his neck. "Where is Alejandro Ortiz?"

Pain and fear have diluted his pupils, his words no louder than a breath. "Who are you?"

"A desperate man who has everything to lose."

~~~~

I'm just washing off the last traces of blood from my hands when the bathroom door is pushed open with a violent shove. General Varela's face appears behind me in the mirror.

"What the hell did you do? He is motherfucking dead."

I hold his glare. "You told me you wanted Alejandro's location, not to keep him alive."

"And? Did you get it?"

I spin around. "He wouldn't be dead otherwise."

"Hijo de puta. Good work, Araya. Let's go over to my office and discuss specifics on Ortiz's extraction."

I'm in desperate need of some alone time to calm the uproar in my stomach. "Could I have a smoke first?"

"Sure." His eyes narrow slightly. "Was this your first kill?"

I shot enemies in combat before but never an unarmed man. "My first close up, yes."

"You're taking it pretty well. I puked my guts out after mine."

I glance at the spot in front of the toilet where I spent the last twenty minutes on my knees, throwing up the stink of blood together with my guilt. The screams of the man are a persistent ache in my head and I doubt they'll leave me anytime soon. "It's fine, sir. I just need a minute."

"It gets easier."

I stare at the door long after it closes behind him. Pulling the cigarette pack from my pocket, I light myself a smoke. As I inhale deeply, I battle the bitterness that laces the inside of my mouth. The cigarette tastes stale and doesn't calm my shaking hands. "Fuck." I toss it into the toilet.

It gets easier.

That's the only hope to hold onto.

~~~~~

© Sal Mason 2018

This work is protected by copyright and should not be copied, downloaded, translated or used in any way without my expressed consent. Please don't steal it. Thank you!