Friendly Fire

“I thought you were dead,” Kaleb said, coughing into his elbow. His cabin had no lights, no gas, nothing but the moonlight to show him who his visitor was. But Kaleb didn’t need to see the man to recognize his squad leader and brother-in-arms from the Mutate War. There was a time he would have given his life for Jak, and maybe today was that day.

“I think you hoped it more than you thought it,” Jak said as he stepped into the darkness of the cabin, dragging his right foot as he did. A trail of blood followed Jak’s defective leg. Kaleb couldn’t fathom someone walking all this way, especially not with a bum leg. How did he find me?

“I’m not going to pretend I didn’t,” Kaleb said between coughs as Jak crossed the room. The sound of Jak’s foot dragging against the dusty wood floor grew louder in the darkness. 

“But part of me…” Kaleb said. “Well, let’s just say I didn’t choose to live off-grid for my health.” He didn’t try to stand up from his chair; with the state of his lungs, he wouldn’t be able to get more than a meter or two before collapsing.

Jak stopped, leaning on his stronger left leg. Always the soldier, Jak seemed to be evaluating his enemy. 

“You look like shit, my friend,” Jak said. His voice was more sarcastic than sincere, but Jak had always used sarcasm to show affection. 

“Can you stop playing games?” Kaleb asked, trying to raise his voice. An uncontrollable coughing fit followed. Kaleb tasted mucus and blood, swallowing as his coughing slowed. “If you’re here to kill me, get it over with already.”

“That, my friend, I can’t do.”

“What, kill me?”

“No, I can’t get it over with, not without knowing something first.”

Kaleb’s arms shook as he tried to stabilize them on the armrests. Kaleb had been ready for death for years now, but he still wasn’t ready to face this question. Instinctively, he searched for an explanation, a reason to give. He knew it was pointless. He couldn’t lie, not even now. After all these years, he hadn’t figured out how to do that.

He wheezed out a long breath as he looked up at Jak’s emotionless stare. “Yes, it was me. I turned you in.” 

Jak's expression didn’t change. He instead stayed silent, waiting. Waiting for something else, but what? Kaleb frowned. Why wasn’t he angry? He should be furious right now, unless…

“You already knew, didn’t you?” Kaleb said. His chest tightened as the implication of what that meant became more and more clear each passing second.

“I knew the moment they found me,” Jak said as he dragged his leg toward the table. “I knew the moment my face was shoved into the ground and a needle was stuck in my neck. I knew that only you knew where I would go to hide.” Jak sat down and pulled his right leg up next to his left with his hands.

Kaleb had wondered what had happened. A regular desertion would have had a court-martial, an opportunity to at least pretend to be impartial. There never was one. Jak just disappeared. A new leader replaced him instantly, and everyone knew not to ask questions.

Jak's face was easier to see now as moonlight illuminated it. He was older; they both were. His age wasn’t the most noticeable change, though. The discoloration on his skin was creeping from under his shirt and stretching up the side of his face. He had seen that discoloration forty years earlier, but then it was small, localized on his back.

“If you want to know why, you’re wasting your time. You made your decision, and you suffered the consequences,” Kaleb said, fumbling for his inhaler. He took two quick puffs, wincing as the medicine's sting faded, leaving a brief window of relief. 

Jak didn’t respond. His face remained calm and stoic, unnerving Kaleb. He looked away, turning his attention to the window. His heart pounded faster as the seconds became minutes. It felt like the beating was echoing in his ears. Jak didn’t say a word, resolved in his task.

“Did they hurt you?” Kaleb said, breaking the silence.

“Do you mean when I was arrested and taken to the stockade? Or how about when I was transferred in the middle of the night to The Point. Or maybe you mean those twenty-three years of experimentation as they attempted to reverse my condition.”

Each moment stabbed Kaleb in the soul. He closed his eyes, holding back the tears, wishing he could go back. Every one of Jak’s predictions had come true. Being a military-sponsored mutate, Jak wouldn’t have been allowed to give up his post, and he had told Kaleb many times that he feared what they would do to him if he deserted.

“So they never figured out what was killing the mutates then,” Kaleb asked apprehensively. He knew the answer, but he just wanted confirmation. He just wanted closure.

“Do you think they would have signed the treaty if they had?” 

Kaleb looked his old friend up and down, scanning him for signs of a weapon. A bulge in his pocket stood out, but it didn’t look like a weapon he recognized. 

Not that Jak needed one. In Jak’s prime, his mutate abilities would have let him burst out fire in any direction he chose with just a thought. Kaleb had no doubt that even in his old age, Jak would be just as capable.

“What are you waiting for? What else could you possibly want to know?” Kaleb burst out. His voice cracked as he spoke. His medicine was already wearing off. He considered taking another puff as the need to ration his medicine disappeared with every passing moment.

“You know, I partially blame myself for what happened. You were never a good liar. Straight as an arrow, we used to say.” A smile flashed on Jak’s face as he looked past Kaleb. He seemed to be reliving a happier time. “It was why I couldn’t help but like you, to trust you.”

Jak stood up and dragged himself closer, leaving the moonlight’s exposure. Even in the darkness, Kaleb could still see Jak’s eyes. They weren’t angry or resentful or any other emotion that Kaleb expected. They were… pleading.

“I don’t blame you for what happened to me.” Jak’s words stung Kaleb more than if he had been stabbed by a knife. He clasped his hands tightly, trying to keep his muscles from shaking. 

“If you don’t blame me, then why? Why are you here? Why track me down in the middle of nowhere to just–” Kaleb began coughing again, more violently this time. He spit out the ball of mucus next to him and lay back in his faded grey armchair.

“Do you regret it?” Jak whispered.

A tear rolled down Kaleb’s cheek. He opened his mouth several times, wanting to yell out that he did. Nothing came out.

Jak reached into his pocket, pulling the object out that Kaleb had noticed earlier. Kaleb pushed back in his chair, expecting this to be the moment. Two syringes lay there, one marked in blue, the other in yellow. Is that how he’s going to do it?

“I brought a choice. A choice I could only make after talking to you first.” Jak put the yellow syringe away, leaving the blue one in his hand. He moved closer and placed the syringe on Kaleb’s stand next to his chair.

“What’s this supposed to be?” Kaleb asked, followed by a couple of coughs.

“One was the cure for the disease destroying your body. The other was a cure for this life. Either one would be a relief.” Jak turned toward the open door and began the slow march out of the cabin, dragging his foot as he went.

Kaleb tried to call out. He wanted to ask which one he had, but his coughing kept the words from forming. Jak continued as if he didn’t hear him. His silhouette darkened the cabin, and then he was gone. Leaving Kaleb to sit and wonder.

Did he dare take it? No one was going to make him. The syringe seemed to stare back at him. Inviting him. All these years, alone, Jak was right: no matter the choice, it would be a relief. It would be what he deserved.

Kaleb picked up the syringe and removed the cap. His hands shook as he pulled his sleeve out of his jumper. He closed his eyes and exhaled. The needle was more painful than he expected. Whatever the liquid was, it hurt as it went in. He threw the needle across the room and lay back in his chair. A sense of relief welled up in his stomach, resigned to accept the judgment of his mentor.

He waited, wondering how he would know. Would it be like when he had surgery? A slow loss of consciousness? Or would his breathing become easier, like it was when he was a young soldier following around his squad leader like a puppy. 

He waited and waited some more. He began to cough, more violently this time. He should have realized it wouldn’t be that simple. It must have been aggravating his condition, choking him to death. That made sense to him, a more fitting execution.

The coughing stopped, but his breathing was still labored, yet he wasn’t dead. Looking at his wrist, he could see it had been almost an hour. Something should have happened by now.

He looked at the syringe lying on the ground. The blue mark was visible in the moonlight. Kaleb’s arm still ached where he had inserted the needle. Did Jak make a mistake? Did he get the wrong liquid? Kaleb shook his head. Jak didn’t make mistakes, not like that, at least.

Kaleb’s eyes widened as he felt his fists clench in anger. He coughed a few times into his elbow. The syringe was the punishment he deserved, but it wasn’t mercy, and it wasn’t death. It was nothing.

“You were always a better liar than I was.”