Requiem for a Soldier (Requiem #1)

Chapter 16: Peace

April 19

Ryan

"Get up. We're going fishing today." I walk through the living room toward the front door.

"Fishing?" Ana asks, her forehead wrinkling. She makes no effort to move from her spot on the couch, curled up in a blanket reading a book.

"Fishing. Our rods are on the porch. Let's go."

"Why?"

"I'm making fish for dinner. Come on." I open the door.

"Do I have to come?" she asks, looking longingly back at her book.

"Do you want to stay here alone?" I ask.

She frowns. "Can I bring a book?"

"Fine."

She hops off the couch and disappears into the bedroom. I've continued to let her sleep in my bedroom. After sleeping on the couch for a month now, I've become accustomed to it. I've even found that I prefer it. Being only a few steps away from the porch when I wake up from a nightmare feeling hot and panicked is a comfort. Even being able to stare at the auroras dancing through the stars outside the big picture window helps when the sounds of gunfire and explosions echo in my ears.

I'm not the only one having difficulty sleeping. Ana has woken me up with her screaming once in the week since I stopped wearing the ski mask and again last night with muffled sobs. In the years I've lived up here, I've discovered that fishing is a relaxing pastime. I'm hoping she'll find it calming too.

Ana emerges from the cabin a few minutes later. She looks like she's expecting to be caught in a blizzard.

"It's not that cold out today. Forecast says mid-forties."

She wrinkles her nose. "That's cold."

"Where is it you're from?"

"Arizona."

A laugh bursts out of me.

"Hey, aren't you from LA?"

That sobers me up.

"I haven't been to California in a long time." I hand her the fishing pole I bought for her. "Let's go." I retrieve my walking stick from the bottom of the porch steps and set off toward the trees. She adjusts the Glock she's shoved into her belt. In the past week, she's been practicing with the Glock almost religiously. At this rate, I'll need to resupply my stock of 9mm ammo much earlier than I expected. She's been outside so often, I think she's starting to get used to it. She still refuses to go outside alone, but it's a step in the right direction.

"Remind me to get you a real holster," I say over my shoulder.

"How far is it?" she asks.

"The river is pretty close. But the good fishing spots are a little further upriver."

"Should I bring my rifle too? Are there bears?"

I stop and turn around.

"You don't need to bring it, but you may if you like. You can try hitting some moving targets."

She turns and heads back inside for the gun. I'm a little surprised that she hasn't fought me on this. I'd expected her to show the same fear of the outdoors that she demonstrated the day of the delivery, but I suppose our frequent outings for target practice have eased her nerves.

I adjust the backpack holding my fishing gear and our lunch. This time when Ana emerges from the cabin, I set off into the woods at as brisk a pace as I can manage. I don't want any more delays.