Chapter 5

“…”

“…”

Beep beep.

“…”

“…”

Beep beep. Beep beep.

“…”

“Glurrrrgh…”

Beep beep. Beep beep.

Eh—?

Five-oh-eight. Kellzie Maye stirred uncomfortably and turned off the phone alarm. Oh no… was she too loud? But she had corded earphones on that cell. More important was whether the target has moved. She peered through the sights on the screen in the darkness of the cockpit. They were still there. Day was already breaking so she switched the mildly flickering screen over from night vision to the usual marksman scope.

She felt for the biscuit tin, which held not biscuits but compact, sushi-like rolls of greasy fried rice and over-salted labahita, a very clumsy attempt at longer shelf life. It was a must for this mission, to be sure, as intel had indicated that this enemy column was formidable and necessitated an especially stealthy ambush. Which meant her next moves was supposed to be… oh, yeah... they did not give her any strategy, so she had to cook up a plan herself.

After ascertaining the route the adversary will take, she positioned her unit in this thicket and lived in the cockpit for over a day. She had to pee and poop in the undergrowth, but as the sun was fading yesterday afternoon she had to imprison herself the rest of the day and the whole night, shutting down lights and such, as the recon quadcopter would be here about thrity minutes ahead of the convoy. But she had figured them out. This particular stretch of road was isolated and the thick vegetation offered further cover so a drone flight or two was enough of a lookout. That they decided to camp out on the road for the night confirmed their complacency.

The mists were thinning. The highway ahead was beginning to show itself, but the far end was still partly shrouded. She felt about for the shell and quickly loaded it into the breech of the Bofors. This better be good. The boundary of day and night was just about the only good enough window between hiding in the dark and seeing the road. Admittedly, the window was narrow, but Kellzie never worried about working with time limits.

Ahead of her, the enemy convoy was coming alive themselves on the heels of the receding shadows of night. Eight wheeled mechs were aglow with fresh activity. She could clearly see folks fixing up some of the trucks. One of those, its headlights low, was already trembling (a little too much, she thought) into action. The group was clearly on the move, but they were only starting to do so. Preps certainly will take a while, no matter how short that while is. Now, she told herself.

Just then......

She realized something. It wasn't dusk. It was dawn. If she fired the shot now, she will give away her position---and not find any cover to fall back to in a landscape that will only get less and less dark. But... No, she chided herself, you did the right thing. If this was sunset, the enemy would most likely have their guard up.

Her finger hit the trigger whilst this debate was ongoing in her head. What did you just do, Kellz!? Ehhhh, like they had the luxury for analysis on the battlefield! Fire now, evaluate later! Now let’s go, Kellz!

Heh?

Oh, it was just her imagination. The trigger lock was still in place. Why is it still even there? Once a position has been taken up at the field, the trigger should be free. She rid it with one annoyed motion and the thing made a soft thump in the floor below. Grrrr! She quickly returned her sight at the enemy. They haven’t moved. Phew. But then… did they actually hear? Were they already about done preparing?

She switched the electronic targeting on.

At this time of the year, the heights of the Datuan Mountains cast a shadow on the town of Santa Catalina as early as five-thirty in the evening. Most houses would settle down for supper soon after, shunning the outdoors, as the place can be quite dangerous after dark. But Gardo was still sitting at the sari-sari stand, beer in hand, catching his breath.

“Hah… Hah…”

“…”

“Hah… Hahhhh….”

He took another swig and leaned back against the flimsy timber paneling of the store. That would probably be enough for now. He let the rest spill down onto the moist earth and returned the bottle without another word.

The trek home was somewhat easier now. Was it the alcohol? If it was, he better arrive soon before the effect wears off---the pain returns with even greater force.

He still had some of his wits about him when he pushed through the door, but as soon as he saw the papag he let himself stumble and collapse, dropping the bayong he was carrying on the floor.

“Pambihira ay, ‘tong batang ito, oo!” said Nanang Sitay rushing to pick up the bag. “Did you drink again? That beer stench!”

“Now, now,” cut in her husband Huseng, “you make it sound like he is an alcoholic or something, he had only been doing this lately. Give him time, he will get over it.”

“Oh no, he won’t.” She went over to the table. “It’s a habit, and you’re only spoiling him.”

The young boy of about nine or ten peeked out from the raised bedroom and then rushed out excitedly seeing Gardo. But Nanang stayed him. “Not now, Kitoy, you should both rest. Go and finish your homework.”

But there was not much in the way of homework, and Carlito had slept off most of the two hours until dinner was finally done. Gardo was already about to eat with them at the table, having sobered up somewhat. He was more drowsy than dizzy, but he could still talk.

He saw the boy and took something from the bayong. "Here you go."

"Wow..." breathed the little boy. He reached out rather shyly to take the meat, as though in a dream and careful not to wake up. He looked over the treat, inspected it at every angle. Carlito could look surprisingly mature when he is focused on something.

"Hey, that's enough, Kitoy, you will melt it with your staring."

“Don’t you worry now,” Nanang told the kid, “I’ll turn that into tapa first thing tomorrow. Go fetch the washwater before you eat.”

“You be sure to be back here within the hour,” reminded Tatang Huseng. “You don’t know what might be out to snatch you into the forest.”

The boy stared in fright, but Nanang only got to her feet in irritation and pushed Carlito to the door. “Enough, enough! Just be over with it, I’ll watch you from the window.”

Later after they had finished doing the dishes, both Gardo and Carlito had settled down for the night and were already snoring softly. Tatang was still smoking a cigar by the window, and his wife was making their own bed inside the kulambo. “Did you really have to scare the child, Joselito? You’re not even sure those aswang are real.”

“Oh yes, they are. Aswang are real.”

“So you say, but you are not even closing that window.”

“They are real. Aswangs are real.

“They are here. Here in Catalina.”

He let his words drift out into the night. The mountain air was chilly. He watched as his cigar smoke and his own white breath faded into the darkness and were lost forever. There was nothing to see. Out here, one was completely blind after seven. The lamplight from the closest neighbor was nowhere to be found. The scent of vegetation was overpowering. There was only the on-and-off whistle of a bird to be heard, so he sang softly to himself to break the monotony, and let his voice go adrift all over the nieghborhood and out into the dark sky.

- - Sa Sulyap Mo, Diomedes Maturan - -

There was no moon that night, only the stars circled over Santa Catalina, curious, aloof, adrift in the cold darkness, and in fact it would still be quite dark until the sunrise, effectively fenced behind the mountains, could slowly spill over and unceremoniously reveal a world of… Treetops. Rooftops. Smoke everywhere. Thrown together carelessly into what was called a town.

In the streets, people streamed to the market, the children to a single but large schoolhouse. Others made their way to the forest clearings to plant, and the rest… to a particular mountainside.

Heave.

Grunt.

Sweat.

And then, outside of the heaviness and suffocation of the mineshaft was more sweat, men carrying loads of ore, washing them down, as well as the unwelcome chemical odors from the workshed. The whole place was a busy and elaborate stage for those entertained by human suffering.

The lunch bell sounded about half an hour late, and everybody made their way out of the tunnels or wherever, trooping towards camp where the canteen was. In one tunnel, Gardo stayed behind with his pickaxe in the dark, leaning against a rock near the exit. He dreaded this. Grandma did not pack him any lunch today. The fistful of centavos he held meant one thing----he would have to go to the canteen, as well.

Tatang found him. “Hey, what’s keeping you!? Ngayon na nga lang tayo magsabay ng kain, paghintayin mo pa ako! Hurry up!”

Gardo wasn’t sure he should tell the old man. Eh, whatever. He should have picked up by now if he really cared about him.

When they arrived, there was some sort of commotion going on. The two didn’t quite understand what everybody were saying as they approached, it was just, “Damian” this, “Damian” that, and only when they actually got there did things become somewhat clear.

Eyes.

One of the men held in bloodied hands a pair of gouged-out eyes, which everybody were sure belonged to the said Damian person. Actually, about half the crowd was focused on the viscera and the other part was centered of the foreman of the mine.

“You shouldn’t be sending anyone over there, really!” To that mountain, north of the camp and right behind the mountain they were digging in.

“I don’t know any of that!” replied Santander the foreman. “They wanted that. They said they’ll find treasure!”

“You were the one who ordered a tunnel there!” another worker shot back at him.

“That tunnel had been there the whole time! Why do I have to repeat myself!?”

“You maintain a small team there. You never ordered them out.” “Wanting yourself in the loop, are ‘ya?” “How will you pay the kinsfolk? Did you even tell them?”

“It’s their choice, it’s their business! I got things to do! Buwiset!”

An angry cacophony trailed Santander as he stormed away from the crowd, but then, the racket began to die out shortly after. In the end, it was no more than a diversion. A brawl breaks out every so often, anyway, or maybe a cockfight or some other betting game, this was just another curiosity to spice up the daily drudgery. At the back of their minds, they did agree with the foreman; it was their fault that the victims, about one or two people every month, didn’t come back. More importantly, “It wasn’t me who got lost, anyway.”

“Pig eyes,” dismissed Tatang Huseng as they walked away from the hubbub. “That fellow? The one holding them? He’s a show-off. Pretty sure he got them himself from the poor thing.”

“They look a little too small for a pig.”

“Heh? Well… Goat eyes. Maybe.”

“There was a lot of white in those eyes. They really look human.”

Just then…

"Pretty boy should have just gone there himself."

Gardo’s ears perked up. So soon already?

The gang around Desto and Nicanor responded to that quip with that half-wheezing cackling, though it probably wasn't really a response, having been at it the whole time they were at that table. Gardo's grip on the pickaxe trembled and was now quite ready to wield it on them, but Grandpa caught him in time and held him back by the arm.

"You will cross a line if you raise that thing. Put up with them."

He didn’t. Instead, he got his lunch and went off by himself to a sampalok tree. Grandpa followed him for a bit… but then thought it was best to let him cool off, it was much better than him drinking again.