Children of the Watchers
Dominic pressed his forehead forcefully into the dirt. Fragments of stone bit shallowly into his skin. Sharp green blades of grass tickled his face. He inhaled deeply hoping to fill his nose with the smell of earth. The morning air was already thick and hot. Streams of sweat made competing currents across his prone body. Sporadic itches flashed across his skin. Itches that came from being motionless for more than a couple minutes, but he refused to move an inch.
There was an unnatural stillness in the surrounding jungle. He strained his ears in hopes to hear bird song, a beetle’s chirrup, anything. Finally, thunder rumbled in the distance promising rain but no break from the heat. A slight tremble ran through him. He always liked playing in a rainstorm with the other kids in the village. Maybe he would still be here when the rain came. It could wash over him, and maybe he wouldn’t feel the metal barrel of the gun pressed against the back of his head.
No matter how hard he pressed his forehead into the dirt or how close his nose was to the ground or how much his ears strained to hear the thunder, the hot metal of the gun still pressed against his skin, the smell of death clogged his nose, and moans of the villagers filled his ears.
Dominic had once thought that he would be safe when he and the other refugees had wandered into the village and that the men who had killed his parents would not find him here. But that had been the foolish hope of a five year old. Now he was seven and knew better. Dominic knew that today he was going to die.
The resistance army raided the village that night. By morning, everyone was either dead or waiting to die. They did offer to spare some of the younger village boys if the boys agreed to fight for the resistance. Several of Dominic’s friends had chosen to do so. He didn’t see them but he heard the leader praising them for doing the Lord’s will. But Dominic would not fight for the monsters that murdered his parents or for their Lord. So he was forced to lie in the dirt next to the other boys who refused the initial offer.
Dominic wondered if he would get to see his parents today. Maybe what the white missionaries said could be true. He wished he had asked them if there were drums in heaven. Dominic would really like to play the drums for his parents. But then again his parents did not know about the white missionaries’ God, so why would they be with him? That was a stupid hope of a five year old.
“Alright, you runts! I give you one last chance at life. We have been most gracious with da time we already have given you, but now you must choose.” The leader’s voice carried a jesting quality. It almost sounded happy.
“Ah, there be a good lad. No one else? I am very sorry it has to be like this.” No one’s voice should sound that happy. Not now. “Shoot ‘em.”
There was a brief pause. Then gunfire ripped through the air, but what started as controlled bursts became wild sprays. Bits of ground pelted Dominic’s face. He thought he heard men screaming over the roar of the gunfire. Then silence reigned.
Dominic shook uncontrollably. Tears streamed down his face. He told himself he would be brave like his dad, but he his pants were soaked as well as his face.
“Get up, boy,” a soft feminine voice urged him.
Dominic just trembled unable to move any more than that.
“It’s ok. Look at me,” the still voice commanded.
Dominic’s head rose as if compelled, and his dark brown eyes locked on eyes black as coal. He thought he recognized the owner of those black eyes as a woman from the village, but she looked…wrong. It wasn’t the blood that almost covered the entirety of her simple dress or the smoking gun or bloody knife she held in her hands. It was a bunch of little things like her black eyes. Her limbs were slightly longer and bonier. Her hands reminded him of falcon claws. And her teeth seemed sharper.
In spite of the wrongness of her features, Dominic felt his fear slip away as he looked into her black eyes. He realized surprisingly that he was on his feet and staring up at her. She smiled down at him. Her dark fingers went to his face brushing away tears and probing at the small cuts.
A man that Dominic had never seen before appeared next to the woman suddenly. He had a similar wrongness about him and only wore dark pants that didn’t even reach his ankles. The man reminded Dominic of a gorilla ready to tear a man to pieces.
A gasp caught in Dominic’s throat as he looked around him. Mixed in with the bodies of dead villagers were the torn and broken bodies of the men of the resistance. Guns were twisted and bent. Machetes that weren’t impaling men were lying on the ground snapped like twigs.
Dominic swiveled his head back around. The man’s coal black eyes were on level with Dominic’s. Dominic froze as the man moved his face even closer to Dominic’s. The man began sniffing like an animal. Were these people real monsters?
Straightening back, the man grunted. “He is one of us. We will look after him.” Then he stalked away disappearing into the jungle after a few steps.
Dominic looked up at the woman expectantly, “I’m one of you?”
The woman’s black eyes looked down at him and a jungle cat smile spread across her face, “You’re part of our little family now.”
Dominic stared in shock at the woman. The more he stared the more monstrous she appeared. But maybe that’s what he needed. “Did…did you kill those men?”
Her eyes widened with pleasure, “Yes.”
Dominic glanced at the lifeless body of the boy lying closest to him. “Did you kill them, too?”
The woman followed his gaze. A frown creased her face. “The villagers? No, some did survive, but they ran.” Disgust tinged those last words.
Dominic swallowed hard and tried to speak audibly, “Will you help me kill the rest of those men?” The boy looked up at her pleading yet defiant.
The woman threw back her head and laughed. “Child, I want the same thing, and we will get what we want. The Great Ones promised. Now come with me.” She grabbed Dominic’s wrist and led him into the jungle.
He couldn’t join the resistance because they were the monsters that killed his family, but maybe to get revenge, he had to join another group of monsters…a group of real monsters. And that, he thought with grim satisfaction, was thinking like a seven year old.
Rain swept across the jungle washing over Dominic. It soaked the boy after a few moments. Dirt and sweat slid from his body. He could almost sense the piss being washed away from his pants. But unlike the dirt, sweat, and piss, his memories were untouched by the rain. Dominic clenched the woman’s hand as hard as he could. He bent his head towards the ground thankful for the rain.
