Page 9 of Stony Point Summer
“Halt!” the younger soldier wearing the boonie hat calls out. Leaves and twigs are tucked into the hat’s sides for camouflage. “Don’t move.”
Kyle stops in his muddy tracks and throws up his hands—showing that he is unarmed. He slowly takes a few more steps toward Shane—hands still up. Kyle finally leans over the mucky marsh water, bends and lifts the large driftwood trapping Shane’s vessel. The driftwood, a split seaworn stick, is gray with age and deeply grooved. Kyle sets it aside and retrieves his brother’s boat from the mud. It’s caked now, so he dips the boat beneath the water again and gives a quick swish. When he turns back to these soldier boys, they’ve crept several feet closer. Silently. Problem is, neither Kyle nor Shane heard them while righting their sabotaged motorboat and rinsing it in the water.
When the older soldier shifts his machine gun now, lifting it from his hip and taking aim, both boat-boys put up their hands—this time in apparent surrender. Beyond, a hazy mist settles over the sweeping grasses. You could almost smell a dank jungle dampness. Around the boys, dragonflies flit in the waning sunlight. A lone kingfisher gives a late-day trill. And that white egret also takes stealthy steps, lifting one spindly leg, then another, as though keeping a close eye on this volatile situation.
All the while, the younger soldier has slipped into the shallow, low-tide marsh water. With one hand on a pocketed rock-grenade, he takes sloshing steps closer to the enemy. As he does, the boy with the gun circles around on the banks, keeping Kyle and Shane in his gun’s sights. The soldiers’ strategy is apparent—they’re blocking in the two captured boys, giving them no chance of escape.
The moment is fraught with tension. And for good reason. Right as Kyle hooks an arm across his kid brother’s shoulder and pulls him closer, the ambush begins.
“Now, Neil!” the boy with the gun calls.
Neil nods and hurtles two final rock-grenades at the motorboat still afloat in the shallows. The rocks are enough to weigh it down and sink it beneath the swampy sea.
“You can’t do that!” Kyle yells, spinning toward Neil standing there, dripping wet, in the water.
“Just did,” Neil tells him. “So you can’t escape on your vessel. You’reourprisoners now.”
“Oh, yeah?” Kyle looks around and scoops up that twisted driftwood stick. “We’ll fight you.”
“To the death!” Shane adds, plucking one of the rock-grenades from the water. He wastes no time either, taking aim at the gunslinger and heaving that rock—clipping the gun-wielding soldier square on the shoulder.
Kyle and Shane turn to run then, seeming shocked that the rock actually hit the boy. But before they can push their way into the swaying marsh grasses, a jarring noise rips through the dusky air. The electronic-soundingrat-a-tat-tat-tatstops them in their tracks. Quickly they spin around, desperately seeking a place to take cover.
But there’s nowhere to go.
The two soldier boys know their mission well—and have succeeded. Kyle and Shane are too vulnerable, and the boy with the toy gun lets rip another bullet volley.Rat-a-tat-tat-tatsounds again, over and over, as he stands there, legs rigid, gun at hip.Rat-a-tat-tat-tat!Another bold step closer, then again,Rat-a-tat-tat-tat!
Kyle does it first, as though he took the hit for his brother. He grabs at his stomach to stop the burst of blood, calls out and writhes to the ground before lying still.
Shane jumps to the side, quickly looking for an escape. But when the soldier shoots another round, it’s all over. Shane tries to charge at him until a statickyrat-a-tat-tat-tathas him grab his leg first, then his heart as he wavers, sidesteps, spins around and falls flat on his back.
All quiets on the marsh banks. The two soldiers have reclaimed their Stony Point territory. Breathing heavy, they take cautious steps toward the fallen. They eye their victims to be sure they’re dead. Neil pulls his stick-machete from his vest pocket. His brother walks to Kyle and nudges his limp body with the barrel of his plastic gun.
“Hey, Jay,” Neil whispers. “What do we do now?”
“Check their pockets. I’ll keep you covered.” As he says it, this Jay circles around the dead boys, holding his gun loosely aimed at them.
Neil steps closer, pauses, then takes another step. As he starts to crouch, the dead boys catch him at his own game. They leap from the ground with monstrous roars before doubling over in laughter.
The soldiers can’t seem to help it, the way they join them in the raucous fun. Laughing and falling into each other, shoving one, clapping another’s arm, it’s as though they’re all old comrades now.
“Hey,” tall and lanky Kyle says. He steps back while eyeing the two mud-faced and fatigued soldiers. “Who are you, anyway?”
“Jason,” the gunslinger tells him. He loops his weapon over his shoulder. “That’s my little brother, Neil. Over there,” he says, hitching his head to the boy standing on the muddy banks. Neil, meanwhile, has pulled a canteen from his vest pocket and takes a long swig.
“Can I have some?” Kyle asks.
Neil wipes the back of his hand across his chin. “What’syourname, soldier?”
“Kyle. Kyle Bradford,” he says while taking the canteen from Neil.
Jason, still looking wary, walks around these two new friends. “Where’s your base?”
“Across the way,” Kyle answers. “That little blue cottage.”
Jason nods and ventures close to the water then, heading toward the toy motorboat Neil sunk but good.
“Jay!” Neil suddenly calls. “Hey, Jay! Watch out!” He runs to the edge of the water. “Toe-popper, right there,” Neil shouts, pointing to a big, shimmering crab slunk just beneath the murky surface.
