Freefall Page 12

  “But, Dad. Grandma said—”

  “Grandma? You’re listening to Grandma?” He groans and mutters something under his breath. “Things have changed since your grandma’s time. In her time she thought all you needed were determination and dedication and you could change the world single-handedly. Things are different now, and it’s not the right time to act impulsively. I want you off that train at the next stop, do you understand?”

  The conductor stops by my seat. “Ticket?”

  I hand it to him. He punches it and hands it back.

  “I need to get off this train,” I explain to him. “Where’s the next stop?”

  “There isn’t one.”

  I cup my hand over the phone’s speaker. “No stops?”

  “Well, we’re stopping in Nahariya but then that’s it. No more trains going either way until things settle down up there.”

  “So I’m stuck.”

  He shrugs. “That’s about right.”

  “Dad?”

  “This is no joke, Aggie. I want you off that train.”

  I could try to explain it to him. Tell him to stop bossing me around. Tell him he’s wrong about Grandma and that he shouldn’t dismiss her like that. She may be old, but some things never go out of style, like determination and dedication.

  Dad’s still lecturing me through the phone line.

  “But there are no …”

  He won’t listen to reason. Won’t accept that there is no way to go back. I’m tired of him thinking that I’m incapable of knowing what’s right for me. Now is the time, I think, to stand up to him. Remind him that I am eighteen. If that’s old enough to be drafted, then it sure must be old enough to decide for myself.

  “I’ll see if I can get an army car to pick you up,” he says.

  “What? Hello? Dad?” I grit my teeth and make static noises. “Dad? Can you hear me? The reception’s gone. Can’t hear you. The train doesn’t stop until Nahariya. I’ll call you when I get there. Don’t worry. I know how to take care of myself.”

  And then I end the call and shove the phone deep into my bag. Scooping my knees to my chest, I hug them close. Life just keeps getting more complicated, and like the train speeding through the deserted stations in a rush to reach its final destination, I’m not sure what either of us expects to find there.

  My telephone beeps in a message. I dig it out, glance at the caller ID, and put it back.

  It’s Shira. She wants to know where I am. I’ve forgotten to call and tell her I’m headed up north. Will she understand?

  She’ll be annoyed that I’ve gone off without telling her. I groan. One more gibe about the weight thing and I’ll scream.

  “Girls in combat units,” said Ron, last time I saw him.

  “Sexy but scary.”

  “I don’t think that’s why we do it,” I answered.

  “Watch it, Ron,” said Ben. “She’s already getting feminist on you.”

  “I’m not going for combat because I’m a feminist. If you feel a need to carry around my bag with all the equipment in it, hey, go ahead!”

  “Backing off ,” said Ben. “We’re backing off .”

  They didn’t ask me why I wanted combat, but I had my answer ready. “Why not?” I mean, if somebody’s got to do it, why not me? I think of Lily and her bathroom full of rocket debris. How can I pretend that what happens to her doesn’t concern me? That’s what I should have told Dad.

  I punch in Shira’s number. We’ve been friends for too long for her not to understand.

  “Aggie, guess what?” she shouts. Without waiting for me to guess, she sings, “I got it! I got in! I got into the entertainment troop. Isn’t that amazing?”

  “Amazing!” I answer. “I’m thrilled for you.”

  “It’s a dream come true. I can’t remember a time when I didn’t see myself in uniform, on stage, lights above, belting out ‘Jerusalem of Gold.’”

  “I don’t think they sing that anymore.”

  She giggles. “I’ve been listening to too many of my dad’s old records.”

  This time there’s real static over the line.

  “Where are you?” she asks.

  I explain about Lily, about my dad not understanding, about needing to be a part of what’s going on around me. “How do I know if I can hack it if I’ve never tried?”

  I imagine Shira’s smile as she clicks her tongue. “Aggie, none of us who know you have any doubt that you’ll be amazing, but I know that nothing will convince you until you prove it to yourself. Just take care, okay? Promise you’ll call me as soon as you get back?”

  “Promise.”

  The train slows down through Akko. Pressing my face to the window, I watch the restless waves tossing up whitecaps. The palm trees along the coast shiver like they wouldn’t mind taking cover or moving to a calmer climate.

  By the time the train pulls into Nahariya, I’m still not sure if I’m relieved at having arrived or terrified that I’m really here. The doors swing open. I trail behind the soldiers until the end of the platform. An army transit is waiting for them. They’re quieter than when they were sitting on the train. They throw their stuff in, climb on, and take off toward the border.

  The TV man is gone, too. In fact, looking around, I see there’s no one here at all.

  The wind rustles through the trees. The street signs quiver. The traffic lights turn from red to green before switching to yellow. The little green man flashes that it’s fine to cross. But there is no one standing on the corner and no cars to heed the traffic codes. No one but me.

  Standing alone with nothing and no one to protect me.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I need to head for cover. The community bomb shelter must be near the center of town, I think. I pass a kiosk with an open 24 hours sign on the door. It’s closed. My stomach grumbles. Anyway, I’m too jumpy inside for a greasy pita filled with oily falafel balls and the spicy sauce that Shira has taught me to eat without gasping for air.

  Usually Gaaton Boulevard is teeming with traffic. Today I could stroll down the middle of the street with my eyes shut. Tourist town of the north, Nahariya has boutique shops, coffee shops, cafés, and seaside resorts—only now there isn’t a tourist in sight. The streets echo my footsteps. And the air, which on a good day is a mix of overpowering aromas from the bakery, the other falafel stand, and exhaust fumes from the bus depot, is now clean enough to catch a whiff of the sea breeze that blows through the center of town.

  What if a rocket is fired right now? What’ll I do? Dive behind a car, crawl under a park bench, huddle at an entrance to a building?

  I speed up. Mom will never forgive me if anything happens.

  I hold the straps of my backpack as I rush on, looking for someone, anyone, to help me. It’s so quiet. The kind of quiet that hovers at the base of your neck. A tingling in my toes spreads up through my legs, settling in the pit of my stomach, which is pumping panic.

  Nothing in my life has prepared me for fear like this. I catch myself thinking of Grandma. Nothing much ever fazes her. She’s been a soldier in a different war and at a different time, but doesn’t fear feel the same wherever you are?

  I duck into the doorway of the pharmacy to catch my breath. There’s an ad in the window for condoms. Never be caught without protection.

  I look out and hurry on.

  At the next block a strange sound catches my attention. I turn the corner and I follow the drone, bang, and thump. I peer around nervously. But it’s just a small toy tractor on someone’s porch. It races along until it reaches a wall, flips over, turns itself right side up, and races back. I chase after it, looking for who’s holding the remote.

  But it’s on autopilot. Like me, I think. I watch it almost enviously. The way it reaches a wall, flips over, and goes on. No scrapes, no bruises. I hope I’m as indestructible.

  After a quick search I locate the remote control and turn it off . At least when the kid returns, he’ll find the batteries still working. This stree
t is a residential one. The gardens are well manicured. The houses are quaint and compact. I venture just a bit farther down the block, peeking into the houses, where tables are set but with no one there to eat the food.

  It’s creepy. I’ve seen pictures of Pompeii, and even without the lava, this place feels like it’s been frozen by an invisible rush of molten fear.

  This isn’t the right way. I retrace my steps. I am about to rush on when something stops me in my tracks. I strain my ears. It’s a cry, like a baby’s pitiful whine. Tiptoeing up the path, I see that a door stands ajar.

  “Hello?”

  The cry grows stronger.

  “Anyone here?”

  I hover at the entrance, unsure what to do. I can’t just walk into someone’s house. But there’s a baby crying!

  Sunlight slips in through the blinds of the window. Like a stage set, the rays illuminate the table where a plastic bowl remains untouched. The spoon is on the floor. A milk bottle is on the counter. A baby bottle! That clinches it. I walk in, grab the bottle, and start searching for the baby.

  The crying has gotten softer and turns to a whimper.

  I run into a bedroom. Empty.

  It takes me a few seconds to locate the source. A baby kitten has crawled onto the highest shelf of the bookcase. He’s shivering with fear.

  I laugh out loud. Not an abandoned baby, a kitten.

  Only then do I realize how loudly my heart has been thumping in my chest. It’s just a cat.

  “Hey, kitty, kitty. Come on down.”

  I’m contemplating how to climb up and get it when the front door bursts open. “What are you doing in here?”

  I shriek and spin around, terrified by the silhouette of the figure in the doorway. “I heard crying.”

  He sees the bottle in my hand. “You left your baby here?”

  “No. Not mine. Not a baby. I mean—a cat.”

  He strides in. “You shouldn’t be here.”

  “I—”

  “Why aren’t you in a bomb shelter? The all-clear signal hasn’t sounded.”

  “I’m not from here. I’m looking for a friend.” I hold the bottle tighter. “Lily?”

  He groans. I watch him, waiting for what he’ll do next. But he’s a soldier and not the owner of the house who’s caught me breaking and entering.

  “You’re one of those girls collecting the strays?” He shakes his head. “You’re supposed to wait until the all-clear signal sounds before you go out on your rescue mission.”

  “But I—”

  “But you knew that they’d left behind their kitten and thought it couldn’t wait. We got a call that there was someone prowling about the empty streets. You’re lucky no more rockets have landed.”

  He sweeps by me. I see his arm is bandaged and swings inside a sling. “Hold the chair,” he says. “I’m not that steady.”

  He climbs up. “Come on, kitty. Let’s get you some milk and a safer place to hide out.”

  The soldier balances on a stool that he’s put on top of the table. As he reaches, his army shirt slides up, revealing the fringes of a prayer shawl tucked beneath his uniform. He coos and finally coaxes the cat inside his sling. “I knew this had to be useful for something.”

  He passes it to me. The kitten nestles inside my arms close to my heart.

  “There. Now, where’s your bomb shelter?”

  “I’m not sure. Lily said she’s in the community bomb shelter.”

  We walk out of the house. He motions for me to hop into the jeep. I slide in, the kitten snuggled tightly against me—or maybe it’s me snuggling up to the kitten.

  “That’s the shelter near the hotel. I’ll drive you over.”

  As he speeds through the empty street, I sneak a sideways glance at him. His sandy hair is longer than allowed and an inch over the top of his ears. He drives with one hand on the wheel, the other casually resting in his sling.

  “What happened?” I ask.

  “This?” he says, raising his elbow. He winces. “Shrapnel. It’s not so bad. A couple more days and I’ll rejoin my unit. For now they’ve put me in charge of security here.”

  “Where’s your unit?”

  He gestures over his shoulder. “Inside.” Which I know means inside Lebanon.

  There’s a pause between us. Silence. And then, taking his eyes for a second from the empty road, he says, “Do I know you from somewhere?”

  Shira would roll her eyes and say, “Typical male.”

  He must realize how that sounds, and stumbling over his words, he hurries to explain. “No, really. I’m serious.” He blushes. “Aggie, right?”

  The jeep pulls to a stop outside the hotel, but I don’t move. “How did you know?”

  He laughs. “I’m Jonas,” he says, reaching out with his good hand. “Anyone who’s spent any time around Noah has got to know who you are.”

  I’m still speechless and make no move to leave the jeep. “Oh?”

  He gets out and walks around to my side. “Are you coming?”

  “Wait. How do you know Noah?”

  “We’re in the same unit. And I don’t think Noah would appreciate me chatting with you out here while it’s still unsafe. Let’s get moving.”

  “The same unit?” I say, trying to sound casual, but wondering if Noah might be here, too.

  “I saw you at the base, when you and a bunch of other girls got back from a field exercise, remember?”

  My turn to wince, remembering how we must have looked. I’m amazed he recognizes me without corn in my hair.

  “How is he?”

  And it’s like watching a fade-out on a screen. Jonas withdraws. His smile disappears. He takes a step away from me as if I’ve invaded his personal space.

  “Don’t back off . I want to know.”

  He shrugs. “I don’t know what to tell you. Things were okay when I left, but he’s in a dangerous place and the situation changes every minute.”

  I don’t press for more information, unsure what questions to ask, unsure that I want to hear the answers. He mutters a name of a village under his breath.

  “I hate thinking of them there and me not with them,” he says.

  Fighting against the tightness in my chest, I turn away from him. But I can’t turn my thoughts away from Noah. Here is the front line—but our soldiers have crossed it. I’m outside in the fresh air feeling like I’m suffocating, as if I were already inside the shelter below. if I were already inside the shelter below.

  “Really, we shouldn’t be standing here,” he says.

  But bomb shelters are crowded, noisy, and suff ocating places, and this one will have a lot of people in it I don’t know. I’m scared.

  “Anything you want me to tell Noah when I see him?”

  My throat is too constricted for me to speak. I can’t seem to dig the words out from inside of me. I feel my cheeks getting hot. I stroke the kitten, trying to fight back my tears.

  “Okay. I’ll describe that for him,” he says softly. “He’ll want to know everything. It’ll give him a lift.” He shifts his weight and pulls on the strap of his gun. “I’ve got to get back to headquarters.”

  “Can’t you stay a bit longer? I really don’t want to go into that bomb shelter alone. What if Lily’s not there? I don’t know anyone.”

  “Don’t worry. You’ll feel right at home. During war, we’re all family. ” He reaches out and scratches the kitten behind the ears. “You and your kitten get inside. And Aggie? No more roaming around on your own. Wait until we send out the all-clear signal, okay?”

  I nod my head and watch him drive off —but I still don’t move.

  I hate bomb shelters. I’ve done enough school drills to know that the ventilation system in the shelter never works well. We’d hoard inside anyway, where usually within minutes we’d be overwhelmed by body odors. And the teachers, fanning themselves by the exit, would look at us with sour expressions on their faces that said that they weren’t getting paid enough for this stuff .


  But this is not a drill, and I can’t continue to stand out here.

  I push the door open and step in.

  It takes a moment to adjust to the change in light, the commotion of color, and the rush of excitement.

  One corner has kids hanging streamers across what looks like a stage made up of overturned cartons with a plywood sheet on top. At the other end of the room an amplifier is being set up and a bass guitar is draped over two chairs. Some vaguely familiar musician-looking types are fighting over the sound system.

  I’m wearing jeans and a T-shirt. Everyone else in the room is dressed for the Academy Awards: long-legged, high-heeled women in black beside guys wearing clean jeans and crisp white shirts are mulling about, pausing in front of video cameras to smile and exchange kisses.

  Huddling by the wall, I look around desperately for a familiar face.

  “Whose side are you on?” asks a soldier suddenly appearing at my elbow.

  I blink. It should be obvious. I’m in a bomb shelter. There’s no way I can look like a terrorist. “Sorry?”

  “You don’t look like any of us,” he says. His eyes are dark and questioning. He’s got a flat nose and swarthy skin. Not too tall and yet solidly built, he seems to have me surrounded just by the bulk of him. He stares at me so intensely, I feel pinned to the wall and inch toward the door, ready to escape.

  “His side? Her side?” he asks again.

  “Well, I—”

  “Ours!” sings out a familiar voice.

  And Lily sweeps me into a bear hug. “She’s on the bride’s side of the family.” Lily laughs. “Sugarpear,” she says. “What took you so long?”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “I’m so thrilled you made it,” says Lily.

  I wipe off my tears, embarrassed to be making a scene.

  “He must think I’m an idiot,” I say, glancing at the soldier who is still watching us.

  “Him? That’s just Yossi. He’s a distant cousin.” Holding me at arm’s length, she notices the cat. “You brought your kitten?”