The Chess Pieces Read online

  The little boy hardly budged, still eyeing the ball. It wasn’t his older-older sister, but still she was taller than him, even if only by a little.

  “Don’t bug me. It’s only a spider web.”

  “Don’t be dumb. For all you know there could be a Diamondback behind that tool shed.”

  At that boy halted, stepping away from the toy. Time to admit defeat. Head down, he walked over to his sister in silence. As he did, he saw she was wearing her flip flops and it occurred to him he was barefooted. Maurizo knew what came next.

  “And you should be wearing shoes…” she trailed off, letting out a sigh. Her brother slouched past the dingy barbeque and stopped in front of her. She wore similar shorts, though better kept. Looking at her brother’s sweaty and grimy face, she felt a tint of regret in her scorning.

  “I don’t wanna nag so much. But—”

  “Yeah, yeah, Mama told you to.” Suddenly his head lifted. “Can I get in the pool, then? Come on, Mari, please!”

  The girl looked over at the small plastic pool leaning up against the fence. The images of the smiling cartoon fish and squid had been etched away by age, making the bottom of the pool that much more unsightly. And, the miniature forest of weeds didn’t really provide any great spot for it.

  “Why get in that old thing when we’re going to Oceanside in a week?”

  “Uh, I guess so. But it’s so hot…”

  “Come on, let’s go inside.”

  She made sure to shut the screen door after her brother, knowing he would naturally forget. Still, two flies or so zoomed inside, and instantly the buzzing aggravated her. It wasn’t so much the disgusting habits of the average housefly on a summer day, though, that rested on her mind, but it was the constant and all-encompassing buzz of those damned wings. Even when she couldn’t see them, she always heard them. Her Maurizo, casual as he was at times forgetful, plopped on the couch and turned up the volume.

  Mari sat down on the stained carpet instead, as if hiding down on the floor would somehow remove her from the insects’ field of vision. All the same, she heard that same old buzz in her ear. One of them practically dive-bombed her but as always veered away to avoid a fatal backhand. She watched the black dot zoom around in the air before landing on the tip of Christ’s nose. It didn’t matter because he was dead.

  Mari now felt a different sensation, from disgust to one she couldn’t quite place, never could. Their mother had made it a priority to cover the walls of the small house with images of the Holy Son. Most were cheap paintings with chipped frames, but there were plenty of the sort Mari was gawking at: a rather large figurine of the only begotten son pinned on his crucifix. Every morning and every night her mother had the family join her in prayer to the image. Every time in Spanish, even though Maurizo struggled with it.

  She couldn’t stand it. The way Christ’s body appeared so emaciated, slumped over, his forehead dripping with blood. There was never any emotion depicted in the face, but morbid silence. Perhaps she was too young, but she couldn’t see how this man, limp and broken, could be a divine guardian. Every time Mari prayed, she honestly didn’t know what it was for.

  According to her mother, each and every last person owed their life to the man. It was a hell of a quandary. How can we owe our lives to an image of death? Despite this, it was a matter they never discussed beyond the surface. Only one time before had Mari ever sputtered out the words to begin a question, only to receive a reply she was ensured never to forget.

  The opening of a door down the hall caused both their heads to turn. A male walked into the living room, seating himself upon the arm of the battered couch. In baggy jeans and wearing his oversized plain white shirt around his neck like a towel, the scrawny figure wiped a finger across his diminutive mustache. Maurizo looked up at him with a bewildered glance, which the teenager met with a rustling of his hair. The boy endured this with no smile, but didn’t force him away.

  The much older male then eyed the filthy house, the morning plates still on the table, in fact. Mari and Maurizo’s older sister came out of her bedroom a few minutes after her boyfriend. She did not join him at the television and instead headed right for the bathroom. Mari marveled at her beauty for the little time she could as she passed. Her sisterina was a spitting image of what Mari would be like when she got older, as her mother had put it. Considerably taller, well-figured and, best of all, she wore her jet-black hair long and down to her shoulders. At times Mari doubted this, seeing as how she hadn’t exactly filled in yet, but she kept her hopes up.

  “Carla, you’re lazy as shit, you know that,” her boyfriend called to her as he kept his eyes on the television. “Haven’t been doing anything all week, you might as well clean.”

  “Shut the hell up, Ricky!” she yelled in return, slamming the bathroom door shut. A second later, the shower was running.

  Ricky eyed the cartoons for a second more before standing and heading for the backyard door. He jerked it open and stepped out on to the patio. He made no move to shut the door, only pulled out a Black n’ Mild and started puffing away. The aroma carried easily into the house, angering Mari.

  Maurizo arose from the couch, the smell new and odd to him. He walked over behind the gaunt figure, curious.

  “What? You want a puff, little man?”

  Ricky laughed as he held it under the small boy’s nose, but Marisol pulled her brother away.

  “You dumbass, he’s only six!!”

  The tables instantly turned when he snatched Mari by her arm roughly, pulling her in close.

  “Watch the way you talk to me, all right?!”

  His words rang harshly in her ear and his lips remained there for a moment, Mari feeling every bit of his raspy breath over her face. The smell of sweat and smoke nauseated her, but against his grip she could do nothing. Her eyes watered slightly. The brute pulled away, leaning back against the pale house wall. He shrugged his shoulders halfheartedly.

  “Besides, I wasn’t much older when I had my first smoke; chill out.”

  Mari took her brother back inside with no response. Finally, their mother came through the front door. Looking like hell but home at last, she entered the kitchen. The two waist-high children rushed her with a hug. The woman’s eyes drifted to the kitchen counter and with relief.

  “I see you took the meat out like I told you, thank you, mija.”

  She planted a kiss on Mari’s forehead.

  “Yeah, Mama, it should be done thawing by now,” the girl responded with a prideful smile.

  “Caldo Des Res?” the little boy asked, eyeing the grocery bags. If there was any Spanish he did understand, it was the language of el comida. Their mother set the bags down on the counter, Mari studying the ingredients. She spotted almonds, rice, sesame seeds, and a few things she didn’t recognize.

  “Yes, yes, and I’m also making you two’s favorite: horchata.”

  The mother’s tired smile was sincere as it ever was, till Ricky walked through the kitchen. He threw the older woman a glance before briskly heading out the front door, which he did not bother to shut. Following closely behind was the now fully dolled up Carla. She, too, ignored her mother, being the one to finally shut the door as she left. Not long after, a sputtering yet alive engine weakly groaned before there was a screech of tires. Their mother stood lost for a moment, staring at the ingredients as if entranced by them.

  “I’m sorry about Carla,” Mari said in a confused state.

  Her mother frowned even more so as she pulled Mari close to her. She spoke a truth she believed more than anything. She would hold to it till the day she passed over to the hands of God.

  “Don’t be, mija. She may be your sister, but she’s my child. I’m responsible for her. No one else but me.”

  ***

  October 7, 2065 - Western Area Peninsula Forest, Sierra Leone

  Mari woke from her nap as she felt the Humvee pull to a halt. The ensuing silence of motors led her to sit up, knowing the convoy must have r
eached its destination. The other soldiers in the dark and cramped vehicle eyed her with blank faces, wondering how she’d slept in the sweltering heat.

  Now that the Humvee had stopped, the wind-flow had also stopped and immediately they filed out. Mari went last to critique their speed, and they knew it.

  When the last of them exited, she herself stepped outside. Her boots dug into the soft earth as she inspected the area. The flatland was mildly grassy but mostly good old dirt. There was a cluster of trees only a few meters west of them and a moving body of water not far beyond that. She could see the glimmer of it from here.

  The soldiers fed off her aura and did not bother to chat. The many squads lined up neatly. Being part of the International Elite Brigades, these soldiers had differing uniforms from their at-home brothers and sisters. Their armor was a dark gray, the shade of a timber wolf. Normal UNR standard protocol for the soldiers in the black uniforms had the arrow-halo emblem in red on the upper arm. Here, the emblem was stitched in black on gray but to similar effect. The boots always remained black and overall the same UNR spirit was within them no matter the soil.

  Mari’s eyes went to the arrival of more Humvees and trucks, leaving behind them a flow of dust in the dipping sun. As they stopped, they ruined the view of the stretched shadows, but business was upon them. The female soldier had her black hair reaching only to the end of her neck, but her curving bangs nearly reached over her eyebrows. Her slim form was as striking as it was imposing, though beside her face and neck not a single amount of her skin was visible.

  As the new arrivals stood at attention, only one man stepped toward her. Decorated and wearing a military cap, he removed it in the heat. Like her, a medieval-like image of a lion was stenciled on the chest plate of his armor. He had a bandana tied around his right arm, red in color with the lion image, the UNR emblem, and the initials C.C. on it.

  “Lieutenant Carson at last joins us,” she said warmly, saluting as they all did in his presence.

  “Mari, well, at least you cut that damn hair. For a while, I thought you were some sort of Amazonian.”

  She rolled her eyes before speaking again.

  “Hope you don’t mind, Carson, but HQ has a new squad of cherries tied to my ankle.”

  “I don’t plan on holding any hands, you know that. They’ll learn as they go.”

  “Right. So show me your crime scene, you bastard.”

  “Anything for you, Wonder Woman. Squad leaders, come with us.”

  About twelve men and women stepped up before the trek began. It was a twenty-minute stroll away from where they parked. They walked through tall yet thin trees, making spacing no problem. Not a single one was thicker than a person was wide. As everyone else began to spread out, Mari and Carson stayed close together.

  “I’m going to assume it’s pretty bad if we’re being sent in,” she said.

  “The Freetown police said it was, and I quote, ‘grisly.’ So, yeah, bad.”

  Mari kept a straight face, but for a split second she smirked. Believing no one had witnessed this, she went on her way.

  They came upon the sight in a manmade clearing: a sole tree right at its center. It was easily the tallest tree they’d seen since their arrival, at least ten meters up. A couple of birds took off at their presence, but the flies would not be deterred. Mari hated flies. It was the first thing she noticed.

  Hanging from the tree’s branches were fifteen men and women. They varied in age and skin color, but all had the same noose around their neck. The victims had been stripped bare, blood dribbling down the surface of their bodies to the dirt below.

  “We have our ten missionaries and five UNR soldiers,” commented Mari.

  “Motherfuckers…” Carson said as he removed his cap.

  Sergeant Mangham appeared as shaken as anybody but also very angry.

  “At least they had the decency to shoot them instead of letting them choke to death. It’s the only reason they’d bother wasting bullets.”

  “Mercy, from them? Don’t be a jackass,” argued Sergeant Leroy. “They shot ’em just to make sure none of them survived the lynching.”

  One sergeant, Sergeant Davies of the new squad, was silent. He merely stared at the two older officers at work and tried desperately not to empty his stomach. Only thing left besides the corpses were their helmets mounted on sloppily carved makeshift pikes surrounding the tree in a circle. Kneeling next to one, Mari observed how an orange pair of skeletal serpent jaws had been painted around the UNR emblem, perfectly so, too. It had been made to appear as if the snake was consuming its morsel.

  “You recognize that mark?” she asked Carson rhetorically.

  “Looks like the Great Devourer symbol, but most likely imitators. I’m doubtful the real deal is back.”

  “Didn’t you ever hear that cockroaches will survive the nuclear holocaust? Good thing I brought my stomping boots.”

  “The Great Devourers… shit,” muttered Davies.

  Mari turned to face him directly.

  “Try not to piss yourself. What they did was nothing special. I always thought it was a grievous waste to assign UNR troops to babysit civvies out of state.”

  “What?”

  “Have you forgotten your studies? Apparently, you all have. The Great Devourers were expert tacticians in their heyday because they knew how to pick the right targets. The right targets make all the difference. The noose and tree gimmick is for fear. These people were dead before they even got the rope tied around their necks.”

  The soldiers before her had no response, only silent observations. Carson appeared to be taking all this in as well.

  “It’s settled then. Attention!”

  The men and women straightened instantly. “Yes, sir!!”

  “Report to your squads. We’ll be staying the night here. I want foxholes done in two hours.”

  Carson paid no mind to his subordinates, walking back toward the Humvees. Instead it was Mari who approached them, a large smile on her face.

  “I have some beehives to lighten the load for us. With my help to boot, we should be done in half the time.”

  Chapter 6 - Bad Habits

  October 7, 2065 - Western Area Peninsula Forest, Sierra Leone

  Night had finally fallen, bringing with it much cooled air. Some troops were sound asleep, others chatting, but most were restless. Sergeant Davies was among these, nested in a foxhole with three others. None of his squad members were dozing, but none were talking, either. They were busy checking their cartridges and watching out for snakes or whatever else might try to make its way into their foxhole. Davies himself, though, was busy in his notepad, jotting down his day with meticulous details. It was very important that he get it down now, this daily log being as important as the mission itself.

  Meanwhile, two comrades were gathered in a tent talking not of the horror they’d seen today in that tree, but of nostalgia.

  “You’ve been outta country for what, like seven years now? I thought you’d be tired of being knee-deep in the swamps and shit. Or has McGinley exiled your sorry ass?” Carson laughed as he put tobacco in his pipe. He retrieved a few pills from his personal supply within his pocket, white and the size of small pinheads. Damn it, he would need quite a few to make this potent. Steadily, he ground five or so up in one hand before sprinkling the remains on his tobacco. Ah, ready at last. He lit the concoction.

  Mari subtly gazed at the faint residue left on the map on the small desk in front of her friend. Seated on his cot with one leg crossed over the other, she spoke:

  “Seven years, one hundred twenty-one days and I’ve been to almost every corner of the world. If this is exile I’m loving it,” she said proudly. “Though I see you haven’t changed much, either. Still hopped up on your grandmother’s pillbox?”

  “Hey, this is perfectly legal. I just hate swallowing these bastards. I’ve been on these since San Pedro, thanks to none other than you, mind you.”

  “Yeah, I suppose that was on
e rather hairy. But it did get you that nice title, right?”

  “At the cost of a few nightmares, but I was no longer out in the field, till now that is.”

  “As much as it hurts to hear you didn’t miss me, don’t they have plenty of officers to put out here for field work?”

  “That’s what I said, but I’ve been hearing rumors of occupation.”

  “Are we talking more assimilation?”

  “All the talk is upper brass only, recently. I was hoping you could fill me in, actually.”

  “Well, just when business was starting to decline for a while admittedly, these guerilla groups started poppin’ up like herpes. Small protests have become rampant organized attacks, and not just here. Egypt, Gabon, Cape Verde, all within the last few months.”

  “Now of all times. This shit reeks, doesn’t it? Makes me wonder what the hell is going down.”

  “Isn’t it obvious? The resurgence of an enemy long thought dead.”

  “This is their style, but you cyborgs grinded them to dust years ago.”

  “And we’ve been building up so many countries since then. With every city we helped erect, they found more places to hide, no doubt.”

  “Price of progress, huh?”

  “It doesn’t help either that the Chancellor has ruled all incidents must remain confidential.”

  “There were prior incidents?”

  “Three monasteries were burned down in one night. The media blamed arson.”

  “Man, you really kept track of this tumor day-by-day, didn’t you? We both know how that song and dance goes from here. Confidentiality in this business tends to lead to escalation.”

  Mari’s hand twitched, something not even she noticed.

  “You think it’ll get worse?”

  “Whether it’s the Great Devourer’s or not, those bodies won’t be the last before it’s done. Man’s a sinner is one thing, but a man starts offing priests, you know he’s fucked up in the head.”

  “Please, Chuck, don’t tell me you believe religion is at the heart of this. Despite all the Chancellor has done, they simply want us out.”