Greener Pastures Over Yonder

Chapter 1 - Over Easy

Ralph had no idea what the hell he’d gotten himself into, but he was about to find out.

It all started with a letter. A memo, really. Might as well have been one of those old-fashioned telegrams. Four words. All it took to shatter his resolve were four words.

There was no way in hell he’d stick around pretending to be a good little soldier after that.

So he packed his bags and left under cover of darkness, thanking God – or more aptly, his sergeant – for drilling it into him never to bring more with him than he could carry on his back. If there was one thing army training was good for, it was getting organized.

Most of the sloppier recruits had been phased out during the first three weeks of boot camp. Come to think of it, he could only point to Jared McCurthy and the shithole he called his corner of the barracks. Jared was the type of guy who laughed too loud and never minced words. Trying to hold a conversation with him was like pulling teeth while playing duck duck goose – it usually ended with one or two bloody molars splattered on the concrete.

Unlike most of the others, drinking vastly improved his personality. On most days he’d bite your nose off for looking at him the wrong way, but get a couple shots of whiskey in him and he’d be belting Amy Winehouse at the top of his lungs within the hour. A real Tchaikovsky on the grill, too. Not as good as Short Stop though; Ralph would miss his cooking the most.

He’d even miss Corey’s snide comments about “those fuckin’ faggots shovin’ their horseshit down our throats every chance they get” and Ange’s disapproving glares whenever someone so much as joked about taking Uncle Sam’s cock up their ass. They might be obnoxious cunts, but they were both good fighters in their own right.

That was one of the things that had always bothered him – the unnecessary segregation of genders. Moira Buchanan was a damn good sergeant, and Natalie could topple three hundred pounds of pure muscle in under twenty seconds. It wasn’t until his captain raised an eyebrow and asked Ralph point blank if he thought it was a good idea for pent-up fuckers like Corey Willis to know where the women in their troop slept that he understood, and felt foolish for prying in the first place. After that they’d had a good laugh watching Ange get chased around by a swarm of angry wasps the idiot had no doubt disturbed the nest of and everything was right in the world again.

He almost felt bad for not saying goodbye.

None of them would know he was gone until dawn. Ange and the captain were still out on patrol and they’d sleep like rocks once they got back to base camp. As long as he stuffed his cot with a pillow and bunched up the sheets, nobody would notice.

The same method might not work for Jared and his beer belly, but Ralph had always been a wisp of a thing, all lithe muscle and bony sharp angles with nothing to cushion him from the smallest bruise. Short Stop had joked about him being dainty once when they shared dishwashing duty, but quickly changed his tune after losing their wrestling match. For someone most of the troop could supposedly “snap like a twig” Ralph could look after himself. The only one he’d ever lost a match to was Natalie, with Jared closing in on third place.

“Not bad for a fat f*ck, eh?” he remembered hearing Jared wheeze after he forced Ralph to pull out all the stops and use a dirty trick to win.

Ralph decided not to tell him that he himself became a heavy kid after hitting puberty and only lost weight when the pantry went – and stayed – empty. For a good long while, the only meals he’d gotten were mandated free school lunches, sometimes junk food offered to him by his classmates out of pity. With the army’s relentless training regimen and his own strict daily exercise routine, he wouldn’t be gaining back those pounds any time soon. Which, unfortunately, posed a not insignificant threat to his plans.

Draft dodgers were a dime a dozen, deserters less so. Once you were a grunt, that’s where you stayed until you died, aged out, got promoted, or received a dishonorable discharge. Ralph didn’t just have to make sure nobody would ever find him, he had to make sure nobody would come looking.

About two miles out from base camp, he plunked himself down on a hollow log, whipped out his pocket knife and got to work. One of the shirts he hadn’t bothered to wash served him just fine; he tore it up and sliced the skin of his palm, coating the tattered remains with fresh blood, draping it snugly to the point of being snagged on what was left of a jagged branch for the mutthounds to find. When he was satisfied, he dressed down to his undershirt and a muddy pair of sweatpants, then ripped off a chunk and tied it around his hand. No sense in bleeding all over the place and leading them straight to him.

Ralph bit the inside of his cheek as he hastily surveyed his work. The next part wouldn’t be so easy.

Forcing his hands to keep steady, he pulled out the landmine he smuggled in his jacket, one he’d taken from the other side of the borderline when no one was looking, originally intending to dissect it in secret and report any findings of import, and placed it several yards from the log, concealed by a pile of fallen leaves. Remote activation only worked if the sensor was within three miles of the mine itself, so Ralph wouldn’t be able to go far – he’d have to stick it out from there until dawn. It wasn’t a foolproof plan by any means, but it would cause confusion and destroy most of the trail he left behind.

Even the parts he couldn’t obscure would be far away enough that no one could be sure who exactly his tracks belonged to, and he made sure of that when he snagged a pair of civilian-style boots, placing all his easily identifiable military grade crap within a foot of the blast radius, strewn about like they’d been thrown to the ground in a tussle just in case someone got drunk and strayed too far from camp. It had been a good call to wait until nightfall – they’d have a harder time searching for him, plus being forced to use flashlights would give away their position.

As the last sliver of orange light began to crest over the trees, Ralph closed his eyes and pressed the button, waiting for the blast.
___________________________________
< br>Twelve hours later, Ralph snuck onto a bus clad in uncomfortably loose jeans and a lost-and-found Metallica hoodie. He’d stashed his old uniform in a dumpster and ripped off the patches, then swapped out his military grade duffle bag for a brand new pack of camping gear when the store clerk wasn’t looking.

Ralph hunched down in his seat to make it look like he was asleep as he pulled out his burner cell (a flip phone so old it could be considered antique) and opened his bootleg texting app to the only contact on record.

lonestar61: how do I know you’re not fucking with me

[REDACTED]: lying is bad for business. so are cops.
[REDACTED]: plus you got a gun, right?

lonestar61: guns aren’t exactly hard to come by.

[REDACTED]: fair enough
[REDACTED]: what can I do to set your mind at ease?

lonestar61 is typing…
lonestar61 is typing…
lonestar61 is typing…
lonestar61 is typing…
lonestar61 is typing…

lonestar61: tell me a secret you planned on taking to your grave
lonestar61: something that would ruin your life if it got out

[REDACTED]: is typing…
[REDACTED]: is typing…

[REDACTED]: you’re asking a lot, man
[REDACTED]: guessing you won’t believe me if I say I don’t have anything like that huh
[REDACTED]: ok. when I was in 2nd grade I accidentally killed my sister’s pet goldfish

lonestar61: that’s it? that’s your big confession?

[REDACTED]: hey, if you met her you’d understand
[REDACTED]: she doesn’t get mad – she gets even

lonestar61: fine I believe you
lonestar61: your secret’s safe with me (unless you try any funny business)
lonestar61: anyway. I’m in range, send me your coordinates

[REDACTED]: roger that! see you soon, big boy ;)

Ralph couldn’t help but roll his eyes. Big boy. Who did this guy think he was kidding? He claimed it wasn’t his first rodeo and he’d been doing this for over a year now, but Ralph wasn’t convinced.

Then again, he had no clue what normal drug dealers were supposed to be like. He would’ve thought gruffer, somebody with a short fuse whose favorite mantra was “time is money and I don’t waste either” or something like that. Definitely not the cherubic little nerd he couldn’t help but picture behind those words.

In the end, it didn’t really matter that much. He could put up with a little weirdness as long as none of it derailed his plans.